When I was in my early twenties, I moved into an apartment in Hollywood, conveniently located near Rock and Roll Ralph’s around Sunset and La Brea. My new roommate Shelley and I had met at Irvine Meadows, which my mother thought meant we both loved hiking in nature, but really, we met at a Guns N’ Roses concert. Shel was there for Sebastian Bach, the lead singer of the opening act, Skid Row. I was there because Jon Bon Jovi was the man of my dreams. I mean he was charismatic,

My mother was certain I’d lied about my request for an all-girl’s dorm when I landed in a building filled with BOYS.

I need to remind my husband that he is HOT. Like straight out of the oven, MC Hammer YOU CAN’T TOUCH THIS hot.

By the time George was singing B-B-B-B-Bad, we were B-B-B-B-Blitzed.

The thing about scaffolding is that it begs to be climbed. And the thing about second floor windows that are open is that they beg to be climbed through.

I heard the click of the cassette deck and then the drum and cymbals...

He said his name was Fender, like the guitar, which may or may not have been true, but of course I was Sharona, which definitely was not true.

Contained within my earliest memories was the certainty that I had talent. 

Every creak now sounds like an intruder and a masked ghost in gloves keeps invading my dreams.

My new father-in-law decided the fair thing to do would be to have his children draw straws for accommodations.