Anger is the spirits telling you that you are alive.

. . . And so Charlie Asher . . . led an army of fourteen-inch-tall bundles of animal bits, armed with everything from knitting needles to a spork, into the storm sewers of San Fransciso.

It’s like he has this power over me—like I have an eating disorder and he’s a package of Oreo Double Stuff cookies.

It's like time travel only, you know, slower.

This is the man who called the fire department when the toilet backed up, and I'm asking him for help. What was I thinking? Why am I attracted to weak men?

Most of us don't live our lives with one, integrated self that meets the world, we're a whole bunch of selves.

A woman’s magazine quiz: Question: You decide to do the dread deed and just as things are starting to get hot he comes, rolls over, and asks, “Was it good for you?” You: a. Say, “God, yes! That was the best seventeen seconds of my life” b. Say, “Sure, as good as it gets for me with a man.” c. Put a Certs in your navel and say, “That’s for you, Mr. Bunnyman. You can have it on your way back up, after the job is finished