I used to have pink hair," I told Seven.
"I used to have a real job," he answered.
"What happened?"
He shrugged. "I dyed my hair pink. What happened to you?

Babies don't come with instruction booklets. You'd learn the same way we all do -- you'd read up on dinosaurs, you'd Google backhoes and skidders. And you don't need a penis to go buy a baseball glove.

I asked her sister for a cell number, at least, but something tells me that 401-GO2-HELL is out of service.

Maybe if God gives you a handicap, he makes sure you've got a few extra doses of humor to take the edge off.

My high school guidance counselor, Mrs. Inverholl, once had me take an aptitude test to figure out my future. The number one job recommendation for my set of skills was an air traffic accident investigator, of which there are fewer than fifty in the world. The number two job was a museum curator for Chinese-American studies. The number three job was a circus clown.

Anxiety's like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn't get you very far.