Attitude Funny Quotes

It's a funny thing about life, once you begin to take note of the things you are grateful for, you begin to lose sight of the things that you lack.

Fuck it... That's really the attitude that keeps a family together, it's not "we love each other", it's just "fuck it, man.

The more you talk about it, rehash it, rethink it, cross analyze it, debate it, respond to it, get paranoid about it, compete with it, complain about it, immortalize it, cry over it, kick it, defame it, stalk it, gossip about it, pray over it, put it down or dissect its motives it continues to rot in your brain. It is dead. It is over. It is gone. It is done. It is time to bury it because it is smelling up your life and no one wants to be near your rotted corpse of memories and decaying attitude. Be the funeral director of your life and bury that thing!

Just three words? Nothing about his physical health? His equipment? His supplies?' 'You got me,' she said. 'He left a detailed status report. I just decided to lie for no reason.' 'Funny,' Venkat said. 'Be a smart-ass to a guy seven levels above you at your company. See how that works out.' 'Oh no,' Mindy said. 'I might lose my job as an interplanetary voyeur? I guess I'd have to use my master's degree for something else.' 'I remember when you were shy.' 'I'm space paparazzi now. The attitude comes with the job.

The only good teachers for you are those friends who love you, who think you are interesting, or very important, or wonderfully funny; whose attitude is: "Tell me more. Tell me all you can. I want to understand more about everything you feel and know and all the changes inside and out of you. Let more come out." And if you have no such friend,--and you want to write,--well, then you must imagine one.

If you're stressing over happiness, you're doing it wrong!

The most upsetting thing about Society’s attitude towards disabled people is that many millions of disabled people became disabled while trying to please Society, the very same bitch that secretly regards them as subhuman.

Its funny when people recently change their attitude to gain entrance into your heart, which may only ignite your passion to close the door.

I chase goals, not girls.

FYI, baby, havin' your attitude back is so far from annoying, it's not fuckin' funny.

The Fitzphie pizzazz, Sophie repeated, There's no such thing. Not what that attitude, there isn't! Keefe told her.

Sometimes when jerks become Christians, it's like a bully learning karate. Instead of having Christ transform our hearts and attitudes, we now have a new method with which to beat you up....what was once just 'forcing everyone to agree with my opinion' is now 'forcing everyone to agree with my opinion in the name of God.

The attitude that nature is chaotic and that the artist puts order into it is a very absurd point of view, I think. All that we can hope for is to put some order into ourselves

Colour, gender and sexuality make us human and fuel our souls. Trolls are nasty, jealous and bitter people, who should definitely be living in holes!

You’re already stuck with yourself for a lifetime. Why not improve this relationship?

Sadly, however, the sight of her generous D cups no longer sparked an ounce of interest from Little Sam, the man in charge of social activities.

FORBIDDEN Pain without learning is forbidden, waking up one day not knowing what to do, being afraid of your memories. It is forbidden not to smile at problems, not to fight for what you want, to abandon all because of fears, not to realize your dreams. It is forbidden not to show your love, to be ashamed of your tears, to not laugh with children, to make someone else pay your debts, bad humor. It is forbidden to forget your friends, to not try to understand why they live far away, to treat people as disposable, to call them only when you need them. It is forbidden to not be yourself in front of others, pretending around people you don’t care about, trying to be funny just so you'll be remembered, to forget about all the people who love you. It is forbidden not to do things for yourself, to be afraid of life and its commitments, to not to live each day as if it were your last. It forbidden to take someone out without having fun, to forget their eyes, their laugh, to not respect love even if it is past, just because your paths have stopped crossing, to forget your past and only live in the moment. It is forbidden not to try to understand people, to think that other’s lives are worth more than yours, to not know that each one of us has our own way and our own happiness. It is forbidden not create your own story, to have no time for people who need you, to not understand what life gives to you, and that it can also be taken away. It is forbidden not find your happiness, to not live your life with a positive attitude, to not think we can do better and be better, to feel that without you, this world would still be the same...

Suddenly he caught his reflection in the mirror behind her. His face was twisted into a dark scowl, and he was standing there naked, with a boner, and another man’s business card in his hand. He looked like a dick.

I'm a guy. Unless the dirt attacks first, I leave it in peace.

The Dictionary defines Soul Mate as: A person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament. Before I met mine, I didn't know I was bonkers!

Dry your tears and kick this gloomy attitude in the pants, Amelia!" I say out loud to myself because who else does a girl talk to when she's alone in the car in the middle of a mental breakdown?

Tex looked at Duke “She’s got spunk,” he said. “Where I come from, we call it sass,” Duke replied. “Where I come from, we call it attitude,” Smithie put in. “Oh for the love of God, whatever you call it, are you in or are you out?” Jules clipped.

To evade arrogance, remind yourself (from time to time) that your talent or success could have been better. To be thankful, remind yourself (every now and then) that your illness or failure could have been worse.

It was a kind of one-upmanship, where nobody knows what's going on, and they'd put the other one down as if they did know. They all fake that they know, and if one student admits for a moment that something is confusing by asking a question, the others take a high-handed attitude, acting as if it's not confusing at all, telling him that he's wasting their time... All the work they did, intelligent people, but they got themselves into this funny state of mind, this strange kind of self-propagating "education" which is meaningless, utterly meaningless.

Yes! Yes! There's the attitude. Where was that girl during the race? Off getting sushi?

We tend to have things a little bit easier than girls. And we tend to assume therefore that the world was built for us, and that we’re, you know, the culmination of everything that came before us. And then we get told that having a little bit of this attitude is called balls, and that balls are good, and we kind of take it from there

Death would be an extremely bad thing like most of us paint it, if being dead were painful.

Keep your heads up! We are sinking!

