“Hell hath no fury like a middle-aged woman in a fuzzy pink robe, hopped up on a winning combination of allergy medicine, Alias reruns, and anger.”

“I love the French and Italian church paintings from the Middle Ages. But I'm also interested to learn more about who was the first to make the leap from religious art to secular. That couldn't have been a small feat. Who was brave enough to say, " You know what? Enough of Jesus. I'mma paint me this here bowl of fruit and then I'mma paint my girlfriend... naked!”

“Were I forced to describe this woman in one word, that word would be...herpes.”

“I yearn to be a woman of more depth, but I'm not so fond of the path I'd need to follow to get there.”

“Over the summer we chatted one night while Angie stripped a bed, changed wet sheets, comforted and repajamaed a toddler, and chased down a car of speeding teenagers while shaking a brick at them, never once interrupting the conversation or setting down her margarita. The only reason this woman isn't president of General Motors is because she's chosen not to be.”

“(At a health and fitness fair)Though normally superconfident, I am not prepared for the judgmental stares of the ultrafit. They don't know me and have no idea of my prowess in the boardroom. They're unfamiliar with my shoe collection and unaware that I live in the Dot-Com Palace. And they didn't notice me pulling up in the Caddy. All they can see is how much space I occupy.With each step I take, I feel cellulite blossoming on my arms, my stomach, my calves. Stop it! I think my chin just multiplied and my thighs inflated. No! Deflate! Deflate! And I'm pretty sure I can see my own ass out of the corner of my eye. Gah! Cut it out!! Am I imagining things, or do my footsteps sound like those of the giant who stomped through the city in the beginning of Underdog? And how did I go from aging-but-still-kind-of-hot ex-sorority girl to horrific, stompy cartoon monster in less than an hour?My sleek and sexy python sandals have morphed into cloven hooves by the time I reach the line for the race packet. While I wait, the air is abuzz with tales of other marathons while many sets of eyes cut in my direction. Eventually an asshat in a JUST DO IT T-shirt asks me, "How's your training going?”

“You know what it was like? It was like thinking I was heading to a surprise party and instead it was a surprise pap smear.”