Me: How are you, Mom?
Mom: Oh, Emily. I have so much to do. I don't think I'm going to make it.
Me: Well, actually, Mom, none of us are going to make it. Or rather, all of us are going to make it--to the end. So don't worry so much about whether you are or you aren't. You are and you aren't. You're gonna die someday, so you're gonna make it to death, but on the other hand, you're not gonna make it through life.
[pause]
Mom: I guess hadn't really thought of it that way before.

Dad: How are you?
Me: Unfortunately, I'm still in the middle of the slow process of trying to remove my head from my ass.
Dad (pleasantly): Well, just don't strain your neck when you finally get it out.

Voicemail from Noah (brother, age 21): Hey Em, it's me. I'm having a real hard time here. My girlfriend's in Argentina, I hate school, I just had a mohawk and shaved it off, and I'm not sure if I've ever really experienced anything in my life so far. It'd be real great to talk to my sister. Love you. Bye.