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.

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Since I’m not so happy with the way my traditional, Western New Year’s went this year, I’ve decided to invest heavily in the Chinese New Year. Okay, not so heavily that I am posting this on the actual day, but no matter. As of February 7, 2008, it is officially the Year of the Rat and a fresh start for me.

Who knows? Maybe this will be my year after all, quite literally … see, I was born in the Year of the Rat. Apparently, it’s a cool sign in the Chinese zodiac (as long as you don’t frown upon avarice, cruel mind games or stubborn narcissism). From Wikipedia:

Being the first sign of the Chinese zodiac, Rats are leaders, pioneers and conquerors. They are charming, passionate, charismatic, practical and hardworking. Rat people are endowed with great leadership skills and are the most highly organized, meticulous and systematic of the twelve signs. Intelligent and cunning at the same time, Rats are highly ambitious and strong-willed people who are keen and unapologetic promoters of their own agendas, which often include money and power. They are energetic and versatile and can usually find their way around obstacles and adapt to various environments easily. A Rat’s natural charm and sharp demeanor make it an appealing friend for almost anyone, but Rats are usually highly exclusive and selective when choosing friends and so often have only a few very close friends whom they trust.

Behind the smiles and charm, Rats can be terribly obstinate and controlling, insisting on having things their way no matter what the cost. These people tend to have immense control of their emotions, which they may use as a tool to manipulate and exploit others, both emotionally and mentally. Rats are masters of mind games and can be very dangerous, calculative and downright cruel if the need arises. Quick-tempered and aggressive, they will not think twice about exacting revenge on those that hurt them in any way. Rats need to learn to relax sometimes, as they can be quite obsessed with detail, intolerant and strict, demanding order, obedience and perfection.

A valuable lesson for Rats is to learn to consider others before themselves, at least sometimes, and to avoid forcing their ideas onto others. Rats are fair in their dealings and expect the same from others in return, and they can be deeply affronted if they feel they have been deceived or that their trust has been abused. Sometimes they set their targets too high, whether in relation to their friends or in their career. But as the years pass, they will become more idealistic and tolerant. If they can develop their sense of self and realize it leaves room for others in their life as well, Rats can find true happiness.

According to tradition, Rats often carry heavy karma and at some point in life may face an identity crisis or some kind of feeling of guilt. Rats are said to often have to work very long and hard for everything they may earn or have in life. However, a Rat born during the day is said to have things a bit easier than those who are born at night. Traditionally, Rats born during the night may face extreme hardships and suffering throughout life. Rats in general should guard themselves against hedonism, as it may lead to self-destruction. Gambling, alcohol and drugs tend to be great temptations to Rat natives.

Traditionally, Rats should avoid Horses, but they can usually find their best friends and love interests in Rabbits, Monkeys, Dragons, and Oxen.

Professions include espionage, psychiatry, psychology, writing, politics, law, engineering, accounting, detective work, acting, and pathology.

Yeah, in case you were wondering, I was born at night. Guh.

And, for the record, I very much prefer if you never, ever, refer to me as one of the “Rat people.” Thanks.

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Strangely, being featured in my blog has become something of a bloodsport amongst my friends … okay, *one* friend. She’s kind of pathological about it, frankly. Some shit about a test of my deep and abiding love for her.

Ordinarily, this is the part where I would say that it’s beyond pathetic to yearn for notoriety of this meager and perverted sort, but I’m sure she’s going to send this post to everyone she knows … soooo, instead, I will tell you of how immensely flattered I am to be courted in this way.