Isn’t it funny how we make rational excuses for being out of alignment? We say, “Well, this ____ and that ____ happened, so it makes perfect sense for me to be feeling like this ____ and wanting to do this ____.” Yet, to this day, I have never met a happy person who adheres to those excuses. In fact, each time I – or anyone else – decide to give in to “rational excuses” that justify feeling bad – it’s interesting that only further suffering is the result. There is never a good enough reason for us to be out of alignment with peace. Sure, we can go there and make choices that dim our lights… and that is fine; there certainly is purpose for it and the contrast gives us lessons to learn… yet if we’re aware of what we are doing and we’re ready to let go of the suffering – then why go there at all? It’s like beating a dead horse. Been there, done that… so why do we keep repeating it? Pain is going to happen; it’s inevitable in this human experience, yet it is often so brief. When we make those excuses, what happens is: we pick up that pain and begin to carry it with us into the next day… and the next day… into next week… maybe next month… and some of us even carry it for years or to our graves! Forgive, let it go! It is NOT worth it! It is NEVER worth it. There is never a good enough reason for us to pick up that pain and carry it with us. There is never a good enough reason for us to be out of alignment with peace. Unforgiveness hurts you; it hurts others, so why even go there? Why even promote pain? Why say painful things to yourself or others? Why think pain? Just let it go! Whenever I look back on painful things or feel pain today, I know it is my EGO that drives me to “go there.” The EGO likes to have the last word, it likes to feel superior, it likes to make others feel less than in hopes that it will make itself (me) feel better about my insecurities. Maybe if I hurt them enough, they will feel the pain I felt over what they did to me. It’s only fair! It’s never my fault; it’s always someone else’s. There is a twisted sense of pleasure I get from feeling this way, and my EGO eats it right up. YET! With awareness that continues to grow and expand each day, I choose to not feed my pain (EGO) or even go there. I still feel it at times, of course, so I simply acknowledge it and then release it. I HAVE power and choice over my speech and actions. I do not need to ever “go there” again. It’s my choice; it’s your choice. So it’s about damn time we start realizing this. We are not victims of our impulses or emotions; we have the power to control them, and so it’s time to stop acting like we don’t. It’s time to relinquish the excuses.

Attraction is a funny thing. Women can be beautiful and still do nothing for me. They can be stereotypically sexy and I will still pass them over. They can look innocent and it won’t interest me, have a sassy attitude and I’ll be looking elsewhere. I get bored easily and am as fickle as April weather.

Seek no forgiveness from men in robes. It is just a simple change of clothes. Otherwise, they are like most of us - assholes, or dopes.

Beneath the people we think we are, there are funnier, happier, livelier people that we keep ignoring.

I meant to be nice, but there were so many other options.

If your imaginary buddy 'up there' and his book and ism tell you to hate and kill people of another #faith and #religion, then, this non-existent f****r's mind is as little as his pecker.

When I write, it feels like there are two little creatures that sit on each of my shoulders. One whispers, "You can do this. You've got what it takes." The other sounds like my mother-in-law.

Sexually active? Sexually active? Patrick and I hadn't even learned the fine points of kissing yet! I marched on down. 'For your information,' I said from the doorway, as both Dad and Lester jerked to attention, 'I am about as sexually active as a bag of spinach, and if you want to keep me on the porch and not out in the park somewhere behind the bushes, you'll keep the stupid porch light off when I come home with a boy.

Feeling unable to maintain this detachment of attitude towards human- and, in especial, matrimonial- affairs, I asked whether it was not true that she had married Bob Duport. She nodded; not exactly conveying, it seemed to me, that by some happy chance their union had introduced her to an unexpected terrestrial paradise.

Some people say the book is dying but I disagree. Bookshops might be on the way out, but not the book itself. As long as there are people there’s always market for a good story. Do you read?’ ‘Does Vogue, Heat, Attitude, The Gay Times and Hello! count?

I would not hurt you, little man,' he said. 'I think that I got the disorder in Mullingar,' I explained. I knew that I had gained his confidence and that the danger of violence was now passed. He then did something which took me by surprise. He pulled up his own ragged trouser and showed me his own left leg. It was smooth, shapely and fairly fat but it was made of wood also. 'That is a funny coincidence,' I said. I now perceived the reason for his sudden change of attitude. 'You are a sweet man,' he responded, 'and I would not lay a finger on your personality. I am the captain of all the one-legged men in the country. I knew them all up to now except one—your own self—and that one is now also my friend into the same bargain. If any man looks at you sideways, I will rip his belly.' 'That is very friendly talk,' I said. 'Wide open,' he said, making a wide movement with his hands. 'If you are ever troubled, send for me and I will save you from the woman.' 'Women I have no interest in at all,' I said smiling. 'A fiddle is a better thing for diversion.' 'It does not matter. If your perplexity is an army or a dog, I will come with all the one-leggèd men and rip the bellies. My real name is Martin Finnucane.' 'It is a reasonable name,' I assented. 'Martin Finnucane,' he repeated, listening to his own voice as if he were listening to the sweetest music in the world.

Wise men don't feel companionless when they are not in the company of their egos.

Little people make tall claims. As being this-that avatar or messiah. Some even say they're God. Well, if they are, I'm their grand-pop.

I don't imagine book elitists as my audience when writing. I dream about teachers, morticians and garbage men instead.

keep your eyes on him, you wretched vainglorious creature,

I am not fake, I am just to good to be true :-)

Her adept said: “I’ll keep them off you. Nav, show them what the Ninth house does.” “We do bones, motherfucker,” Gideon said.

When he can't take anymore, Galen plucks his phone from his pocket and dials, then hangs up. When the call is returned, he says, "Hey, sweet lips." The females at the table hush each other to get a better listen. A few of them whip their heads toward Emma to see if she's on the other end of the conversation. Satisfied she's not, they lean closer. Rachel snorts. "If only you liked sweets." "I can't wait to see you tonight. Wear that pink shirt I like." Rachel laughs. "Sounds like you're in what we humans like to call a pickle. My poor, drop-dead-gorgeous sweet pea. Emma still not talking to you, leaving you alone with all those hormonal girls?" "Eight-thirty? That's so far away. Can't I meet you sooner?" One of the females actually gets up and takes her tray and her attitude to another table. Galen tries not to get too excited. "Do you need to be checked out of school, son? Are you feeling ill?" Galen tosses a glance at Emma, who's picking a pepperoni off her pizza and eyeing it as if it were dolphin dung. "I can't skip school to meet you again, boo. But I'll be thinking about you. No one but you." A few more females get up and stalk their trays to the trash. The cheerleader in front of him rolls her eyes and starts a conversation with the chubby brunette beside her-the same chubby brunette she pushed into a locker to get to him two hours ago. "Be still my heart," Rachel drawls. "But seriously, I can't read your signals. I don't know what you're asking me to do." "Right now, nothing. But I might change my mind about skipping. I really miss you." Rachel clears her throat. "All right, sweet pea. You just let your mama know, and she'll come get her wittle boy from school, okay?" Galen hangs up. Why is Emma laughing again? Mark can't be that funny. The girl beside him clues him in: "Mark Baker. All the girls love him. But not as much as they love you. Except maybe Emma, I guess." "Speaking of all these girls, how did they get my phone number?" She giggles. "It's written on the wall in the girls' bathroom. One hundred hall." She holds her cell phone up to his face. An image of his number scrawled onto a stall door lights up the screen. In Emma's handwriting.

