But really, what else are you going to talk about in line at the liquor store? Childhood trauma seems like the natural choice, since it’s the reason why most of us are in line there to begin with.

When I was in junior high I read a lot of Danielle Steele. So I always assumed that the day I got engaged I'd be naked, covered in rose petals, and sleeping with the brother of the man who'd kidnapped me.

Meanwhile, I was doodling pictures of vampiric cougars.

A house should look lived in, and I consider it clean as long as I don't stick to it and it doesn't give me cholera.

Knock-knock, motherfucker.

In fact almost everyone in my yearbook wrote the same thing to me: "To weird girl, you're nice." I didn't think it was bad. When I showed my mother she said, "Everyone is different." Being weird became my tool. I'm weird; that's who I am. It was my coping badge.

When Hailey was born my first thought was that I needed a drink and that hospitals should have bars in them.