Participation trophies are the soul herpes of a generation.

Fighting Dad's not a fight. Fighting dad is, "Hi, you've just instigated your own mugging! Come on down!"

And one more thing I want to be clear about - I know who I am. I am just a very thin layer of charming with some funny sprinkles wrapped around a huge creamy center of raging arrogant a-hole. I got it.

I don't believe in right or left; I don't believe in Santa or Satan. I believe in things I can touch - like vodka and Oreos.

All of Dad's relationships ended exactly the same: subpoena, beep of a moving van backing up the driveway, pile of his clothes burning on the front lawn.

No problem is so big and difficult that it can't be blamed on somebody else.

I swore I would never get involved in my dad's life. But then he started blowing it. So I had to get involved, you know, but he's my dad, I can't send him to his room or ground him or go to his first grade play and scream, "Look at the fairy!" I was a wood nymph.