You should follow me. I might be the next big thing. In your bed.

There are 3 absolutes: Birth, death, and a guy in a Statue of Liberty costume on the corner twirling a Liberty Tax sign.

I'm gonna wear a big scarlet red letter 'A' on my chest. Not for adultry, the letter matches the cape on my anxiety superhero costume.

Real whores don't need booze to do bad things.

I've never looked at a large cage and thought, "Man, I'd love to dance in that thing!"

Alaska should make Sarah Palin wear an ankle bracelet.

Totally just reenacted The Birds on my patio. Okay, it was one bird. And okay, it came nowhere near me. But look, I'm fragile at 6am.

My 11yo just called my vagina a CLOWN HOLE.
My work is done here.
Nothing tops that in parenting. Nothing.

How dare you have a good marriage. Who does that?!

What they don't tell you in parenting school is that you will die slowly and painfully from stress, and the kids will get away with murder.

I am stronger than yesterday...Wait. No I'm not. I'm not. But I'm definitely more tired. And I think more bloated. Yup, definitely bloated.

I have a lot of melted shredded cheddar cheese in my bra. I don't want to discuss it.

My dog peed on a comforter on the futon & my 4yo yelled, "What the FUCK, Scottie?!"
So I'm doing an excellent job at this thing called life.

Instead of naming your daughter "Nevaeh" (backwards heaven), just name her Harvard and give her half a chance at life.

I can't wait until the day I walk into a waiting room and the elderly are covered in visible tattoos and old piercing scars.