Dad Status Quotes

Current relationship status?” Her voice cut like an arctic chill blowing through the room. “If you mean me, then you’re not my type. If you mean my dad, he’s single, but I don’t think you’re his type either,” I said with a small smile. Mercy didn’t find it amusing. A small blue vein in her forehead started throbbing like crazy....“Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think he has a type. I’ve never seen him with a woman. Mercy, I hate to break it to you, but there’s a very real possibility my dad is gay.

I would think you’d have better things to do right now than look up the marital status of my ex-boyfriends on the Internet,” Mom had said to him, scathingly. “I like to keep track of their mating habits,” Dad had smirked.

What use is status if you have no one to share it with, Dad?

The majority of women in Welmont with children Charlie's age never miss a soccer game and don't earn special good mother status for being there. This is simply what good mothers do. These same mothers herald it an exceptional event if any of the dads leave the office early to catch a game. The fathers cheering on the sidelines are upheld as great dads. Fathers who miss the games are working. Mothers who miss the games, like me, are bad mothers.

The team manager had sent Dad an information sheet with everything he needed to know about Jason--emergency numbers, health information, but nothing that was really important. I mean, it didn’t provide vital stats like eye color, hair color, or girlfriend status.

Yukio was angry because he was. Because he was an asshole male with delusions of status just like Dad, just like the rest of them, and I’d humiliated him in front of Plex and Tanaseda. Because he was an asshole male just like the rest of them, in fact, and rage was the default setting.

Who says you have to be the best anyway?” “My dad.” Michael gave him a curious look. “Is it because you’ve done time that you think you’re not as good as anybody else?” “Oh, I think I’m as good. Other people are the problem.” “Because you’re an ex-con?” “And a carpenter. Not as much status in that as in what your dad does.” “But if you do it well, that’s all that counts. That’s what Mom always says. She says I can be whatever I want in life, as long as I do it with passion. Do you do your work with passion?

The violence of men, though, is modulated by a slider: they can allocate their energy along a continuum from competing with other men for access to women to wooing the women themselves and investing in their children, a continuum that biologists sometimes call “cads versus dads.”103 In a social ecosystem populated mainly by men, the optimal allocation for an individual man is at the “cad” end, because attaining alpha status is necessary to beat away the competition and a prerequisite to getting within wooing distance of the scarce women.

This isn’t some libertarian mistrust of government policy, which is healthy in any democracy. This is deep skepticism of the very institutions of our society. And it’s becoming more and more mainstream. We can’t trust the evening news. We can’t trust our politicians. Our universities, the gateway to a better life, are rigged against us. We can’t get jobs. You can’t believe these things and participate meaningfully in society. Social psychologists have shown that group belief is a powerful motivator in performance. When groups perceive that it’s in their interest to work hard and achieve things, members of that group outperform other similarly situated individuals. It’s obvious why: If you believe that hard work pays off, then you work hard; if you think it’s hard to get ahead even when you try, then why try at all? Similarly, when people do fail, this mind-set allows them to look outward. I once ran into an old acquaintance at a Middletown bar who told me that he had recently quit his job because he was sick of waking up early. I later saw him complaining on Facebook about the “Obama economy” and how it had affected his life. I don’t doubt that the Obama economy has affected many, but this man is assuredly not among them. His status in life is directly attributable to the choices he’s made, and his life will improve only through better decisions. But for him to make better choices, he needs to live in an environment that forces him to ask tough questions about himself. There is a cultural movement in the white working class to blame problems on society or the government, and that movement gains adherents by the day. Here is where the rhetoric of modern conservatives (and I say this as one of them) fails to meet the real challenges of their biggest constituents. Instead of encouraging engagement, conservatives increasingly foment the kind of detachment that has sapped the ambition of so many of my peers. I have watched some friends blossom into successful adults and others fall victim to the worst of Middletown’s temptations—premature parenthood, drugs, incarceration. What separates the successful from the unsuccessful are the expectations that they had for their own lives. Yet the message of the right is increasingly: It’s not your fault that you’re a loser; it’s the government’s fault. My dad, for example, has never disparaged hard work, but he mistrusts some of the most obvious paths to upward mobility. When

I hoped to offer U.S. intelligence agencies the opportunity to even place CIA officers in NOC (non-official cover) jobs in our company working under our Libyan contract. With agency officers in place with rock-solid “cover for status”—that’s the lie that explains who you are pretending to be—and “cover for action”—that’s the lie that explains what you’re doing while you’re there—the United States would have direct access to people in the seedy, murky underside of Libya, people whose motives and alliances were now unclear. The goals were a tall order, but don’t tell me the sky’s the limit when there are footprints on the moon, because as my dad would say, you never hit high aiming low.” Excerpt From: Jamie Smith. “Gray Work

