It was just a movie date and I was nearly paralyzed with fear. Who could blame me? I was, well, me — a 16-year-old with a miniscule amount of self-esteem who’d never been on a date and he was legendary. Not legendary in some kind of a Sean Connery way (who knew he’d come up somewhere besides during the Balding Men week?) but in that adolescent, BMOC way. Not only…
So this was a tough topic for me. If I took it at face value I’d write about being fifteen and meeting the cutest thing I’d ever seen on two legs in summer school (I said he was cute, not brilliant), and the way it ended (badly) almost two years later. If I wanted to be especially precious, I’d skip that one and write about beautiful long red hair and…
Today I received my first book review. I’ve been really looking forward to seeing the reviews and dreading them at the same time. It is the nature of the book business that no matter how great your book might be- there will be people who love it and people who don’t. It occurred to me that writing and publishing is a lot like young love. 1) When you are young you…
I can’t write about my true first love. I fear legal action. Suffice it to say it was messy and dripping with all the drama two somewhat unbalanced teenaged girls could muster. But before this was John. John Doe. My husband. I think I was inspired to create John after watching Frankenstein for the thousandth time. Having no cadavers to work with, I used what materials were available: his hands…
Okay, this is the topic that made me seriously reconsider whether or not I can be a part of this whole Deb thing. See, my biggest insecurity in life — and trust me, this one has a lot of competition — is that I don’t understand love (anyone who knows about my other life as a sex and relationship expert can hopefully appreciate the irony of this). And in this…
Alternate title: Why Jude the Obscure Infuriates Me 1982. Eighth grade. Fifth period. Speech class…Mark. I only had three crushes in eighth grade: Scott, Jerry, and Tom Selleck. Mark wasn’t a crush. It was love. And he wasn’t getting the hint. I upheld my end of the eighth-grade romance bargain. I’d done everything I was supposed to do. I’d told my friends, my friends told his friends,
To be honest, I didn’t remember my first kiss. Luckily, I kept diaries growing up (you remember, hard cover books with tiny, tiny, little keys?) Looking through them for this post brought up several issues: • My handwriting was awful; each letter is huge and bloated. The world wide deforestation is due in part to my writing. I wasted huge volumes of paper. I won’t even mention the period where…
Fifth grade. Danny. He had freckles and smelled like some exotic spice: cardamom or coriander. He was a foster kid and only lived on our street for a year before being sent to another home. What drew me to Danny (other than the mysterious scent) was that he came from a family more screwed up than my own. His brother was in juvenile detention. His mom was in rehab. His…
Ah, my first kiss. His name was Luke. Branson School lower parking lot. After a Christmas tree lighting event which I was attending despite my Jewishness because I’m the second least observant Jew in the world — the first being my mother, who at that moment was still standing at the Christmas tree making small talk with the other mothers and probably looking for me. Most of the details of…
My name is Anna and I am an exercise addict. In terms of addictions, it could be worse – I should know, because I have all of them. (I have what they call an addictive personality.) With exercise, however, I’m not planning to get into recovery. See, considering the fact that I’m also addicted to chocolate (an obsession I seem to share with my fellow Deb Mia), my need to…
