Deb Elise’s Most Loathed Teacher Ever

I loathed everything about Emmett Woodshanks (not his real name — his real name was far less Dickensian.  He also didn’t look like Alan Rickman. I probably would have liked him a lot more if he had). I loathed his nearly-bald head, with its wreath of orange hair.  I loathed his close-cropped beard and mustache.  I loathed his wire-rimmed circular glasses.  I loathed the way he licked his upper lip…

Monday, January 31, 2011
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Let’s Do The Time Warp Again… By Deb Lisa Daily

The year is 1986. Every weekend my friends and I tell our parents we’re going to the midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. This buys us a pass for a few curfew bonus hours, until at least 2:30 in the morning. Sometimes we actually go. Our little group of prepsters and jocks don our garters, party hats and freakwear, sneaking rice and water guns into the theater downtown….

Wednesday, July 9, 2008
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The Nicest Girl I Ever Knew by Deb Gail

As I sat down to write this I realized I feel conflicted about this week’s topic, Naughty and/or Nice. Actually, I think it’s nice I’m mostly conflicted about. When I was growing up, little girls were supposed to be nice and I was. My mother’s little helper. Always polite. Always smiling. Eager to please. I danced on cue for the relatives. Hardly ever complained. I was The Nice One. Until…

Monday, December 3, 2007
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Movies and Making a Spectacle by Deb Danielle

Like most people, movies have made me laugh and cry, transported me to other worlds and sometimes changed the way I look at things. Some movies have inspired me to greatness, to be a better person, but since I was a child, certain movies (of the music and dance variety) have instead inspired me to make a spectacle of myself. It started with GREASE. Before Olivia shimmied along in her…

Thursday, August 9, 2007
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Kiss The Girl – by Deb Kristy

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,

Saturday, November 11, 2006
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Don’t Fear the Reaper by Deb Jennifer

It’s 1985.  My grandmother buys me a white Camaro with red interior.   The car is hot.  It has a red front vanity plate with my name in curly white script.  I smoke Carlton cigarettes and each pack comes with a plastic rose attached to a loop of elastic.  These hang from my review mirror.  I’m going way too fast through suburban streets, rocking out to Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and…

Wednesday, October 4, 2006
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