So, you’re a pitcher,” I said inanely as we started up the stairs. The team manager had sent Dad an information sheet with everything he needed to know about Jason--emergency numbers, health information, but nothing that was really important. I mean, it didn’t provide vital stats like eye color, hair color, or girlfriend status. “Yeah. Didn’t play that much this year because I’m a freshman. I’m hoping that spending time on a collegiate team, playing through the summer, will improve my arm.” I almost said something really corny, like I didn’t think his arm needed improving, based on the way the sleeves of his burnt-orange T-shirt were hugging his biceps. But I refrained, since we’d just met and he might not know I was joking. Besides, it wouldn’t have really been a joke because he was way buff.

Don't date just to escape the "Im Single" status. Don't marry just to tick off a checklist. Life is NOT a grocery list. Find yourself first, then find someone who can accommodate the talents, the vision and the ambitions in your heart, someone who can be the enabler for you to emerge into your greatness. Find someone who believes in you, supports and encourages you even when the world laughs at your guts. But first, find yourself because it is far more important to be the right person than it is to date/marry the right person. Become a person of value. Don't go looking for a good woman until you've become a good man. And ladies, don't go looking for a good man till you've become a good woman. If you want a loving, honest, faithful, supportive and rich partner; first become what you are looking for. You must meet the requirements of your own requirements! Leaders, vision bearers and dream chasers look for character, commitment, vision, grit, faith, etc...but ordinary people look for coca-cola bottle shape kinder girl, a six pack kinder guy and a heavy bank balance...but dear men, it's her character that will raise your children not her beauty. It is character that makes a great wife. Dear ladies, It is character that makes a great Dad/husband not a car or a big wallet. Take note good people, you don't need to die to go to hell...misalignment of core values/purpose In your relationship/marriage is the beginning of your own hell right here on earth. In my humble opinion, misalignment of core values is worst than cheating. Yes, both are evil but cheating is a lesser evil compared to misalignment of core values. Trust me, you don't want to test this theory, you may not come out alive. So, leave the girl/boy down the road to a boy/girl down the road. Leave slay queens to slay kings. Leave party queens to party kings. Leave nyaope boys to nyaope girls, drug addicts to drug addicts, leave weed girls to weed boys, playboys to playgirls..,,AND legacy builders to legacy builders!

When I married your dad, I was young, but I was in love. He was, too, and that’s what marriage has always meant to me. Not status or advantages or television shows. It’s not always peaches and carrot cake, but it’s commitment formed out of a mutual love and respect and need to be with the other person.

Nick had looked up the word narcissism when his father accused his mother of being the poster child for that. He’d agreed with his dad’s armchair diagnosis, but that morning he felt like he was getting the full effect of the definition. The symptoms went through his mind like he was listening to a podcast—an extreme sense of self-importance and an inflated ego. Thoughts and fantasies of power, success, intelligence, and high status. Only associating with folks they consider to be special or in good social standing. Seeking constant attention and an entitled attitude.

Father's Day in Heavenly Wi-Fi Bliss Oh, dear departed Dad, Are you up in heaven or perhaps in hell? I wonder, do they offer Wi-Fi up there? I hope you've got my number, saved with care. Father's Day is here, you know, And everyone's giving their love a show. So, I thought of you, up in the skies, And sending you wishes, oh so wise. How can you resist, with internet divine? Check my WhatsApp status, it'll be quite a find! I hope you're feeling proud and full of glee, Knowing your son remembers, as you can see. Amma and sister, we keep you in prayer, Forgetting you? Oh no, we wouldn't dare! Stay happy and blessed, wherever you may be, Your loving son, signing off, with glee.

We think fathers are supposed to be these perfect role models – and maybe they should be, but really their just men. I think most daughters lose sight of that fact and then when their dad’s fall short of the ‘God’ status they get hurt. They’re men. We need to keep it in perspective and not set our standards so high. Face it, most of them should have to apply for a license just to be able to procreate. Seriously

End of December 2012 My Message to Andy   Hello Loverboy,               I’m glad you made peace with your dad before he passed. In regards to my relationship with Mr. S. S. Foong, I never got to know the man I called father. As you were aware, my summer vacations in Kula Lumpur were more a drudgery than a holiday. The fundamental reason I returned home was to spend time with my mother and female relatives. As had been the status quo, my old man would devise this or that regimen to try to butch me up. In the summer of 1970, he enrolled me at the Outward Bound School of Singapore (OBSS).