Funny,” Venkat said. “Be a smart-ass to a guy seven levels above you at your company. See how that works out.” “Oh no,” Mindy said. “I might lose my job as an interplanetary voyeur? I guess I’d have to use my master’s degree for something else.” “I remember when you were shy.” “I’m space paparazzi now. The attitude comes with the job.” “Yeah, yeah,” Venkat said. “Just send the e-mail.” “Already sent.

I lost myself immediately in one of the books, only emerging when the phone rang. “Dashiell?” my father intoned. As if someone else with my voice might be answering the phone at my mother’s apartment. “Yes, Father?” “Leeza and I would like to wish you a merry Christmas.” “Thank you, Father. And to you, as well.” [awkward pause] [even more awkward pause] “I hope your mother isn’t giving you any trouble.” Oh, Father, I love it when you play this game. “She told me if I clean all the ashes out of the grate, then I’ll be able to help my sisters get ready for the ball.” “It’s Christmas, Dashiell. Can’t you give that attitude a rest?” “Merry Christmas, Dad. And thanks for the presents.” “What presents?” “I’m sorry—those were all from Mom, weren’t they?” “Dashiell …” “I gotta go. The gingerbread men are on

If she in fact knows magic she needs to do a spell to adjust that shitty attitude she has all of a sudden,” Nona said. “I may not be a witch, but I will knock her right off that broomstick if she keeps this up.

...but it's not so much having to repair the damage, it's more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle-baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier...

I got some funny reactions, a lot of irate reactions, as if I were somehow taking people's fun away from them. I have nothing against sports. I like to watch a good basketball game and that sort of thing. On the other hand, we have to recognise that the mass hysteria about spectator sports plays a significant role. First of all, spectator sports make people more passive, because you're not doing them; you're watching somebody doing them. Secondly, they engender jingoist and chauvinist attitudes, sometimes to quite an extreme degree. I saw something in the newspapers just a day or two ago about how high-school teams are now so antagonistic and passionately committed to winning at all costs that they had to abandon the standard handshake before or after the game. These kids can't even do civil things like greeting one another because they're ready to kill one another. It's spectator sports that engender those attitudes, particularly when they're designed to organise a community to be hysterically committed to their gladiators. That's very dangerous, and it has lots of deleterious effects.

He swallowed, and his voice was a bit rough, but he was "You know, I think moving is key to this whole fucking thing." "This does t feel good?" Gavin kissed under Jamie's ear while rubbing circles around his nipples with a hard palm. "What is this, Fucking For Slackers?

This must happen to every child." I suddenly thought. "The moment when you realize your parent is a full person in their own right with their own life. Funny how we fight so hard to be seen as independent and capable ourselves but don't allot the same consideration to a parent.

And it was then that I vowed to never take personal responsibility for other people’s spoons/attitudes/stupidity, because frankly I have enough to worry about with my own shit. I suspect this is one of those life lessons that no one ever really gets to use, but still, I’m ready. Just try to hand me a spoon.

It's funny that being human means so many things, man made divisions counter our judgements towards being wary of the "other", this is worrying because the thing that unites us is being human that is what we all are and without lament but with joy we should embrace everybody we would then live in utopia of diversity.

There's something to be said about practice-even if I'm not actually practicing anything. Just hanging out in the water, holding my breath, withering my skin to grandma-like wrinkles. I pull off the flippers Toraf brought me and chuck them onto shore. I keep my back turned while he maneuvers his shorts into place. "Are you decent?" I call after a few seconds. No matter how many times I tell him I can't see into the water yet, he insists I'm just trying to look at his "eel." For crying out loud. "Oh, I'm more than decent. I'm actually quite a catch." I couldn't agree more. Toraf is good-looking, funny, and considerate-which makes me question Rayna's attitude.

When that woman stood up and said, “No, rape is not funny,” she did not consent to participating in a culture that encourages lax attitudes toward sexual violence and the concerns of women. Rape humor is what encourages a man to feel comfortable tweeting to Daniel Tosh, “the only ppl who are mad at you are the feminist bitches who never get laid and hope they get raped so they can get laid,” which is one of the idiotic, Pavlovian responses a certain kind of person has when women have the nerve to suggest that they don’t find sexual violence amusing. In that man’s universe, women who get properly laid are totally fine with rape humor. A satisfied vagina is a balm in Gilead.

If you'll live your life with the punchline in mind, you'll live a life of meaning and purpose. In other words, when you have a goal, when you know where you are going, every experience becomes a stepping stone and every day becomes valuable. Your decisions, your actions, your attitude--they are all shaped by the place you want to get to, the punchline.

How many girls question… Here’s how I handled it – would love to know if you think this was handled properly… (using cocky-funny attitude) Me: “I don’t tell that.” Her: “More or less than 20?” Me: “I have some freedom of information forms in the car – you could fill one out and get your answer in 20 years.” Her: “Don’t you want to know how many guys I’ve been with?” Me: “No.

Nookie.” I giggle because the word itself is funny but hearing her say it makes it even more so. “I’m going to give you some advice because you’re still a new wife—and because my son can be a little shit at times. I know; I’m his mum.” She looks around as though she’s about to reveal top-secret information. “Nookie equals power and there’s a reason he wants it from you all the time. It levels the playing field. Don’t like something he’s doing? Take the nookie away. Get the results you want. Need him to see things your way but he refuses? Withhold the nookie and he’ll make the fastest attitude adjustment you’ve ever seen. Want your husband to retire because he’s going to work himself into an early grave and miss his grandchildren growing up the way he missed his kids? Close the gates of nookie and get your husband home with you instead of burying him. That’s how you work it, darling. You use the power of the nookie to get the results you want.

