Hyphenates are for sissies. As California men demand the right to adopt their wives’ last names, Starshine confesses her surname is completely made up.
Columnist | Santa Barbara, CA
Columnist | Santa Barbara, CA
Hyphenates are for sissies. As California men demand the right to adopt their wives’ last names, Starshine confesses her surname is completely made up.
Fibbing in Frontierland? Starshine encounters deceit, perjury and a whole lot of hooey at The Magic Kingdom.
On the same day scientists announced the mysterious disappearance of the nation’s honeybees, Starshine Roshell actually found the little buggers. They were in her garage.
College is supposed to be a place where the safety of childhood overlaps with the freedom of adulthood. But last week, Starshine laments, it wasn’t.
On the highway of life, nothing forces an appreciation of the here and now like the crowded, noisy chaos of family road trip. Starshine explains.
Last weekend, like all weekends before it, I was confronted with a barrage of shame-inducing images: Fleshless twenty-somethings flitting along downtown sidewalks in jeans tighter than the skin on grapes. Itty bitty bikinis dangling in department store windows, looking more like polka dot rubber bands than something that might actually cover my ba-donk-a-donk.
Whiny, drooly and prone to mess themselves just as you’re headed out the door, puppies and newborn babies have a lot in common. But who’s more trouble?
Lettuce? Yes. String cheese? Sure. But did you know there’s bliss to be found in the aisles of a supermarket?
I’m no stranger to sedation. As a teen, whenever the storm of adolescence would shudder through my soul and come surging out of my face in the form of sobs and tears, my mother would offer me Valium.
It’s the time of the week when Starshine Roshell talks about the time of the month. In her opinion, a girl’s entry into womanhood need not be a stain on an otherwise immaculate record.