I say what I think. I’m a real person, not some manufactured pop tart who’s afraid to step out of the hotel room. I am flawed. I swear I have the occasional cocktail, I pick my nose and I fart. I’m not running for any presidential campaign at the moment. I’m a sassy girl.
I remember really vividly kneeling by my bed as a nine-year-old, saying my prayers and asking God to give me boobs that were so big that if I laid on my back I wouldn’t be able to see my feet.
Divorce was emotionally traumatic for me. It was the death of a dream. I was in fairytale land, and the reality of it wasn’t so. But I don’t really like talking about it anymore, because it feels like a thousand lifetimes ago, and also it makes me look desperate like I need it for attention.
I’m okay with having bad dance moves. I’m okay with having horrible lower teeth. That’s what makes me me, and for some reason, it’s worked out all right.
