My boobs are so low I had to put curb feelers on my nipples!
I was so flat I used to put Xs on my chest and write: “You are here”. I wore angora sweaters just so the guys would have something to pet.
I was the last girl in Larchmont, NY to get married. My mother had a sign up: “Last Girl Before Freeway.”
My sex life has gone from bad to pathetic. My G spot stands for godforsaken.
I always like a charity with people who don’t speak English because I get them to do all kinds of things around my house.
I said to my husband, ‘Why don’t you call out my name when we’re making love?’ He said, ‘I don’t want to wake you up.’
Just remember: Surviving is the best revenge, no matter what the disaster has been.
Emotional troubles are like landfill. Get them outside, and the air disintegrates them.
In life the only thing that you can expect is the unexpected; the only surprise is a day that has none.
I started my career in a town so small the local clinic was called Fred’s Hospital and Grill.
Edgar had a heart attack, and I’m to blame. We were making love, and I took the bag off my head.
I was not an attractive child. When I didn’t use my Girl Scouts uniform as a uniform, I used it as a tent.
I could never be in a cult. For starters, they never accessorize properly. David Koresh had no fashion sense, Jim Jones wore leisure suits, and I don’t care how charismatic Osama bin Laden was, an AK-47 and an insulin drip do not take the place of drop earrings or a well-placed brooch.
Some women take up the law and become lawyers. Other women lay down the law and become wives.
I’m a double bagger. Not only does my husband put a bag over my face when we’re making love, but he also puts a bag over his head in case mine falls off.
God always comes up with a third act twist – and we won’t know until we die whether the play was a comedy or a tragedy.
Acting is my true love. I would like to have been a serious actor, and I plan to in the next life. I’m gonna be Meryl Streep Rivers.
I wear the midi because I feel if you’re going to look ugly, you may as well look this year’s ugly.
Any form of complacency is the kiss of death for any professional.
Your anger can be 49 percent and your comedy 51 percent, and you’re okay. If the anger is 51 percent, the comedy is gone.