My first love was a dark, handsome American. His name was Hershey—Hershey Bar. No mere childhood crush, chocolate and I still enjoy a long-term relationship, only now with more refined Swiss varieties.
When I was eight I told my mother I wanted to grow up and join the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. “That’s great, Honey,” she said. “You go for it.” Years later, I learned of her deceit. How was I supposed to know you had to be Mormon? Continue reading “I Still Believe”
My baby-self was delivered by a Dr. Keibler. No wonder I’m a cookie addict. But as we all know: if a food tastes good, it’s bad for you. To me this proves that the universe is a cruel, sadistic joker that gives us taste buds that love sugar and fats, then tells us not to use them. It’s like saying to a man, “You know that appendage you’ve got down there, well, just ignore it.” We’ve been set up for failure ever since God said to Eve, “See that tree over there? Don’t eat from it.”
As a costume designer I dreamed of doing Shakespeare. How then did I become the personal costumer for a pair of ice-skating chimpanzees? Oh, yeah. The mortgage. Continue reading “Monkey Business”