[14:35] Mimi: okay, now i want to go for a drink with you
[14:35] Mimi: : )
[14:36] Kiki: i’m leaving here in an hour so
[14:36] Mimi: oh, wait. yes, i forgot you said you were going home first anyway. are you sure you will feel like going back out to meet me?
[14:36] Kiki: yeah
[14:40] Mimi: don’t go lying to get out of coming
[14:40] Kiki: i’m the one who suggested it, dipshit
[14:41] Kiki: you’re losing it
[14:41] Mimi: i have never seen dipshit in writing … interesting
[14:41] Kiki: LOL
[14:41] Mimi: i am
[14:41] Mimi: indeed
[14:41] Kiki: i can’t picture you saying ‘indeed’
[14:41] Kiki: do you ever *say* that word?
[14:42] Mimi: still not blog quality stuff tho
[14:42] Kiki: oh, god
[14:42] Kiki: here we go again
[14:42] Kiki: i may blog this just to shut you the fuck up
[14:42] Kiki: you wanna know why i don’t blog you? it’s because we don’t have a good pseudonym for you
[14:42] Kiki: THAT is why
[14:43] Mimi: oh please
[14:43] Kiki: so on the blog, from now on, you’re _____ … i don’t care what you say
[14:43] Kiki: so don’t even try
[14:43] Mimi: no you cannot
[14:43] Kiki: i SAID don’t try
[14:43] Mimi: wanna know why?
[14:43] Kiki: you already told me
[14:44] Kiki: and i don’t care
[14:44] Mimi: because _____ out loud sounds like _____ which means penis in [my mother tongue]
[14:44] Mimi: i told you this before?
[14:44] Kiki: this ain’t that place where they wear scarves when it’s 75 degrees and don’t like ice in cold drinks
[14:44] Kiki: this is AMERICA goddammit
[14:44] Kiki: and you’re _____
[14:44] Kiki: period
[14:44] Kiki: end of story
[14:44] Kiki: now shut up
[14:45] Mimi: dude
[14:45] Mimi: you just made me cry
[14:45] Mimi: CRY
[14:46] Kiki: no
[14:46] Kiki: really?
[14:46] Mimi: yes, really
[14:46] Kiki: : (
[14:46] Mimi: i can’t be _____
[14:46] Kiki: omG
[14:46] Kiki: i’m sorry
[14:46] Kiki: ok ok
[14:47] Kiki: you win
[14:47] Kiki: are you still crying?
[14:47] Mimi: and i only have one tissue left
[14:47] Mimi: better now
[14:48] Mimi: The Boss came up and ask what was wrong
[14:48] Kiki: shit, dude
[14:48] Kiki: i was just playin
[14:48] Mimi: you can’t toy with my feelings like that
[14:48] Mimi: you should know the stress i am under
[14:48] Kiki: you’re making me feel awful
[14:49] Kiki: i know, but i didn’t know it was possible to make you cry
[14:49] Kiki: i wasn’t trying or anything
[14:49] Kiki: i’m sorry
[14:49] Mimi: i didn’t know either
[14:49] Kiki: btw, if you’re fucking with me, i WILL kill you later

Turns out, she WAS fucking with me. Mimi has, as I suspected, tiny balls of lead where her tear ducts should be.

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Not too long ago, I taught my dad how to send text messages. Before you think me a techno-saint, let me remind you just how much I hate talking on the phone. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Little did I know, however, that in the process of bending the world to my own needs and desires, I was creating a monster.

My dad is like many a dad … cute when it comes to technology. Well, he would find the word “cute” sorely lacking in virility. Let’s just say that his orientation to technology endears him to me. (For the record, my dad is fierce.)

I don’t mean to suggest he’s a Luddite or a ’tard in any way. He partakes of technology in various forms. He enjoys it. He is covetous when I come around with new gadgets. He just doesn’t have the time or, rather, can’t be bothered to stay on the cutting edge. He’s happy to wait for: a) my hand-me-downs (a 1st gen iPod), b) me to buy it for him (an iMac), or c) me to talk my mom into getting him one (an iPhone … this is still a work in progress).

[Ed. Finally, I am thiiiis close to convincing both parents to get iPhones. Twenty-two months, sixteen days. That is how persuasive I am. Watch out.]

Soon after I taught my dad to text, I began getting messages from him randomly during the day.

Hi. My students are taking an exam so I’m practicing my texting.

Whacha doing?

Can you increase speed of cursor?

If I didn’t text right back, he got impatient.

Cat got your thumbs?

Before long, I started getting texts from him every morning while I got ready for work. To say I was amused would be a gross understatement.

Last Monday, he began our morning ritual by opining about the Pats’ Super Bowl performance. Of course, it quickly (d)evolved into a discussion of flaws and the nature of human frailty. I suggested that “we’re so friggin deep” and let him know I had to head out for work.

Later that day, I got a text from him that read, in its entirety:

Rue the Griffin

Fock! The old man is hitting the pipe.

About 30 minutes later I got:

As the Griffin lives so must it be rued!

Yeah.

I’m thinking he’s gotten so wrapped up in the texting that he’s now part of a flash mob cult thing or some such nonsense. I texted him back when I left work, to the effect of “WTF does ‘Rue the Griffin’ mean?!?”

No reply.

My mom called me later that night. First order of business: Don’t encourage your dad’s texting addiction. (Apparently, unlimited texting plan not so much. Oops.) Second order of business: What is a griffin?

Now I’m sure they are both fucking with me. For what reason, I know not.

“Whaddya mean? He’s the one who Rue-the-Griffined me!”

“No, no. He said you mentioned something about griffin this morning.”

Slowly … very, very, VERY slowly … the chain of events dawned on me. I looked back at the text conversation on my phone. As I suspected, the auto spell-correcter had turned “we’re so friggin deep” into “we’re so griffin deep.”

Having turned to Google in the past to illuminate such things as “btw” and “rofl,” he returned to the Internets to decipher my cryptic message. Coming up short, he … well, he Rue-the-Griffined.

The next morning, I drove to work fully anticipating some kind of encore and thinking just how bizarre and funny the misunderstanding had been. I told the story to my boss, who has a similar sense of humor. We laughed. We discussed the socio-anthropological implications of texting. I began writing this post in my head.

Driving home that night, I heard the familiar double ding of the new text message. Positive it’s my dad, I grabbed it right away.

[Ed. This is muy peligroso … and also maybe illegal now where you are. No texting and driving, please.]

It’s not my dad. It’s my boss.

Rue the Griffin.

Yeah, man.

As the Griffin lives, so must it be rued.

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