You want to know who the strongest man in the Kabuki District is? You must be new in town. You won't last long with that attitude. Forget it. This town is on a whole different level. You got thugs, brawlers, vigilantes and rogue warriors from all over Edo here. It's like a haven for hooligans. This is for your own good. Have a drink and go back to the countryside. What's that? You want me to tell you about the top dogs before you go? You really like this stuff. First, there are four monsters on a level of their own: The Fierce and Divine Madamoiselle Saigo, Doromizu Jirocho the Gallant, Peacock Princess Kada and Empress Otose. The four factions are in a standoff which preserves a fragile balance of power. Who would be the strongest in a fight? You wouldn't be able to even scratch those beasts. Saigo and Jirocho in particular, were heroes during the Joui War. Well, they're too old to go on a tear now. If you want someone who's currently active, there's Katsuro Kuroguma, a young leader in the Doromizu Faction. He's the most feared man in Kabuki District right now. You'll also find a few former Joui in Saigo's Faction. There are rumours about Kada's Faction having ties to some crazy folk. Otose's Faction? It's just a bar, really. She's just an old lady with a soft heart. But if you try any funny business on her turf, you'll run into a certain guy. A guy who holds his own against the Big Three by himself. One hell of a monster, with hair that's completely white. A demon...

eyes. She felt the changes shimmer across her scales. The hardest part was the extra horns IceWings had around their heads. She concentrated on making her ruff look like it was made of icicles and hoped that would do. She also couldn’t make her claws ridged like IceWing claws, and her tail wasn’t as whip-thin at the end as an IceWing’s would be. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe there’s no way I’ll get away with it. But it was still pretty dark out . . . and she really, really wanted to know what a NightWing was doing out here. Well, she thought ruefully, if he figures me out, I guess I’ll just kill him. Somehow it didn’t sound as funny as she’d hoped. She leaped into the air and flew back to the spot where she’d seen the strange dragon. For a moment she was afraid she’d lost him, before she realized that he was lying down, his black scales half-hidden in the long shadows. Confidence, she told herself. It’s all about attitude. “Hey!” she barked, landing with a thump beside him. “Who are you, and what are you doing in our territory?” The NightWing leaped up in surprise and stared at her. He was a lot younger and smaller than Morrowseer, wiry and graceful in his movements even when he was startled. The silver scales sparkling under his wings caught the morning light like trapped stars. “Great moons. Where did you come from?” he asked. He looked up at the sky with a puzzled expression. “Where do you think?” she said. “And I’m asking the questions here. What are you doing in the Ice Kingdom?” “Technically this isn’t the Ice Kingdom yet,” he said. “Or didn’t you know that?” It isn’t? she thought. The map she’d memorized didn’t exactly have borders drawn on it, not that those would have helped her out here anyway.

FRIDAY, APRIL 2, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Oh my, another item has been added to my list of sins. Last night I was lying in bed, waiting for Father to tuck me in and say my prayers with me, when Mother came into the room, sat on my bed and asked very gently, “Anne, Daddy isn’t ready. How about if I listen to your prayers tonight?” “No, Momsy,” I replied. Mother got up, stood beside my bed for a moment and then slowly walked toward the door. Suddenly she turned, her face contorted with pain, and said, “I don’t want to be angry with you. I can’t make you love me!” A few tears slid down her cheeks as she went out the door. I lay still, thinking how mean it was of me to reject her so cruelly, but I also knew that I was incapable of answering her any other way. I can’t be a hypocrite and pray with her when I don’t feel like it. It just doesn’t work that way. I felt sorry for Mother—very, very sorry—because for the first time in my life I noticed she wasn’t indifferent to my coldness. I saw the sorrow in her face when she talked about not being able to make me love her. It’s hard to tell the truth, and yet the truth is that she’s the one who’s rejected me. She’s the one whose tactless comments and cruel jokes about matters I don’t think are funny have made me insensitive to any sign of love on her part. Just as my heart sinks every time I hear her harsh words, that’s how her heart sank when she realized there was no more love between us. She cried half the night and didn’t get any sleep. Father has avoided looking at me, and if his eyes do happen to cross mine, I can read his unspoken words: “How can you be so unkind? How dare you make your mother so sad!” Everyone expects me to apologize, but this is not something I can apologize for, because I told the truth, and sooner or later Mother was bound to find out anyway. I seem to be indifferent to Mother’s tears and Father’s glances, and I am, because both of them are now feeling what I’ve always felt. I can only feel sorry for Mother, who will have to figure out what her attitude should be all by herself. For my part, I will continue to remain silent and aloof, and I don’t intend to shrink from the truth, because the longer it’s postponed, the harder it will be for them to accept it when they do hear it! Yours, Anne

The proper attitude toward human activity and climate is expressed in the 1957 novel Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Consider the following passage, where industrialist-philosopher Francisco d’Anconia remarks to steel magnate Hank Rearden how dangerous the climate is, absent massive industrial development. The conversation takes place indoors at an elegant party during a severe storm (in the era before all severe storms were blamed on fossil fuels). There was only a faint tinge of red left on the edge of the earth, just enough to outline the scraps of clouds ripped by the tortured battle of the storm in the sky. Dim shapes kept sweeping through space and vanishing, shapes which were branches, but looked as if they were the fury of the wind made visible. “It’s a terrible night for any animal caught unprotected on that plain,” said Francisco d’Anconia. “This is when one should appreciate the meaning of being a man.” Rearden did not answer for a moment; then he said, as if in answer to himself, a tone of wonder in his voice, “Funny . . .” “What?” “You told me what I was thinking just a while ago . . .” “You were?” “. . . only I didn’t have the words for it.” “Shall I tell you the rest of the words?” “Go ahead.” “You stood here and watched the storm with the greatest pride one can ever feel—because you are able to have summer flowers and half-naked women in your house on a night like this, in demonstration of your victory over that storm. And if it weren’t for you, most of those who are here would be left helpless at the mercy of that wind in the middle of some such plain.

MINDY READ the Morse code aloud. “ROLLED. FIXING NOW.” “What? That’s it?” Venkat said over the phone. “That’s all he said,” she reported, cradling the phone as she typed out an e-mail to the list of interested parties. “Just three words? Nothing about his physical health? His equipment? His supplies?” “You got me,” she said. “He left a detailed status report. I just decided to lie for no reason.” “Funny,” Venkat said. “Be a smart-ass to a guy seven levels above you at your company. See how that works out.” “Oh no,” Mindy said. “I might lose my job as an interplanetary voyeur? I guess I’d have to use my master’s degree for something else.” “I remember when you were shy.” “I’m space paparazzi now. The attitude comes with the job.” “Yeah, yeah,” Venkat said. “Just send the e-mail.” “Already sent.

Mindy read the Morse code aloud. "ROLLED. FIXING NOW." "What? That's it?" Venkat said over the phone. "That's all he said," she reported, cradling the phone as she typed out an e-mail list of interest parties. "Just three words? Nothing about his physical health? His equipment? His supplies?" "You got me," she said. "He left a detailed status report. I just decided to lie for no reason." "Funny," Venkat said. "Be a smart-ass to a guy seven levels above you at your company. See how that works out." "Oh no," Mindy said. "I might lose my job as an interplanetary voyeur? I guess I'd have to use my master's degree for something else." "I remember when you were shy." "I'm the space paparazzi now. The attitude comes with the job." "Yeah, yeah," Venkat said. "Just send the e-mail." "Already sent.

