My version of an Irish exit has an air of deception to it, because it includes my asking loudly, “Where’s the bathroom?” and making theatrical looking-around gestures like a lost foreign tourist. But then, instead of finding the bathroom, I sneakily grab my coat and leave.

I would be the first to admit that I have incredibly high, ambitious standards for my life and my career, and I've had those my entire life. It's something that was just instilled in me by my parents.

What I'd really like to write is a romantic comedy. This is my favorite kind of movie. I feel almost embarrassed revealing this, because the genre has been so degraded in the past twenty years that saying you like romantic comedies is essentially an admission of mild stupidity.

That's what she said.

I don't want to be skinny. I'm constantly in a state of self-improvement but I don't beat myself up over it.

Sometimes I eavesdrop on people. I could rationalize it - oh, this is good anthropological research for characters I'm writing - but it's basically just nosiness. It also helps me gauge where I'm at: Am I normal?

A remarkable thing about me is that the time that elapses between a sad thought and a flood of tears is three or four seconds.