Since I am without blog post ready to publish, and have just been taking a trip down memory lane (god bless Facestalkerbook), I figured I'd write my own letter to my younger self, full of helpful tips that I wish I'd known at the time.
Dear Georgia
On music...
Take That will not be cool forever. They are not like The Beatles or The Bee Gees. Shut up about them.
Ditto with NSYNC. Also, that one you lust after, you don't have the required equipment for his liking. Best you find out now and not after a couple of angsty teenage years of expensive poster collecting. You should've gone for the lead singer, because he's the only one who makes it also hot.
Forget New Kids on The Block. Donnie Wahlberg may be hot, but wait until his younger brother busts onto the scene with his Funky Bunch in his tighty whities.
Walk away from Achy Breaky Heart. It is a one hit wonder. A mullet is never to be celebrated and put on a pedestal, okay?
On fashion and beauty...
The geisha girl look of whiter than white face make up combined with dark lipstick does not suit you. Seriously.
Black is always acceptable. Don't listen to your mother when she bitches and moans about the amount of black that you wear (it only makes you appear washed out thanks to the geisha-esque make up). Black is slimming, it's timeless. Go with it.
The permed fringe was a no-no. Don't ever contemplate it again.
You are slimmer now than you will be for at least 15 years. Enjoy. Don't hide. Don't bother with sadistic industrial strength lycra undies. Yet.
On love...
Brace yourself. You will not marry football superstar Glen Jakovich. Or his kleptomaniac, washed up, but hells sexy older brother Alan. Move on.
You will one day be mortified by that television appearance you're about to make, body painted head to toe in Glen Jakovich's West Coast Eagles team colours and singing the team song badly. You came across more sad stalker than #1 fan. I say these words out of kindness, and also to teach you that some bastards will keep the recording FOREVER to use as torture/bribery material.
You will not hook up with the bass player of the B grade band you religiously go and make eyes at every Saturday night, thanks to a dodgy fake ID. After another 18 months of passive flirting, you will hook up with another dude the very night you were to get together with the uber cool bass player. The other guy has a drink card worth 10 x bourbon and coke, so go with it. He will also be responsible for The Feral Threesome (who will, in turn, be responsible for the downfall of your stomach - oh. so. literally).
Peace Out
(At
xxx
