I have three icons: Joan Rivers, Martha Stewart and Larry Flynt. So, when I drove to Beverly Hills to meet Flynt at his headquarters, I was giddy like a schoolgirl at a pop concert – just my Bieber happens to be a 73-year-old, foul-mouthed pornographer bound to a wheelchair.
Afew years ago, I didn’t think making a family was a part of my future. I had just been asked to be in my first film. The director (who has since become a good friend) met me in a celebrity-infested West Hollywood restaurant, where we knocked back hard booze and talked about her film.
I have this fantasy for the future. It involves moving far, far away from the city, dropping my job as a writer and ditching my musical career. I keep my husband though... My fantasy for a rural, simple future is considered grossly basic in my peer group, because educated, feminist women like myself are supposed to want more.
