Below is a snippet of my hope-to-be-published memoir, Autohairography. If you know of a publisher that’s nice and likes quirky girls, please email me!

[image credit: aaron feaver]

celebrities that crimp.
1. Tiffani Amber Thiessen. Specifically in that Saved by the Bell episode where Kelly won the modeling contract and Zach was a total douchebag. Douchebag with good hair, though.
2. Madonna. Multiple times.
3. Sigourney Weaver. You know, the Ghostbusters lady.
4. Any Poison bandmember. Any given day.
5. A Flock of Seagulls frontrunner, Mike Score. This was some particularly fantastic crimpage.
6. Candice Cameron a la D.J. Tanner.
7. Barbie.
8. Barbie’s horse, Tawny.
9. Molly Ringwald. But then again, what didn’t she do?
10. Janet Jackson. And I have my suspicions that big brother Michael did, as well.

Below is a snippet of my hope-to-be-published memoir, Autohairography. If you know of a publisher that’s nice and likes quirky girls, please email me!

[image credit: mala marija]

1992 – 1993:
the year of the peacock.

My neighbor’s name was Reagan Bilsen. I remember her being the epitome of fabulous when I was younger, and I looked up to her in many, many ways — her love for the side ponytail, the way she pulled off a french braid effortlessly, or her black ‘Button Your Fly’ tshirt that she was gifted on her 12th birthday. I was much younger than Regan, but my sisters let me tag along when they would run nextdoor to sing in her basement and play DreamPhone. I think my mother bribed them all with pink lemonade, but either way, I was in.

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Below is a snippet of my hope-to-be-published memoir, Autohairography. If you know of a publisher that’s nice and likes quirky girls, please email me!

[image credit: gentleroom]

chapter three.
1991. aquanet.
It was upon the start of second grade that I knew my hair would define me for years to come. I was never deemed ‘four eyes.’ I wasn’t the fat girl, or the girl with hairy legs. Instead, I was the girl with the bangs. The very, very hairsprayed bangs.

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Below is a snippet of my hope-to-be-published memoir, Autohairography. If you know of a publisher that’s nice and likes quirky girls, please email me!

[image credit: melisa fernandez]

Shortly thereafter, my army buzz cut grew, grew and grew in patches. Sort of in a Belinda Carlisle way — piecey, chunky and very mullet-like. Had I dyed certain strands pink as the flamingo that graced our front lawn, I could have passed for a 5-year-old cover band frontrunner. With a fabulous band name, such as Pink Flamingo. Or Palm Tree. Palm Tree, of course, as a homage to the shape of my ponytails, sprouting on top of my head in true Allagoptera Arenaria form.

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Below is a snippet of my hope-to-be-published memoir, Autohairography. If you know of a publisher that’s nice and likes quirky girls, please email me!

[image credit: kerry coulson]

chapter two.
1987-1990. peachy keen.
I don’t really even know if that’s how the saying goes. Peachy keen? Or is it peachy king? All I remember is hearing Rizzo from Grease say ‘Peachy [insert correct phrasing here], jelly bean,” and me thinking she was pretty much the funniest thing in the entire world and imitating her every move, except for that whole getting pregnant thing and experiencing the ‘false alarm’ moment at my senior high carnival. That part, I didn’t imitate.

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Below is a snippet of my hope-to-be-published memoir, Autohairography. If you know of a publisher that’s nice and likes quirky girls, please email me!

[image credit: emma knaflewska]

chapter one.
1983-1987. the good, the bald and the ugly.
I was supposed to be a boy. In fact, my parents were ecstatic with the realization that they wouldn’t be raising three girls, just two. And a boy. A lovely little boy.

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[image credit: jaclyn campanaro]

Last week, I promised to share a bit more of myself with you, and I’ve been going back and forth with what that means for sometime now. And then I slapped my forehead b/c duh, I’m totally overthinking it. I’m going to just write whatever I want. B/c I can. So I will.

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