Confessions of a Prairie Bitch: How I Survived Nellie Oleson and Learned to Love Being Hated

It's like I tell people at my stand-up shows: by making me a bitch, you have given me my freedom, the freedom to say and do things I couldn't do if I was "a nice girl" with some sort of stupid, goody-two-shoes image to keep up. Things that require courage. Things that require balls. Things that need to be done. By making me a bitch, you have freed me from the trite, sexist, bourgeois prison of "likeability." Any idiot can be liked. It takes talent to scare the crap out of people.

Actors never say they're poor. They're always broke. It's always just temporary. 'Broke' is 'poor with hope'.

Why is it that when people die, we make such an effort to turn them into saints? Especially when the entire reason we loved them so much in the first place is because they weren’t.

Michael tousled my hair and said, "Remember, no more skateboards, right?" And then this gem: "If you ever break your arm skateboarding again..." He paused, flashing me a dimpled Charles Ingalls grin, which then suddenly disappeared. "I'll break the other one.

She informed me that people’s real selves always reveal themselves eventually; that those who are selfish, spoiled, and mean will age sooner and wrinkle earlier than those who are not. She said that if I was good and kind and patient, it would also show in my face; that I would age gracefully, and when I did get old, I would have laugh lines instead of deep furrows from frowning. I would have dismissed this as just a silly story to get young girls to be nice to each other, except that my aunt was in her seventies and looked years younger than all the other stage mothers on the set.

By making me a bitch, you have freed me from the trite, sexist, bourgeois prison of “likeability.” Any idiot can be liked. It takes talent to scare the crap out of people.

Now, whatever you do, don't say anything, because no one must know that Liberace is gay." "Excuse me?" I said. "I'm eight. I know he's gay.

depression is defined as “learned helplessness and anger turned inward.

Remember me with smiles and laughter, Because that’s how I’ll remember you all. If you can only remember me with tears, Then don’t remember me at all.

A Psychological Experiment (Is It Me or My Hair)?” We could try to see if I was evil or if the evil was a result of the blond ringlets.