It seemed slightly bitchy, but you have to respect that level of I-have-no-fucks-left-to-give-about-silverware-that-doesn’t-even-belong-to-me. With that one spoon drop she told everyone at the party, “If you aren’t going to take care of your shit then I’m sure as hell not going to take responsibility for it.” That’s when I decided I adored that woman and her attitude. I’d probably feel differently if I was a foundling left on her doorstep, but I was not. I was a woman who had just seen another woman pass the spoon test, a test I didn’t even know existed and that no one else had studied for. And it was then that I vowed to never take personal responsibility for other people’s spoons/attitudes/stupidity, because frankly I have enough to worry about with my own shit. I suspect this is one of those life lessons that no one ever really gets to use, but still, I’m ready. Just try to hand me a spoon.

There were three great comedians in my formative years—Bill Cosby, Bill Murray, and Richard Pryor—and they wrecked comedy for a generation. How? By never saying anything funny. You can quote a Steve Martin joke, or a Rodney Dangerfield line, but Pryor, Cosby, and Murray? The things they said were funny only when they said them. In Cosby’s case, it didn’t even need to be sentences: “The thing of the thing puts the milk in the toast, and ha, ha, ha!” It was gibberish and America loved it. The problem was that they inspired a generation of comedians who tried coasting on personality—they were all attitude and no jokes. It was also a time when comedy stars didn’t seem to care. Bill Murray made some lousy movies; Richard Pryor and Eddie Murphy made even more; and any script that was too lame for these guys, Chevy Chase made. These were smart people—they had to know how bad these films were, but they just grabbed a paycheck and did them. Most of these comic actors started as writers—they could have written their own scripts, but they rarely bothered. Then, at the end of a decade of lazy comedy and half-baked material, The Simpsons came along. We cared about jokes, and we worked endless hours to cram as many into a show as possible. I’m not sure we can take all the credit, but TV and movies started trying harder. Jokes were back. Shows like 30 Rock and Arrested Development demanded that you pay attention. These days, comedy stars like Seth Rogen, Amy Schumer, Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, and Jonah Hill actually write the comedies they star in.

A long time ago Ian had told her he was half in love with her, yet now that they were betrothed he’d never spoken a word of it, had not even pretended. She wasn’t certain of his motives or his feelings; she wasn’t certain of her own, either. All she really knew was that the sight of his hard, handsome face with its chiseled features, and hold amber eyes never failed to make her entire being feel tense and alive. She knew he liked to kis her, and that she very much liked being kissed by him. Added to his other attractions was something else that drew her inexorably to him: From their very first meeting, Elizabeth had sensed that beneath his bland sophistication and rugged virility Ian Thornton had a depth that most people lacked. “It’s so hard to know,” she whispered, “how I ought to feel or what I ought to think. And I have the worst feeling it’s not going to matter what I know or what I think,” she added almost sadly, “because I am going to love him.” She opened her eyes and looked at Alex. “It’s happening, and I cannot stop it. It was happening two years ago, and I couldn’t stop it then, either. So you see,” she added with a sad little smile, “it would be so much nicer for me if you could love him just a little, too.” Alex reached across the table and took Elizabeth’s hands in hers. “If you love him, then he must be the very best of men. I shall henceforth make it a point to see all his best qualities!” Alex hesitated, and then she hazarded the question: “Elizabeth, does he love you?” Elizabeth shook her head. “He wants me, he says, and he wants children.” Alex swallowed embarrassed laughter. “He what?” “He wants me, and he wants children.” A funny, knowing smile tugged at Alexandra’s lips. “You didn’t tell me he said the first part. I am much encouraged,” she teased while a rosy blush stole over her cheeks. “I think I am, too,” Elizabeth admitted, drawing a swift, searching look from Alex. “Elizabeth, this is scarcely the time to discuss this-in fact,” Alex added, her flush deepening. “I don’t think there is a really good time to discuss it-but has Lucinda explained to you how children are conceived?” “Yes, of course,” Elizabeth said without hesitation. “Good, because I would have been the logical one otherwise, and I still remember my reaction when I found out. It was not a pretty sight,” she laughed. “On the other hand, you were always much the wiser girl than I.” “I don’t think so at all,” Elizabeth said, but she couldn’t imagine what there was, really, to blush about. Children, Lucinda had told her when she’d asked, were conceived when a husband kissed his wife in be. And it hurt the first time. Ian’s kisses were sometimes almost bruising, but they never actually hurt, and she enjoyed them terribly. As if speaking her feelings aloud to Alexandra had somehow relieved her of the burden of trying to deal with them, Elizabeth was so joyously relaxed that she suspected Ian noticed it at once when the men joined them in the drawing room. Ian did notice it; in fact, as they sat down to play a game of cards in accordance with Elizabeth’s cheery suggestion, he noticed there was a subtle but distinct softening in the attitudes of both ladies toward him.

To be honest? I'd thought myself above them. What a nasty little counter-culture snob I was. There they were, doing their fucking best, trying to have a life, trying to bring up their children decently, struggling to make the payments on the little house, wondering where their youth had gone, where love had gone, what was to become of them and all I could do was be a snotty, judgmental cow. But it was no good. I couldn't be like them. I'd seen too much, done too much that was outside anything they knew. I wasn't better than them, but I was different. We had no point of contact other than work. Even then, they disapproved of my attitude, my ways of dealing with the clients. Many's the time I'd ground my teeth as Andrea or Fran had taken the piss out of some hapless, useless, illiterate get they were assigned to; being funny at the expense of their stupidity, their complete inability to deal with straight society. Sure, I knew it was partly a defence mechanism; they did it because it was laugh or scream, and we were always told it wasn't good to let the clients get too close. But all too often - not always, but enough times to make me seethe with irritation - there was an ingrained, self-serving elitism in there too. Who'd see it better than me? They sealed themselves up in their white-collar world like chrysalides and waited for some kind of reward for being good girls and boys, for playing the game, being a bit of a cut above the messy rest - a reward that didn't exist, would never come and that they would only realise was a lie when it was far too late. Now I would be one of the Others, the clients, the ones who stood outside in the cold and, shivering, looked in at the lighted windows of reason and middle-class respectability. I would be another colossal fuck-up, another dinner party story. But my sin was all the greater because I'd wilfully defected from the right side to the hopelessly, eternally wrong side. I was not only a screw-up, I was a traitor.

