I have an excuse, actually, why I've been drinking so much. I haven't said this out loud yet - this is exciting - I'm drinking for two. Thank you, wow. I mean, just for now. Somebody's being evicted.

Very neat for a boy; always cleaned up his mess, no matter where he got it on me. He's Hispanic, so he's like, 'Now who's the wetback?' I'm like, 'Hey, still you. Get back in the kitchen, those dishes aren't going to do themselves.

It's a weird age. They're like, 'Amy, I'm pregnant.' And I still don't know whether to be like, 'Congratulations,' or 'Do you need a ride?

We had to break up, though. We wanted different things - like he wanted kids and I wanted him to hear.

I want to quit. Not performing, but being a woman altogether. I want to throw my hands in the air, after reading a mean Twitter comment, and say, 'All right! You got it. You figured me out. I'm not pretty. I'm not thin. I do not deserve to use my voice. I'll start wearing a burqa and start waiting tables at a pancake house. All my self-worth is based on what you can see.' But then I think, F*** that ... I am a woman with thoughts and questions and s*** to say. I say if I'm beautiful. I say if I'm strong. You will not determine my story - I will.

I just want to get the most money I can.

The girls I grew up with they're living normal, adult lives. So they call me now and they're like, 'Amy, I'm pregnant.' And I still react like, 'What are you going to do? I'll drive you, I guess.