Hey, kiddo. Yeah, you. Kiki. It’s me, er, I’m you … in 2008.

What’s that? Uh, no. Not 36. We’re still 35 … for another six months exactly. Yes, we’re still sensitive about our age.

Huh? Oh, right … the Kiki thing. That’s our nom de plume. Yeah, we grow up to be a writer. Well, sort of. Um, it’s a long story.

Wait, hold up. I know you have a million questions. Believe me, I know, but I’ve got some stuff to tell you. Try to pay attention, okay?

You’re 13. Third quarter of eighth grade. Just had your first real kiss … a couple of weeks ago, as a matter of fact. (Yeah, we still remember shit like that.) We remember it all, and 1986 was a decent year. Junior high kinda sucks ass, but eighth grade wasn’t too bad.

You’re a good kid, by and large, so I’m not going to tell you to do things differently. (Okay, a few things maybe.) I’m writing you this letter to prepare you … you’re in for a wild ride over the next couple decades. What I mean is there’s some pain, my dear, the kind that can still take our breath away all these years later. The kind that a few times makes you contemplate taking an early leave. Don’t be scared, though. You’re out of the woods by 20, I’d say.

Fuck, dude. What am I saying? I allude to the fact that once or twice you think about doing yourself in, and that’s not supposed to scare the shit out of you? Riiiight. My point in mentioning all this is, we’re surprisingly strong.

What? Yeah, we still say “dude” in the future.

Listen, will ya?

Your biggest fear is that you’ll go through life alone, right? Well, you spend your 20s figuring out that you can be desperately alone even when you’re with someone else. It’s the worst kind of lonely, really. In your 30s, things start to look up. (A few days after you turn 30, you’re going to remember this and think I’m either lying or don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. I’m not, and I do.)

This all sounds super grim as I read over it, and that wasn’t my intention. Life so far isn’t exclusively bad. Not at all. When we enjoy things, we do it with a zest that, frankly, can be a little scary to those who witness it. And we find a lot to enjoy.

You fall in love … three times so far. Each time is better than the last. You travel to a bunch of cool places. (Yeah, that’s pretty awesome.)

For fuck’s sake! Yes, we still say “awesome” in the future. (“Gag me with a spoon” … not so much, however.)

Anyway, we have a successful career doing stuff that, on most days, we enjoy more than we admit. We’ve also got some really terrific friends … ones who hold our hair back when we puke and don’t ever mention that we got some on the door of her brand new car.

I could go on, but let’s face it, at 13 you have very little faith that we’ll amount to much. Nothing could be further from the truth, Kik. We turn out to be quite a hot shit, in fact. There are a good four or five people who think we’re kinda amazing. Cut us some slack once in a while, okay?

Fine, fine. You want some specifics.

First, NO, we haven’t met/fucked/married Simon LeBon. I don’t know what to tell you here, except a) he doesn’t age well and b) Duran Duran’s music is never as good as it was in 1981–84. (I’m sorry. I know that one hurt.)

Second, YES, sex is all it’s cracked up to be … or, it can be. It can also be boring, robotic and just plain bad. (No, Mom didn’t pay me to write this.) While we’re on the subject, though, I have a few bits of advice that shouldn’t change the course of history too much:

• If you ever get it in your head that sex on a large, concrete drain pipe would be “hot,” dispel that notion immediately. It’s not. It leaves marks.
• Don’t save it for Seth. I know he’s your first love and all, but you end up having sex with him later … it’s, uh, tepid. Give it up to Jon. Sure, he’s a dumb jock, but he puts in the time. Also, you end up having sex with him later too and he’s really rather good … for a teenage boy, that is. (It gets better, don’t worry.)
• Always, always, always use a condom. Well, maybe this is one that’s best learned the hard way. Nevermind.
• If you ever find yourself contemplating a one-night stand with a short dude in a red sweater, don’t do it! I realize there are so many things wrong with the phrase “a one-night stand with a short dude in a red sweater” that it seems not worth mentioning. It is. You don’t want to see what’s under the red sweater. Trust me. There are not enough Mai Tais in the world to erase that mental image.
• Coin the word “manboobs.”

Well, while we’re on advice, I’ve got a few more for ya:

• If anyone ever offers to “trim” your hair after you’ve both had a few drinks, say no. Again, seems not worth mentioning. It is.
• Remember that girl you teased at school last year? Yes you do. Go apologize to her. Mean it. It still bothers us in 2008, but she’s a lot harder to find now.
• Don’t doubt yourself so much, Kiki. Sure, we fuck up. It happens. Your instincts are good, though. Trust them.
• Black Cleopatra eyeliner doesn’t suit you. (Your friends are liars.)
• Be really, really good to the people you love. They aren’t going to be around forever.
• Be really, really good to the people you don’t love too. One day you’ll learn to appreciate how fucking important a smile from a random stranger can be.

Okay, I’m going to wrap this puppy up before I start unknowingly quoting Kate Bush or some shit.

I know you’ve had to fight for nearly everything, it seems. It’s made you a dogged little shit, and that’s great. It’s also made you willful, which serves us less well than you might imagine. I’m only going to say this once, so listen and listen good. What you need can’t find you unless you stop obsessing over what you want. Have a little patience … in yourself, in others, in life. It’s longer than it seems at 13. The good stuff finds us eventually.