Here’s a sentence in a book I’m reading: ‘We belong, of course, to a generation that’s seen through things, seen how futile everything is, and had the courage to accept futility, and say to ourselves: There’s nothing for it but to enjoy ourselves as best we can.’ Well, I suppose that’s my generation, the one that’s seen the war and its aftermath; and, of course, it is the attitude of quite a crowd; but when you come to think of it, it might have been said by any rather unthinking person in any generation; certainly might have been said by the last generation after religion had got the knock that Darwin gave it. For what does it come to? Suppose you admit having seen through religion and marriage and treaties, and commercial honesty and freedom and ideals of every kind, seen that there’s nothing absolute about them, that they lead of themselves to no definite reward, either in this world or a next which doesn’t exist perhaps, and that the only thing absolute is pleasure and that you mean to have it — are you any farther towards getting pleasure? No! you’re a long way farther off. If everybody’s creed is consciously and crudely ‘grab a good time at all costs,’ everybody is going to grab it at the expense of everybody else, and the devil will take the hindmost, and that’ll be nearly everybody, especially the sort of slackers who naturally hold that creed, so that they, most certainly, aren’t going to get a good time. All those things they’ve so cleverly seen through are only rules of the road devised by men throughout the ages to keep people within bounds, so that we may all have a reasonable chance of getting a good time, instead of the good time going only to the violent, callous, dangerous and able few. All our institutions, religion, marriage, treaties, the law, and the rest, are simply forms of consideration for others necessary to secure consideration for self. Without them we should be a society of feeble motor-bandits and streetwalkers in slavery to a few super-crooks. You can’t, therefore, disbelieve in consideration for others without making an idiot of yourself and spoiling your own chances of a good time. The funny thing is that no matter how we all talk, we recognise that perfectly. People who prate like the fellow in that book don’t act up to their creed when it comes to the point. Even a motor-bandit doesn’t turn King’s evidence. In fact, this new philosophy of ‘having the courage to accept futility and grab a good time’ is simply a shallow bit of thinking; all the same, it seemed quite plausible when I read it.

I didn’t think we were being quiet, particularly. High heels may have looked dainty, but they didn’t sound that way on a tile floor. Maybe it was just that my dad was so absorbed in the convo on his cell phone. For whatever reason, when we emerged from the kitchen into the den, he started, and he stuffed the phone down by his side in the cushions. I was sorry I’d startled him, but it really was comical to see this big blond manly man jump three feet off the sofa when he saw two teenage girls. I mean, it would have been funny if it weren’t so sad. Dad was a ferocious lawyer in court. Out of court, he was one of those Big Man on Campus types who shook hands with everybody from the mayor to the alleged ax murderer. A lot like Sean, actually. There were only two things Dad was afraid of. First, he wigged out when anything in the house was misplaced. I won’t even go into all the arguments we’d had about my room being a mess. They’d ended when I told him it was my room, and if he didn’t stop bugging me about it, I would put kitchen utensils in the wrong drawers, maybe even hide some (cue horror movie music). No spoons for you! Second, he was easily startled, and very pissed off afterward. “Damn it, Lori!” he hollered. “It’s great to see you too, loving father. Lo, I have brought my friend Tammy to witness out domestic bliss. She’s on the tennis team with me.” Actually, I was on the tennis team with her. “Hello, Tammy. It’s nice to meet you,” Dad said without getting up or shaking her hand or anything else he would normally do. While the two of them recited a few more snippets of polite nonsense, I watched my dad. From the angle of his body, I could tell he was protecting that cell phone behind the cushions. I nodded toward the hiding place. “Hot date?” I was totally kidding. I didn’t expect him to say, “When?” So I said, “Ever.” And then I realized I’d brought up a subject that I didn’t want to bring up, especially not while I was busy being self-absorbed. I clapped my hands. “Okay, then! Tammy and I are going upstairs very loudly, and after a few minutes we will come back down, ringing a cowbell. Please continue with your top secret phone convo.” I turned and headed for the stairs. Tammy followed me. I thought Dad might order me back, send Tammy out, and give me one of those lectures about my attitude (who, me?). But obviously he was chatting with Pamela Anderson and couldn’t wait for me to leave the room. Behind us, I heard him say, “I’m so sorry. I’m still here. Lori came in. Oh, yeah? I’d like to see you try.” “He seems jumpy,” Tammy whispered on the stairs. “Always,” I said. “Do you have a lot of explosions around your house?” I glanced at my watch. “Not this early.

Since emotions have to be programmed into robots from the outside, manufacturers may offer a menu of emotions carefully chosen on the basis of whether they are necessary, useful, or will increase bonding with the owner. In all likelihood, robots will be programmed to have only a few human emotions, depending on the situation. Perhaps the emotion most valued by the robot’s owner will be loyalty. One wants a robot that faithfully carries out its commands without complaints, that understands the needs of the master and anticipates them. The last thing an owner will want is a robot with an attitude, one that talks back, criticizes people, and whines. Helpful criticisms are important, but they must be made in a constructive, tactful way. Also, if humans give it conflicting commands, the robot should know to ignore all of them except those coming from its owner. Empathy will be another emotion that will be valued by the owner. Robots that have empathy will understand the problems of others and will come to their aid. By interpreting facial movements and listening to tone of voice, robots will be able to identify when a person is in distress and will provide assistance when possible. Strangely, fear is another emotion that is desirable. Evolution gave us the feeling of fear for a reason, to avoid certain things that are dangerous to us. Even though robots will be made of steel, they should fear certain things that can damage them, like falling off tall buildings or entering a raging fire. A totally fearless robot is a useless one if it destroys itself. But certain emotions may have to be deleted, forbidden, or highly regulated, such as anger. Given that robots could be built to have great physical strength, an angry robot could create tremendous problems in the home and workplace. Anger could get in the way of its duties and cause great damage to property. (The original evolutionary purpose of anger was to show our dissatisfaction. This can be done in a rational, dispassionate way, without getting angry.) Another emotion that should be deleted is the desire to be in command. A bossy robot will only make trouble and might challenge the judgment and wishes of the owner. (This point will also be important later, when we discuss whether robots will one day take over from humans.) Hence the robot will have to defer to the wishes of the owner, even if this may not be the best path. But perhaps the most difficult emotion to convey is humor, which is a glue that can bond total strangers together. A simple joke can defuse a tense situation or inflame it. The basic mechanics of humor are simple: they involve a punch line that is unanticipated. But the subtleties of humor can be enormous. In fact, we often size up other people on the basis of how they react to certain jokes. If humans use humor as a gauge to measure other humans, then one can appreciate the difficulty of creating a robot that can tell if a joke is funny or not.

