Teen Angst

My BFF, Shona, put out the first part of her post about Bay Area zines from the 90’s. I am lucky enough to be featured in this post. You should definitely check it out here.

I thought I’d make a little post about my zine. I flipped through it last night and was amused by my 15 year old self. It’s funny because now I say “I used to like to write” but this is what I was writing! So angry! I’m including a couple of my favorite pieces.

This one is about detention. Also, it may be hard to see, but in the bottom right corner there is a tiny paragraph that my co-creator, Pandora/Melissa, wrote about taking a poop. I have to admit, I love that at 15 we were writing about not only what it meant to be a girl in the 90’s, but also about our own poop.

Detention and Poop

Pandora/Melissa wrote this piece. I particularly love this one because at the time we were part of a large circle of older guys. She was ballsy to write this and then publish it knowing that every guy we knew was going to read it. It had many of them scratching their heads. “Who me?” they probably thought. Or maybe they just thought we were dumb, little girls. Either way, it felt good to get it out there.

To the Boyz

And this one will forever be one of my favorite poems I ever wrote. Not because it’s great writing, but because it fully captures everything about me as a teenager. In love with the wrong person, bored, sad, restless. I would say it defines me at 15 more than anything else I ever wrote.

The Bullshit of Love

Anyway, happy reading and I will post the second part of Shona’s zine blog post because it’s so fun to revisit that stuff. I do miss the days of reading things on actual paper.

Edited to add one of my favorite songs of this time period.

Porkchop/Andi/Blue 😉

First writing exercise

I am from my nana’s
eating scrambled eggs with ketchup
novellas on the TV
shoes slipping on vinyl runners
I am from my grandma’s house
red carpets, white couches
a rooftop I could climb to
and watch over the neighborhood
I am from a little duplex
with a stepdad and loud voices
so many ashtrays
and an overworked television
Saturday mornings in my bedroom
so much solitude
playing Sorry! with stuffed animals
listening to cassettes on a tiny boombox
Nights spent clock watching
until I finally gave up on sleep
staring at late night reruns of black and white sitcoms
wondering what I could do to make my life more like Patty Duke’s