I blame my mother for my poor sex life. All she told me was 'the man goes on top and the woman underneath.' For three years my husband and I slept in bunk beds.
Your child is never not your child. You can be 90 and your mother 120, but your mother is still worried about you.
I just get such a connection from an audience. You play with them. I get mad at them. I yell at them. They yell at me. It's just fun.
When you whisper about something, it's too big, and you can't get it under control and take control of it.
What makes me laugh is, of course, the absurd, the horror - anything that upsets me.
It's been so long since I've had sex I've forgotten who ties up whom.