Zeke, having plenty of wisdom and seeing just about everything through the years, was pretty crusty among the junior pilots. His legendary tough attitude in the face of rules made the young guys laugh. Hard. Often seen in the hangar on the catwalk checking out the mechanics turning wrenches, he’d have a cigarette in his mouth in an area full of fuel. Zeke knew the flashpoint was so high that he’d never start a fire, so he routinely ignored the “No Smoking” signs.

Happy New Year! May we all stop being the assholes we were the past year.

He's not the absolute best at wearing a fake smile or pretending to be excited about taking people's orders, but one thing does give him staying power: he's really good at not caring. His managers have never exactly declared him their favorite employee, but they do praise his attitude, which is funny because no one else ever has.

Luna wasn’t bothered by Ivy’s attitude. “I happen to have it on good authority that I am downright hilarious.” “Whose authority?” “I believe you call him ‘dad.’” “Dad doesn’t count,” Ivy protested. “He has to tell you that you’re funny.” “He has to tell me that?” Luna arched a dubious eyebrow. “Since when is that the rule?” “Since the first man met the first woman and she did hand puppets by the first fire and he faked a laugh,” Ivy replied, not missing a beat.

I'm joking when I say I'm the grand-pop of those claiming to be an avatar-messiah or god. But if they're serious, then, I am who I am.

Attitude at work shows attitude in life. If you want to know how people are doing in their lives, watch how they perform in their work. Do they have full commitment in giving their best to whatever they do? Do they treat their very act of being involved in an activity seriously? You can see that people who work halfheartedly are the very same people who get halfhearted results in life. The truth is we are always in a game because life is a game. We either play to win or not. Those who are serious about winning are the ones who do. Most people want to have fun playing the game, but winners are the ones who want to have serious fun. The most fun you can have in anything you do is by playing to win & by winning. The irony of life is that those who are not serious about life, end up in situations that are not funny. Winning results from the intention to win. The stronger your intent to win, the more your probabilities of winning. Playing to win mindset is considered obsolete by many, but you will see that whenever two evenly matched players are competing head to head, the one who is more intent on winning is the one who does. Individuals with strong intention of winning are able to overcome tougher challenges. Intention to win is important. Play to win.

Create New Pictures We can create new mental movies whenever we choose to do so. And when we develop (and concentrate on) new images that evoke powerful feelings and sensations, we’ll act in ways that support those new pictures! So, the first step is to create an image of your desired outcome. You are limited only by your imagination. As you know, most people are terrified about public speaking. In survey after survey, it is listed as the #1 fear that people have—ranked ahead of the fear of death! So, when most people are asked to even consider making a speech, what kinds of pictures do they run through their minds? They see themselves standing nervously in front of the audience. Perhaps they’re having trouble remembering what they want to say. Run these images over and over on your mental screen and you can be sure that you won’t have much success as a speaker! Instead, form a picture in your mind in which you’re confidently giving your presentation. The audience members are listening to your every word. You look sharp. Your delivery is smooth. You tell a funny story and the audience is laughing. At the end, you get a warm round of applause. People come up afterward to congratulate you. Do you see how these kinds of mental images can help you to become a better speaker? Recognize, however, that the pictures in your mind are not fulfilled overnight. But, by being patient and by persistently focusing on these mental images, you’ll automatically start acting in ways that support your vision.

Enemies & Stamps Romans 12:17-21 Postage stamps cost a lot. Funny thing, loving our enemies costs a lot too. We have to invest in forgiveness. And put aside the wealth of anger we feel. We foreclose on any resentment. We subtract harsh words. We look beyond the person’s debt of wrongs. We credit them as one of God’s children. We spend time to express that love. And finally we count our blessings. Loving our enemies costs us plenty, much more than pocket change to change our attitudes. As Christians we are called to look beyond the balance sheet and what we can profit and what we have lost. God asks us to take inventory of the price Jesus paid for us. God credits us depositing grace upon grace so that our account is never bankrupt. Out of these great riches we are to repay evil with good. Is there an enemy’s bad debt you can negate today?

Who knew raccoons were so aggressive?

I squeaked and squirmed to get loose, but I was born with the upper body strength of a hamster.

Dry your tears and kick this gloomy attitude in the pants, Amelia!" I say out loud to myself because who else does a girl talk to when she's alone in the car in the middle of a mental breakdown?

In the old days, when people wrote letters to each other on paper, they would occasionally write “ha ha” after a joke, to make sure the recipient knew the writer was being funny. When email took over the world in the 1980s, there were millions of instances of people writing jokes in their mail and the recipient being hurt or offended, not realizing that a joke had been made. Without standard verbal and visual cues, people had trouble consistently recognizing comedy as comedy. Thus the smiley face started appearing after any line that was meant to be a joke. This was joined by the winking face and a host of other expressions designed to give the reader a sense of the attitude beneath the words.

Gaby rolled her eyes to the way his words, laced with the origin of wherever the hell he was from, made everything sound so much more patronizing. This, she was not doing. She was not going to debate with him while Jamie and Sheryl pretended not to eavesdrop as they organized the countertop displays. His slick talk reminded her why she requested to avoid future interactions with him. He was an arrogant prick; although something about him told her that his arrogance came from what he thought of himself, versus 99% of the population’s, which was fueled by others’ opinions. “Look… can I help you with something?” Gaby asked with a smile dripping with sarcasm. “I mean… are you having some type of issue? Perhaps a burning…or an itching sensation? Are you looking for some type of medical assistance? Because I can tell you right now, we’re not a clinic, so...” Power began to laugh. He tilted his head back, face to ceiling and laughed, and Gaby realized it was the first time she’d seen him do so. To see his face softened beyond its usual rigid state was truly captivating. It was almost infectious. She let out a little snigger and looked off trying to keep from engaging completely. When she looked back to him, the laughter slowed but remained in his eyes. He licked his lips, and then pointed. “You’re funny. Very. You should’ve been a comedian.” “Yeah, well… I guess I missed my calling. Seriously…can I help you?” This time she was truly inquiring, no attitude, no jokes.

HUMOR IS POWER." ~ Karyn Buxman, RN, neurohumorist __________________     Chapter 1 What’s NOT So Funny About Nursing?     12 hour shifts . . . Doctors with attitude . . . Cranky co-workers . . . Frequent flyers . . . Non-compliant patients . . . Frustrated administrators . . . Antibiotic-resistant superbugs . . . Healthcare reform . . . Disorganized supply closets . . . Dwindling budgets . . . Increasing workloads . . . Bad hospital coffee.

