I'm a humor writer, so I don't always present myself in the best light.

Some people are destined to be deep thinkers. I am not one of those people.

I've always been able to cook Italian food. That's in my blood because I'm half Sicilian.

Over the summer we chatted one night while Angie stripped a bed, changed wet sheets, comforted and repajamaed a toddler, and chased down a car of speeding teenagers while shaking a brick at them, never once interrupting the conversation or setting down her margarita. The only reason this woman isn't president of General Motors is because she's chosen not to be.

The best thing about being 45 is not taking myself so seriously. Do I miss the package I came in at 25? I do. Gravity is no one's friend. Yet the perspective I've gained is so worth the wear and tear. What would have mortified me at 25 is now simply fodder for a funny, relatable story. Also? I was a waitress at 25, and now I'm an author. Forty-five is definitely better.

I tried, it was hard, I quit, the end. Story of my life.

Despite my best efforts, I'm not quite perfect. Let's just say I'm like one of those Hopi blankets where they leave a tiny flaw so as to not affront the Lord.