Love is like an amazingly beautiful exotic bird that you only see once in a lifetime, if at all.  Marriage is like taking that bird, putting it in a tiny, cramped cage.  And each year, popping open the cage door briefly and yelling “Happy Anniversary!” then slamming it shut again.  On it’s beak.

It’s different being married.  Well, it’s not so different.  I cheat.
My husband hates that joke.  But my boyfriend thinks it’s funny, and I think it’s wrong to play favorites.



I’m from a pretty typical Texas family.  My brother goes to strip bars all the time, but he’s in denial about it.  He makes fun of other guys in there—like he’s not one of them.  “There’s this one guy in there, what a loser.  I see him in there every day.”



Give it the old college try… wait till the last minute, get drunk and do it?     

People use the expression “better than sex” to mean something’s really’ really great.  But let’s be honest.  A lot of things are better than a lot of kinds of sex.  People should be more specific.  This is a lot like sex, kind of dry and familiar.



My friend tried to have a baby and found out she couldn’t get pregnant.  That’s not fair.  You grow to be an adult only to find that you wasted all that time…worrying if you were pregnant.  If you can’t get pregnant, you need to be told when you’re young, so you can enjoy it. 

If you’re older and trying to start a family, it’s horrible news.  But if you’re younger, and trying to start college…it’s a lottery ticket.  You go to the doctor and get the news.  “I can’t have a baby, no matter what?  (then) Sweet!  This is gonna be the best Spring Break ever!” 

If I knew I couldn’t get pregnant in high school, I would have been so much more popular.  It would be like having a super power.  I could wear a cape to school, “Step right up, boys, the doctor says it’s cool.”  I’d be “Impregnito!”




You know when you’re in a relationship, come home after a hard day, tell your partner about it.  Then comes that boring part when you have to listen to them?



I like to go to pretentious coffee shops, sidle up to people on their laptop, and plug in my Lite Brite.  They’re all, “What are you, writing a screenplay?”  “Me?  No, I’m making a penguin.  I have a pattern for a butterfly, but that’s bullshit.”



People who live in glass houses—get robbed a lot. 



When I drink, I often wonder if I’m drunk.  Then I have to do the math.  I had 3 shots of Tequila, but then I had a taco, so I’m even.  I had two Kamikazes, a Flaming Dr. Pepper, and a Highball, but then I ate a peppermint—even.  And I wonder,  Am I drunk?  I feel good, not that good.  He’s cute, but he’s not that cute.  Am I drunk?   I inevitably have to conclude yes, I'm drunk.  Because when I'm sober, the question never comes up.  I’m never reading Harry Potter, thinking, “Man that Snape is a jerk—am I drunk?” 


My first day of adulthood was when my best friend told me she was pregnant.  I quickly realized I was supposed to be happy for her, which was new.  I wasn’t supposed to be happy all those other times she told me she was pregnant.  My tendency is to offer her a ride, or some cash.
She's going to have natural childbirth.  That's a lot of pain. I won't even conceive without a sedative.
Nine months is a long time to go without drinking. That's a big commitment to make to someone you haven't met yet. So what if the kid has a big head?  Buy him a hat.  Get a tutor. Cover those spots with make-up.  You’ve gotta live your life.