The other evening, Scott and I had a tequila-fueled discussion about my nature. "Don't blame me," I said. "I'm shallow." "Yes you are." "What do you mean by that?" It was one of those discussions that man and wife should never, ever, have. Like, do I look fat in this dress? The dishes are piling up. Do you think I should do them? But I admit, in the brazen light of day, that I admire his courage under fire. He always tells me the truth. And as an enlightened human, I understand that I am the fool for asking. My intellect is of the fast food variety. I don't read anything that will expand my universe. My favorite books are written by the sick, the twisted and the insane. Currently, I'm devouring Darrell Hammond's book, appropriately called God, If You're Up There, I'm Fucked . Previously, I read Chelsea Handler's book, Dear Vodka: It's Me, Chelsea. And, of course, the classic, Running with Scissors...
More than a million served!