Once upon a time, a million years ago, in a San Fernando Valley far, far away, my mother had a birthday party and nobody showed. Not a single kid.
When I was a little girl, I desperately wanted to be a nun or a student at the Immaculate Heart Catholic School for Girls. Not to be closer to a heavenly father; to be closer to a uniform.
There is some unwritten statute of limitations on how long one can whine about a crappy childhood, a negligent parent, a few too many chicken pot pies...
Parental shame is a two-way street, and my kid is already pedaling down it -- on the pink tricycle he insisted we buy him.
When people talk about their "crazy" families, it really brings out my competitive nature.
The aftermath of a real-life fairy tale, without the scripted ending.
Good news and bad news about having the surname Strasser.
Based on my career trajectory thus far, my next job will be a series of non-union Mobisodes.
She doesn't want to 'get into the groove.' With you or anybody else. No offense.
I swear I'm trapped in an episode of "Six Feet Under", only instead of Nate Fisher, I've got Snead, the red-haired ex-con forcing me to speak as if projecting to the back row.
How do you spell crippling inability to connect?
I might own a book called "Stop Obsessing! How to Overcome Your Compulsions". But if I'm going out on a date and there's any chance you'll be coming over afterward, you won't see these things. Not for a long, long time.
There was a time in junior high when I would introduce myself to strangers as "Andi, with an 'i'."
When women end a friendship, it can be painful -- and puzzling.
Customer rage is rising, so put yourself in the clerk's shoes.
Paris Hilton looks flawless, even in that tacky, wrestler-inspired, jewel encrusted one-piece bathing suit she wears in her now infamous Carl's Jr. commercial.
In today's relationship climate, we are far more likely to discuss STDs than TRWs.
I don't like lots of people staring at me, I don't like inconveniencing people because it's 'my special day,' and I hate waste.
There's nothing more smug and insidious than a girl who has finally fallen in love and thinks she now has all the answers.
There are blind dates, there are speed dates and, unfortunately, in Los Angeles, there are vague dates.
When people ask me which city is better when it comes to dating, I can only answer by citing a famous scene from the horror classic, "When a Stranger Calls."
Helping friends find Mr. Right at a Buddhist retreat? Breathe in, breathe out and keep quiet.
I've seen the movie "G.I Jane" twice, and not for camp value. I thought it was good.
The term "boyfriend" is like the knee joint on someone who is morbidly obese. It is being asked to do way more than it was designed to do.
I was looking for love and ended up "Finding Nemo."
What's a four letter word for that thing you used to have, that charm, that magic that makes guys ask you out? Mojo.
Women love bad boys. Nice guys finish last.
Moses begged God's forgiveness for 40 days and 40 nights, Kobe Bryant's going on at least that long plus a four million dollar sorry ring.
I've traveled this road countless times, north to please my mother, south to recover from her.
A few painted clowns doesn't make your life a circus.