I miss the crushed ice and Pepsi from the old Westside Ball Field. My best friend and I had code names for our crushes such as Sweetheart and Teddy Bear. I played the Razorblade Suitcase Bush album over and over again. I ripped their photo out of some teen magazine. I had their names memorized.

I used to throw blue sweet tarts on the floor at the movie theatre. My best friend and I claimed they were the worst. The first time I held someone’s hand, I was literally sweating.

I miss wearing knee socks with skirts and clogs. I guess I thought I was Cher from Clueless.  Am I told old to wear a hemp necklace now?

I miss a grungy boy band named Bubble and all the spin-offs that included singing the Fly’s song Got You Where I Want You.

I miss singing Ironic with my best friend and the whole Jagged Little Pill album.

I miss putting sour straws in my coke or suicide of multiple sodas at the old Pizza Hut.

With 40 looming next year, I’d like to go back for a day – maybe to a record store, a Gayfer’s, or the old ball field. Join me! Only stipulation – you have to wear bell bottoms, chokers, and dock martens.