Author's Note: With the 20 Anniversary of me graduating from high school looming in the coming weeks, I figured this would be a good time for the 38-year-old me to sit down and draft a letter to the 18-year-old me.

Dear Douche...er, Gus:

First of all, Larry King called. He wants his glasses back.

Second of all, what the fuck is up with that mullet? Bad enough you feel the need to sport on, but, the fuck, does it need to look as if you're part of Iron Maiden's road crew? I mean, you could at least look like you're a roadie for Def Leppard. At least you'd get some trim out of it.

I take that back. You look like a goalkeeper in some indoor soccer league. Now that's bad.

I'm not really going to rip you a new one via this letter. I'm going to tell you that it gets better later on in life. I see that half-assed smile in your yearbook pic. You can't fool me. High School is all about being angsty and shit, so you've been told. Well, save that shit. High School is crap. Your teachers hate you. They hate all of you, really. They don't give a flying fuck about your education. Especially that Social Studies teacher who's been teaching at the same school since the dawn of Man and still can't understand why the majority of students at an ART VOCATIONAL SCHOOL want to pursue artistic studies after high school. Man, that old bitch held everyone in contempt.

Oh, and that Airbrush Basics professor, in that class you stupidly chose as one of your electives, even though you hold a brush like an epileptic in the middle of a strobe light-induced fit, that smelly cocksucker's going to be the bane of your Senior year. He will passive-aggressively tell you you're doing fine, then he's going to call your mom at 10PM on a Monday night to bitch his brains off about how you're flunking his course. Fuck him, and quit sweating about his stupid class. Here's a hint: you're going to fail his class. No matter, you're still graduating. By a hair, though.

Yeah, you could probably stand to study harder, and pay more attention in class, but, let's face it, you already know the material. There's only so many times you can discuss the rhetorical symbolism of Mersault murdering that Arab man on the beach in L'Etranger. You've read the book so many times, you've practically wrote it. Yeah, you've got more important things to worry about, like graduating...okay, you're not really sweating graduation, are you?

No, you're really sweating 2 things right now:

1. Whether or not your buddy's gonna score those Guns N' Roses tickets at the Roxy.

2. Whether you're ever going to kiss a girl.

Item 1...the answer is no. You'll end up hating Guns N' Roses anyway, after Axl Rose turns into a narcissistic shit stain, and Use Your Illusion Vols. 1 & 2 are self-indulgent crap. While we're at it, I'm glad your music tastes are starting to turn around for the better. You've got a healthy respect for the classics (Beatles, Stones, Zep, The Who), but you need to drop your love for INXS right now. You've just discovered the Pixies. Good for you. Think of the Pixies as a gateway to better music.

Item 2...of course you'll kiss a girl...but not in high school. You'll graduate not ever having kissed a girl, or even felt a boob. It's not like you're a complete spazz when it comes to girls; they seem to like you, you've got a nice personality, and you're easy to get along with, but, damn it, son, pull the trigger! Ask a girl out! Go to more parties! Chicks love 2 things, booze and a guy's tongue down their throat...Okay, I'll stop.

You're just too much of a gentleman to do that. I can respect that. The girls respect that. That girl that you hang out with all the time, the one that follow like a lovestruck puppy, yeah, she loves you for you being so nice to her, but quit dreaming that she's going to dump her future ex-con boyfriend (you know, the meathead who thinks he's all badassed because he drives a Dodge Shadow...) for your tubby ass. Let's face it, she'd make a bad girlfriend. She's full of drama, and she's high-maintenance. Besides, you're completely out of your league. You can't give her what she wants, and if she knew what she wants, you'd be giving it to her...Regardless, she'll remain friends with you after high school, and that's great. You'll go to parties, hang out in clubs, and introduce you to people you're still friends with. In other words, she'll step you out of that mildly introverted fit of constipation you've drowned yourself in.

It also helps you down the road that you've gotten rid of the mullet, lost a shitload of weight, changed your wardrobe, got better-looking glasses and started walking around like you owned a pair of balls. That's my boy!

(And if you really must know, you won't finally lose your virginity until late in your freshman year in college. You'll lose it in a comically ridiculous and memorable fashion, starting in her bedroom and ending in yours, several towns away. How you kept your balls from exploding during that 10-minute car drive is a testament to your determination, I guess. So don't sweat it, my boy. Remember this: college is all about getting laid and getting stoned. Oh, and getting an education is a bonus, too.)

Anyway, let me wrap this letter up. You're going to go through the remainder of high school just coasting along. You'll stumble your way through college, somehow earning a very good GPA despite drinking and screwing your days away. I see that picture of you and see someone who's really wanting to bust out of their skin. You will. But it's going to take time. You see, if you knew then what I know now, you'd make a lot of changes, but just how good are those changes going to be?

So, take your time. No, really, take your time.

Sincerely,

Me

PS - Larry King is still waiting for his glasses.