One more time

The problem is that since I have been talking so much (to such rapt and attentive audiences) I don't have a whole lot swimming in my brains that I need to squeeze out onto the keyboard and spray across the internetz like amniotic fluid after the head delivers (that was for you; and YOU know who I'm talking to).

I love to write. Love, love, love it. But with my perfection complex and all, if it ain't gonna be great, it ain't gonna git done. I used to make a lot of proclamations. I called them MY UNIVERSAL WISHES. The one I have now is for all the ladies out there to be expunged of their need, their drive to do every.thing.fuck.ing.right. It's a goddamnned ball-buster of a chore to drag around, let me tell you. And after a day of falling short, the last thing we want to do is give someone a blow-job (ironically, a task that even done poorly, is received with standing ovations). Can I get an amen?!

Fuck.

So usually, once the three kids are asleep and I'm reasonably certain my other "services" won't be required and I ostensibly have *time* to write, I'm so flippin' tired that all I want to do is pour a drink and settle in to a few hours of "Say Yes to the Dress" reruns. Either that or I'm snoring by 9:15.

Ten years ago, if anyone had told me this would be my life, I would have sneered in their eye and ordered another Wild Turkey on the rocks. Bitch.

Anyway, if you're lucky enough to catch my live show now and then (best seats @ 3am, 3rd floor of VBMC) tip well. I have a lot of kids.