my pussy tastes like pepsi-cola

Just like the song claims, Hanna Glazer was born in Brooklyn sometime during Reagan's reign. Her parents were basic. They attended synagogue regularly. Made enough money to feed the family of three and never bothered to look outside of their borough's medicoure existence. And like most 20th century couples, they woke up and decided they couldn't stand the sight of each other. But before we go into all that, let's talk about the fucked up that became Hanna.
It starts in a boring neighborhood, where nothing really happens. Except that one Jewish kid made it in hip hop, while fighting for his right to party. Hey, good for him, right? But really, nothing ever happened in Brooklyn Heights. It wasn't even trendy in the 90s. It was just...Jewish. Cue the boredom of a teenager. At this point, the Glazers still put on a decent show outside of their home. Her mother sported a terrible perm that she wanted all her daughters to share, but Hanna had her own agenda. In order to escape the nightmare that was the unending arguments and nasaly New Yorker shouts, she made friends with the sort of kids that knew how to have a good time. At fourteen, she discovered the taste of alcohol and it didn't stop there.
By sixteen, her parents focused most of their anger on their fucked up mess of a youngest daughter. They blamed the other for her addiction, for her unending parties and terrible taste in music. By seventeen, they decided they had had enough and sent her to live with her maternal grandmother, hoping the croan could snap her back into sobriety. Hanna didn't quite discover sobriety, while shacking up with her just as loud and annoying gran, but she did discover something far more interesting. She discovered the guitar. Gran had quite the talent and decided to teach her, with those same foolish intentions.
Somehow, magically, Hanna graduated high school. College wasn't exactly for her, but music certainly was. By eighteen, Stephanie and Bob were no more but that didn't seem to bother her as much as she expected. No, now she had music and that was one hell of a high. She started small, backing up vocals for friends and playing guitar for entertainment at parties. She soon became a favorite amongst her friend group and one even offered her a regular gig at a bar. Of course, underaged but that didn't stop her.
From there, the road continued. For about three years, she continued on the club curcuit until the time came to lay down some tracks. She never truly intended to do anything professional with her music. It was all a matter of chance. Offers fell into her lap and with those opportunities came more money. Money could buy a lot of drugs and a lot of alcohol.
That's where she got ahead of herself. Maybe Gran couldn't help her, by introducing her to the guitar, but a concerned manager sure could. In 2011, just before she finished her second record, Hanna spent a few short weeks in a rehabilitation center. She promised to make peace with her pathetic childhood and outlandish, glamorous fantasies. When she returned, the finishes touches were put on Born to Die and she began to attend AA meetings like it was her latest religion.
To this day, Hanna wakes up with the same struggle. Her lack of drink has made her slightly cynical and more than broken. She relies on the stage to give her the high she onced enjoyed and continues to create the glamorous persona with each and every performance.