Pizza makes you a hero in the eyes of your kids. “Daddy got pizza!” You are higher status walking in the door with a pizza than if you were returning from a war with a Purple Heart.

Grab a big-ass piece of paper. I have ideas.” Then he turns to our friends and families, holds up my hand, and yells, “I’m king of the world! Roxy Santos said she’ll marry me!” They cheer and clap and hoot. Laughing, I shake my head. “What about your Hail Mary today and your game-winning throw? Might that have contributed to your king of the world status?” Leaning down, he whispers, “That’s just icing on the cake, biscuit. You’re the real prize, and everyone here knows it.

I’m listening,” Russ says, clearing his throat and wrapping his arms around me. “Doesn’t your dad work at UCMH? Didn’t you tell me that when we first met? You don’t wanna play basketball with your brother, right?” “Oh, so you do listen to me then. First, he’s my stepdad—let’s not disrespect Big Phil by making him share dad status with that jackass. Dave has an obnoxious fucking job title; I can’t remember what they call him.” Xander snaps his fingers a few times as he tries to remember. “He’s head of athletics, but they don’t call him that.” Russ sits up so quickly he almost flings me into the fire. “Your stepdad is Skinner? Are you fucking kidding me? We have shared a room for ten weeks and you are just now telling me that your dad—” “Stepdad.” “—controls my entire college career?” “Skinner?” I say again. “Why does that sound fami—Oh my fucking God.” I’m dead. Nobody revive me. It’s over. I almost fall off Russ’s knee. “Is your brother Mason Wright?” “Stepbrother.” He swigs his beer without a care in the world. “You two are very animated suddenly. I share one snippet of information and suddenly you’re interested in something other than pawing at each other. Interesting.

First, he’s my stepdad—let’s not disrespect Big Phil by making him share dad status with that jackass. Dave has an obnoxious fucking job title; I can’t remember what they call him.” Xander snaps his fingers a few times as he tries to remember. “He’s head of athletics, but they don’t call him that.” Russ sits up so quickly he almost flings me into the fire. “Your stepdad is Skinner? Are you fucking kidding me? We

Jealous of Harry’s popularity with the media and William’s preferred status in the Firm, King Charles has been known to turn a blind eye while aides leak details about his sons to the press. Camilla, also guilty of the same practices, caused further damage to the family during her long-running campaign to rehabilitate her own image. A tactical masterstroke, a well-timed leak, can pave the way for a beneficial back-scratching relationship with media confidantes in exchange for favorable treatment while also cutting down competition for the spotlight a rung or two. Long before the release of Spare, it was well known within the tight circle of royal correspondents that Charles eagerly piggybacked on reports of Prince Harry’s teenage drug use by allowing the leak of personal details about his own son to construct a “great dad” narrative that many within the press gladly printed in return.

Yes. Were you in here earlier today?” “I was with my parents, yeah. We came first thing in the morning to check out the new releases in the video game section for my dad.” “Okay,” said Hawk. “And did the lasers touch any part of you when you guys checked out?” Emily thought for a moment, and then remembered she had played with it before her father paid for the game. “Yeah, it did. The employee let me run my hand over the lasers a few times before she scanned the game. She told me there were lasers that read the price of the game and I didn’t believe her, so she let me put my hand over them. All the little laser lights formed a grid on my palm. It was pretty cool.” Cuddly laughed. “Pretty cool, and pretty enchanted!” “You mean those lasers are what brought me here?” Emily asked. Hawk turned to face her. “We believe that’s probably what did it. While none of us in the store are entirely sure, we do know it’s how you can get home and back to your normal size though.” “That sounds crazy. There’s no way that’s even possible,” said Emily. “You’re right,” said Cuddly sarcastically. “I guess the talking teddy bear and toy elf don’t know what they’re speaking about, is that it?” Emily remained silent. “Listen,” said Hawk as he walked toward her. “We only have a short journey ahead of us, and most of the time it’s easy to get people back to their homes. This happens quite often, you’d be surprised. But this time, it’s a little more difficult because you woke Officer Onslaught.” “What’s his deal?” Emily asked. “His deal is that he maintains the facility of Prelude. He’s actually a necessity for the business because he keeps a lot of the rodents out. Every now and again, we’ll get a rogue toy in here trying to sabotage the store, and he helps keep them out too.” “So he’s just doing his job,” said Emily. “Right,” said Cuddly. “He’s a robot though, so thinking ain’t exactly his strong suit. He’s can’t think independently. Just a cog in the machine, and you’re technically not supposed to be here so he’s trying to rid the store of you.” “What’s ‘a cog in the machine’ mean?” “It means he’s just a moving part to this store. He’s only valuable as long as he keeps up with the work he’s assigned. He’s a replaceable toy. The second he breaks down, one of the other Officer Onslaughts will take his place, maintaining the status quo.

