“My jealousy is a living thing. Shifting, changing, growing. Like my rage and my mother's regret.”

“My mother's hope is a weapon.”

“My phone is on my bed, whispering in my ear like a bottle of scotch to a recovering alcoholic, while the rain continues cackling at me through my window.”

“Then, I'll find an empty restroom and check my hair and fix my lipstick, or as we cowards like to call it, hide.”

“It's like having a ghost in my garage. I feel like I'm being haunted. With all the dead people I've got in my corner, you'd think one of them would be the one hanging around.”

“I feel like grabbing my crotch and checking to see if my balls are still there because I think they may be in her pocket and I need to get them back.”

“I reach up to brush my hair back out of my eyes so I can look around and attempt to determine what the hell is going on. The only three things that I know for certain took place last night are that one -- small elves climbed up my body and tied my hair into a mass of tiny knots, two -- I must have slept with my mouth open because something crawled into it and died and three -- I was sucked through a vortex into some animated world where an anvil was dropped on my head.”