At Mr. Perry’s

It was the seventies and Mr. Perry was a very flamboyant gentleman with huge hair and an equally large mustache.  He wore shiny, too-tight shirts with wide lapels, and brightly colored bell-bottoms. Mr. Perry would coo and cluck and tend to my grandmother, always calling her Dr. Howard, never Laura.  (She loved this.)  She sipped a glass of champagne while he cut and set her hair.  Meanwhile, his “girls” would…

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Hair-raising Adventures in Blackberry Picking

If I hadn’t picked 12 containers of blackberries, I might not have ended up with the Dorothy Hamill-had-she-cut-her-locks-with-gardening-sheers haircut at the age of 13 (aka, the worst age to be when you suddenly find yourself possessing a disastrous haircut). It seemed like a good enough idea at the time. I was staying with my friend Ramsay at her dad’s Napa vineyard for a week and after a few days of…

Monday, February 12, 2007

Slip Sliding Away by Deb Kristy

So, I’ve got this best friend, right? Her name is Janna, and she’s dating this rather geeky but nice enough guy, Sam. Now, Sam has this fabulous eggplant Karman Ghia and lots of geeky friends. So Janna, in the grand tradition of best-friends-with boyfriends-who-have-cars-and-friends everywhere, decides that we must double-date. I, being new to town, and fourteen, have never dated. I had that smooch-fest with Mark in the eighth grade…

Saturday, February 10, 2007

You never hear James Dean snort by Deb Eileen

I remember my teen years as one where I was quite the rebel. I dressed as if I was channeling Molly Ringwald, listened to The Smiths and tried to take up smoking clove cigarettes. (Note to impressionable young readers: don’t bother with the clove cigarettes they taste like a burnt spice cabinet and no one looks cool hacking up mucus chunks) I’ve come to the realization that it is quite…

Friday, February 2, 2007

Stalking the Brat by Deb Tish

I’m not a rebel–that’s too glamorous a title for me. I’m more of a common brat. The moment I hear I’m supposed to do something is the moment I’ll refuse. From wearing skirts as a kid, to trying out for cheerleading, to buying a minivan for carpooling–I wanted nothing to do with it. When other kids were attending Friday night football games in high school, my friend and I were swiping…

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

The Buffalo Overalls By Deb Anna

It all started with the buffalo overalls. My mom thought they were the most adorable thing an eight-year-old could wear but I knew that a tan corduroy jumpsuit with a zipper down the front and an enormous buffalo on the front was hideous. She begged. I refused. She tried to force. I cried. She bribed. I acquiesced — and wore them to school one day, where during recess a little…

Monday, January 29, 2007

The fateful call by Deb Anna

The fateful call came in the most modern form possible: as an email. Who knew four words could cause so much joy — the kind that when you’re experiencing, you swear you’ll never be sad about anything ever again, that made the past year of pounding words into a keyboard feel worthwhile, that provided a tangible antidote to the committee of naysayers I seem to have living in my head?…

Monday, January 22, 2007

The Real Happy Ending By Deb Anna

You know you’re a workaholic when “lunch” sounds like an unnecessary indulgence. Lunch? You mean that food I inhale, some of which inevitably ends up corroding my keyboard keys because it’s being consumed when I’m catching up on emails or finishing a scene? (Right now? Pot stickers from Whole Foods and so far, so good on the keys.) I remember the days I worked in an office, when “I’m going…

Monday, January 15, 2007

You I Remember by Deb Eileen

I read a lot. Actually this is an understatement. I read a whole lot. If I don’t have a book on the go I feel antsy. I like my house to have stacks of books on every available service and on the weekends I read the book reviews and tear out names of even more books that I’ll plan to read. I could quit my job and do nothing but…

Friday, January 12, 2007

Trapped in Time: Tales of a Fourth Grade Something by Deb Mia

You’re probably figuring out by now that fourth grade was quite an eventful year for me. Full of hope and angst. Drama. Which is exactly why Judy Blume wrote that all-time classic, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. Tales of a Sixth Grade Nothing doesn’t quite work. Nor does Tales of a Third Grade Nothing. No, there is something timeless about fourth grade, and she so eloquently captures it in…

Thursday, January 11, 2007