I was so frivolous for so many years. It was so much fun, but you feel guilty about the brain energy you use to think about whether some celebrity was sleeping with another celebrity. The conjecture that goes along with that. You feel like your mind has been shot apart.

I met my first midget in Mexico, and he was a waiter with a sombrero on his head, filled with chips and salsa. Like I was gonna let that guy get away - I don't think so.

My tendency to make up stories and lie compulsively for the sake of my own amusement takes up a good portion of my day and provides me with a peace of mind not easily attainable in this economic climate.

But then, like George Michael in a men's bathroom, I got cocky.

At some point during almost every romantic comedy, the female lead suddenly trips and falls, stumbling helplessly over something ridiculous like a leaf, and then some Matthew McConaughey type either whips around the corner just in the nick of time to save her or is clumsily pulled down along with her. That event predictably leads to the magical moment of their first kiss. Please. I fall ALL the time. You know who comes and gets me? The bouncer.

A lot of people think that keying a car isn't the right way to get back at a guy. I disagree.

I think it's important to be authentic to who you are, and if you're inauthentic at all, people smell that from a mile away.