[On her father's death:] I didn't know his leaving would hurt so much.

I'm so bored. I went to the food locker yesterday to visit my meat.

If I had my life to live over I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I've always been intrigued with the variety of answers this generation will give their children who ask, "Where did I come from, Mommy?" They will range from "Number 176 vial in Buffalo, New York," to "You were defrosted."

No self-respecting mother would run out of intimidations on the eve of a major holiday.

My mind works . . . two boobs never get me a job.

There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.