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Sometimes I talk too much about my marriage.

I'm just going to throw that out there.

Sometimes I talk too much about Terry and every once in a while I get a really furious, angry email from some bitter single,

bitter single, who is mad that I'm bragging about my perfect relationship.

And this person screams and yells about how, uh, so perfect, Terry, so perfect. You're so perfect.

And actually, you know, things aren't perfect. You don't go on and on in public about the shit that doesn't work about your relationship.

Other stuff that doesn't work about a relationship, There's stuff that doesn't work about our relationship.

Things we choose to overlook, things we realize now after all these years together can never be

reconciled so we stop drying to reconcile them.

Terry drives me up the walls in some ways.

There are times when I am convinced that the only sensible bone in his body is mine.

I can be a little depressive and angry and I get spun up. I get manic. I get, you know, you've listened to the

show. You know how I am. Imagine, you know, once a week for an hour or so. Okay. Imagine

living with me. It can't be easy.

But the one thing that I really think that really fucking drives you crazy, and it comes up every year about this time, is fireworks.

This is a red state, blue state thing, much more than like gay gay or anything.

This is I grew up in Chicago in a big city.

When you wanted to see fireworks on July 4th, you went to the lakefront and the city threw some fireworks into the sky for you. You didn't

drive to an Indian reservation and buy enough fucking explosives to take out Dresden, which is what Terry

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