I remember my first standup act when I was seventeen; I did a really lame song about being flat chested. I was doing it in New York, and I remember Kevin Brennan, the guy I lost my virginity to, was like "That song doesn't make sense, you have tits."

I have lows, you know, everybody does ... but I kind of know how to handle it. I like to let myself wallow in it. I enforce it with terribly sad music, and it kind of pushes me through to the other side eventually, and I always know it's going to pass.

Men like to squash you. I just want someone who's happy with himself, happy with his life. He doesn't have to squash mine.

My stepfather, John O'Hara, was the goodest man there was. He was not a man of many words, but of carefully chosen ones. He was the one parent who didn't try to fix me. One night I sat on his lap in his chair by the wood stove, sobbing. He just held me quietly and then asked only, "What does it feel like?" It was the first time I was prompted to articulate it. I thought about it, then said, "I feel homesick." That still feels like the most accurate description - I felt homesick, but I was home.

I don't want to deconstruct what I do.

People who like what I do come in all shapes and sizes. Not sure what the common denominator is per se. Oh, it's meeee! But to be embraced by a progressive community means something to me and this one feels like home.

I dress normal because I want people to treat me regular. And their brains explode. It's really fun.