If there's anything more mortifying than being famous at 14, it's being washed up right after.
Gag me with a spoon!
I've got a new relationship and I'm trapped in this old life.
I peaked early. I was told I'd missed my boat.
We had two rules growing up in my house: If you're going to take a shower, do it with whomever you're dating so you don't waste water; and if you buy one for yourself, buy six, because everybody's going to want one.
The idea of licking stamps seemed great fun for me.
I spent most of my life locked in my bedroom, miserable about my raging acne.
Every job I've ever gotten has been an accident. All the jobs I actually go after, I don't get.
How strange, when your father's wearing women's clothes and platform shoes, that a pair of loafers looks incredible.
I didn't have any concept of age or authority. I remember realising, Oh, the world has rules and we don't.
I don't want to lose my name because that's how I know myself. There is a legacy here.
I grew up with too much freedom. You can't define yourself.
I had a friend whose family had dinner together. The mother would tuck you in at night and make breakfast in the morning. They even had a spare bike for a friend. It just seemed so amazing to me.
I have a tree man coming to trim the jacaranda in my front garden.
I like to think of myself as a New Yorker, which is pathetic.
I made enough money to buy a house. That's crazy, but fame proved ephemeral.
I should just drive around this city and take photos of all the buildings I've been humiliated in.
I think I have a dark view of the world. I have to make everything funny, otherwise it all seems so sad.
I would think: Stay close to the implants! They must know something because they keep getting asked backstage!
I'm totally convinced I can write the perfect pop song.
