Growing up, road trips with Dad were something I hated. Sitting still for hours, singing that stupid song, "100 bottles of beer on the wall. 100 bottles of beer..." Dad, you know, keeping up with the song.

The closer you get to death, the more alive you feel. Dylan Thomas wrote, Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. My dad always taught me to live like that. Dad wrote a poem too. It goes, Dune buggies. Woohoo!

Born free. Taxed to death.

Take the time to smell the roses. Sooner or later, you'll inhale a bee and die.

I believe life is about balance. My mom was brilliant, yet manipulative. Beautiful, but had more voices in her head than the Wu-Tang Clan. Loves her kids, killed her last husband. I say last husband because you don't get another one after that.

Lady, if you laugh and you don't make a noise, you're a shaker, and it's freaking me out.

My dad's full of encouragement and support. It just feels like abandonment and neglect.