What’s going on?” Annie asked, genuinely curious as to her brother’s current status. “Did you kill someone? Do you need money?” “I almost killed myself and I need about twelve thousand dollars, but that’s not why I called.” “Wait, what happened?” “It’s a long story that will make you very sad, so I’ll hold off on telling it. The real news is that it turns out that you can go home again.” “Buster,” Annie said, her voice impatient and sharp, “I’ve been drinking all day so I’m having trouble understanding what the hell you’re talking about.” “I’m back home,” Buster said. “In Florida?” “Tennessee.” “When did you move to Tennessee?” “I’m living with Mom and Dad.” “Oh, Buster,” Annie said. “Oh no.

Finally, it was our turn and my stomach churned with anxiety and nerves. As we raced out onto the stage to form our positions before the curtain went up, Sara turned to me and said, “Break a leg, Julia!” “What?” I frowned. “That’s for good luck,” she smirked and then faced the audience whose applause was deafening once again. We lunged into our routine, with Sara in the front row, doing the somersaults that she was so good at and as usual, her precision and timing were excellent. The applause erupted again and with a flick of her long ponytail, she executed a very tricky interchange with Alex and then moved to the back. Alex attacked his moves with his usual gusto and the sharp, expressive movements which made him the stand out hip-hop dancer that he was. I felt a rush of pride at being a part of such a cool routine but just as I moved to the front position, I felt my leg give way under me. It was a completely involuntary reaction and one I was powerless to prevent. I was supposed to kneel down and support the weight of one of the smaller girls on my bent knee but unfortunately, it was the leg that I had injured that morning. There was no way I could bear her weight and the sharp pain caused my knee to drop just as Abbie pressed down on it to raise herself into the air. With a gasp from the audience, she went tumbling to the ground. Bright red with embarrassment, she glared at me in horror and all I could do was help her up and try to resume the timing and movements of the routine going on around us. Fortunately, Abbie had no trouble getting back into rhythm, but I just seemed to lose my place and was not able to recover. As if in slow motion, I felt myself limping around the stage after the others and then looking down, I realized that blood was oozing from my leg and onto the floor. I tried to ignore it and focus on the moves that I knew so well, but I was simply unable to get it together. Gratefully, Millie took over my spot and I moved once again to the back row, trying to camouflage myself amongst the others. The scene around me was almost surreal and I felt as though I were a spectator watching the event unfold from afar. The swirling, twisting and turning of the dancers in front of me, along with the steady thumping beat of the latest hip-hop song that everyone knew so well, all seemed to mesh together into a whirlpool of crazy colors and sounds. Then, feeling a slight nudge in my lower back, I was pushed towards the front of the stage. An instant flash of recall had me leaping into the air. Everyone still considered this moment the highlight of our routine. It was the grand finale and my chance to relinquish my status as actually being a decent dancer and choreographer. Flinging my arms and legs forward, I came down onto the stage, one foot at a time. Then reminiscent of that morning’s episode in the school driveway, rather than gripping onto the stage in a final dramatic stomp, my foot slid forward and just kept on going until my whole body landed horizontally on the floor with a loud bang. In a blur of dizziness, I sat up and looked around then saw that I had slipped on a pool of blood; blood that had oozed from the gash in my knee and onto the stage. At that very moment, I was overcome with a sudden rush of nausea and unable to stop the sudden convulsion, I vomited all over the floor in front of me. Too terrified to open my eyes, I wished I could turn back the clock. Back to the day of our dress rehearsal when everything had gone so smoothly. My final leap had been the high point of the day, where even Miss Sheldon and also Alex our expert hip hop dancer, had congratulated me on my performance. I dared to glance fearfully out into the audience. Everyone appeared aghast and I could see the shocked expressions of my mom and dad. Then, realizing I was surrounded by worried faces peering down at me, everything suddenly went black.