I feel dirty.

There is something really wrong about cleaning your sex toy collection while you are talking on the phone with your mother.

(Particularly when she is enthusiastically talking about how she just rearranged and organized her workbench and tools. When you really stop to think about the similarities in that exchange, once again the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.)

Did I mention how much I really enjoy my life? Crazy as it is… I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
(Sorry Fly, I know you will be reading this and it is probably TMI.)