Speaking of feelings, there’s so much intense teasing between you and your brothers, Jep. Do feelings ever get hurt? Jep: I love my brothers and would do anything for them. I know they feel the same about me. Alan has always been there for me with a nonjudgmental attitude, a listening ear, and wise advice. Jase is such a good teacher about wildlife, and he’s the best speaker in our family. He studies, prepares, and he’s always able to look at the funny side of life. I really respect his knowledge. I’ve always thought Willie is the coolest guy in the world. I’ve loved and looked up to him from the first moment I can remember. I’d tag along with him more than anybody else, and he took the time to teach me basketball and baseball. I copied him in just about everything, and I know sometimes it got on his nerves. I was so much younger than my brothers that I really didn’t start stuff, but I sure didn’t mind going to tell on them. They’d get spanked, and I wouldn’t.

Were one to call your stupid ism good, well then, one would either be equally idiotic, or a fool, or no good.

Funny how long it took us to learn the simple fact that God really is a Father, as displeased with a cramped, niggardly attitude of lack as with its opposite failing of acquisitiveness. ———

People may feel that I am materialistic, ideal, idiot, cool, funny. Its not their perception but my projection and I always have my own reasons for my being.

don't try to hate me or even judging my attitude anyway you are gonna fall in love.

Not everything's funny, Mother." "No," said Leola, "so I guess when you can laugh,, it's all the sweeter.

How to tell a funny story Funny stories are some of the most popular stories, because they bring laughter and humor into the conversation. Here are some ways you can tell a funny story. ●       Relate embarrassing stories. ●       Don’t try too hard. It is ironic how a person can be funnier when they are not really trying to be. Also, try too hard and your audience may find it annoying and irrelevant. ●       Keep the story personal. People tend to respond to people who try to humbly relate their stories. The more honest you are, the better. ●       Keep it short. Short stories tend to be the funniest. ●       Use a particular emotional attitude. You can choose a particular characteristic or attitude, like annoyed or excited, and try to live it. You can also sarcastically use the opposite emotion of what you are trying to convey. ●       Don’t worry about what other people might say as you tell your story. Funny stories should sound spontaneous and natural.

First of all, no messiahs are sent. Secondly, no messiah got it. Lastly, no messiah is. And if there ever was or is, maybe I too am it. As too is every dimwit.

ant a successful party? Remember to laugh! Don't take yourself too seriously-especially when it's party time. Tell jokes, share funny stories that highlight your own embarrassing moments. Celebrate fun memories. One of our favorite family parties is getting out the old photo albums and making fun of ourselves. Guests love it too if you have them bring some pictures of their own to add to the fun. now when to say "no" to good things and "yes" for the best. Everything I didn't do yesterday Added to everything I haven't done today Plus everything I won't do tomorrow-completely exhausts me! AUTHOR UNKNOWN ne of the best compliments you can give a friend is to say, "You're such a kind person!" And what exactly is a kind person? • Kindness is an attitude of the heart. • A kind person goes out of her way to be nice to someone else. All through Scripture we're shown God's character, and it's one of kindness. So why not lighten someone's load today and bring him or her joy? • Offer to help lighten someone's load. • Open the door for someone. • Even a bright smile conveys kindness.

They all perished. tragic deaths. sad parents. lawsuits.' Monica's words were met with stunned silence. ignoring the horrified looks on the student's faces, she shouted, 'Joking! We discovered that teens stand out far more than they blend in. they complain a lot, court high drama, and of course, there's their attitude.

AM: You know [my mother] could read a novel in an afternoon. She was the fastest reader I’ve ever met in my life. Not only that she’d remember it for the rest of her life. JM: She was a very complicated woman. Very complex… AM: She had the energy of a dynamo. KM: she could sing, she could play the piano… JC: She could be quite flamboyant. AM: She used to dance on the table on New Year’s Eve. KM: … she could draw, she could… she was a helluva bridge player. JC: She was funny. JM: … very bitchy. KM: She had an attitude about most things. AM: Oh well, yeah [we kept kosher]… until she started making bacon. Loved bacon. JM: I think she tried to rule and divide the kids. JC: Yeah, you see I always consider myself the favourite. AM: Yeah, I think I was [the favourite]. … AM: See I would, for example if I didn’t want to go to school, I would start limping around. My mother immediately caught on and she said ‘You don’t want to have to go to school today, you’re limping.’ And we’d both go to some place and have oysters. RM: You said that she saw portents in a lot of things, she saw signs. AM: She saw… mysterious things in the air from time to time. She’d have feelings from people. She once sat up in bed in the middle of the night, she suddenly said ‘My mother died’. And indeed at that moment her mother had died. RM: How d’you think that translated into you though? AM: Well, I used to think that the way… that a play was not about what was spoken but what was between the spoken lines. That the world is essentially is not what we call real. And these arts are attempting to approach that world. And it all comes from my mother. Y’know, its always coming from somewhere. She was that way. She idiolised artists, pianists, writers and so on. My father had no knowledge of any of that.

Gdmng everyone! Welcome to another dose of “Level Up Your Life”! Today’s topic might sting a bit, but hear me out – we’re talking about responsibility… Or rather, the lack thereof. You know, that cozy little place called “I don’t care” land. It’s comfy, familiar, maybe even fun… for a while. But let’s be honest, it’s a dead end. Nevertheless, maybe you like that? Maybe being irresponsible, unreliable & thoughtless is your thing. If that’s the case, well…more power to you.. You can keep on – keep on, blaming the world for your problems. You think, life loves rewarding people who play the victim, right? Of course not! Sweetheart, life rewards those who take responsibility. Those who show up, who follow through, who build a life they can be proud of. Is it easy? Absolutely not. But guess what? It’s worth it. Don’t Wait for life to slap you in the face. Take responsibility for your actions, words & start building something beautiful & better.. Darling listen – the universe has a funny way of giving you exactly what you ask for. It gives us what we ask for. Just like it responded to your irresponsible thoughts & choices, trust me – it will respond tenfold to your responsible behavior. Remember, responsibility isn’t a burden, it’s your superpower. So ditch the excuses & step up! Your world is waiting to see that responsible YOU & guess what? You’re totally capable of it. Stay Responsible & Blessed!

Ambrose should at least see what he’s missing. Jerk. Oh god, why doesn’t he want me that way? What did I do wrong? Buck-ass naked, with my pride hanging by the thinnest of threads, I raise my chin and meet my tutor’s eye. “Well? Any notes yet?” His mouth actually twitches. He finds this funny! I’m gonna kill him. “We could use an attitude adjustment, maybe. But then, some men like brats.