About Me

I don’t really love Satan. We’re just good friends.

My husband snapped this photo of me as Oral Roberts University security mobilized to kick us off the campus.

I used to steal “Shoplifters Will Be Prosecuted” signs.

I once walked through the Mercedes exhibit at the New York Auto Show shouting, “Where’s Hitler’s staff car?”

I don’t drink alcohol anymore, but when I did, everything I drank had a screw top or came in a mylar bag. Consequently, my idea of letting wine breathe is throwing up.

In my day, I distressed my jeans the old-fashioned way: I got drunk and fell down.

I am constitutionally incapable of resisting a free tote bag.

I once placed pictures of naked women—taken from a tasteful women’s magazine article, not a nudie mag—in random places in the Salt Lake City airport because its magazine stands cover up photos of women in bathing suits.

When valuing gift baskets, I go by weight.

I don’t write notes in books I give as gifts, but I always check hotel room bibles for messages and write ones for future guests.

Barry Goldwater once sang “Happy Birthday” to me—along with everyone else in the dining room at the lodge at the north rim of the Grand Canyon.

A poorly timed sleep-with-the-fishes joke to a mobster’s wife’s bodyguard made me wonder if my grandmother’s prediction that my smart mouth would get me killed might turn out to be correct.

I was at the Francis Bacon exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on the day of Michael Jackson’s funeral: I’m certain it was a less weird place to be.

I drink filtered water but eat Slim Jims, occasionally at the same time.

I came in second in a sweepstakes contest where first place was a trip to New Zealand and my prize was a Sundance branded pen, journal and umbrella.

I realized I wasn’t paying attention to my appearance when I was walking home one day and a guy tried to give me bottles and cans because he thought I was homeless and needed to recycle them for change.

I was ordained by the First Universal Church Triumphant of the Apathetic Agnostic, which was torn apart by a schism formed between those who believed in promoting the religion and those who were apathetic about it.

Years later, I became an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church, then went to the trouble of getting licensed to legally perform weddings in New York simply because my husband told me I couldn’t. So I’m available for atheist nuptials in the tristate area but I don’t recommend myself. I get stage fright and I cry at weddings.

I wouldn’t kill a sacred cow—but I might draw a mustache on it.