Drums Girls And Dangerous Pie Quotes

Instead of agonizing about the things you can't change, why don't you try working on the things you can change

It's amazing--my parents call everything a discussion. If I were standing across the street, firing a bazooka at my mother, while my father was launching mortar back at me, and Jeffery was charging down the driveway with a grenade in his teeth, my parents would say we should stop having this public "discussion".

If you promise you will get better instead of dying, I promise I will, too.

Did you really JUST fall, Jeffrey? Why does everybody in my family talk in these dramatic CAPITAL LETTERS all the time? Why am I the only calm one?

And if there was one thing I'd finally figured out, it was that your mind is something you always CAN change.

Who’s that? That’s the King. Who’s he? The Duke. Who’s she? The Princess. What do they call you? The Count. What does that make me? Umm…how about the Peasant? And the name stuck.

What do you call a planet where bad guys stroll through life with success draped around their shoulders like a King’s cloak, while random horrors are visited upon the innocent heads of children? I call it Earth.

I seriously think I could have sat in the middle of the kitchen floor rubbing two sticks together over a pile of dynamite blocks and gasoline cans, and my parents would be oblivious, as long as I was keeping myself occupied.

I dove on those papers like Sherlock Holmes on a cappuccino binge.

It was like seeing Bill Gates at age thirteen, times two. And half of him was wearing a cheerleader uniform. Yes, I know that’s a weird image.

Renee was beautiful, but she was my friend now. On the other hand, Annette was my friend, but now she was beautiful. makes about as much sense as anything ever does with girls

You look like a handsome young man…although you might want to zip your fly. Mom! What? Should I have not told you and left it for everyone else to notice at the dance?

Chicks dig a dude who’s sporting the latest eggplant turtleneck styles.

Steven, I know I phrased that as a question, but it was really a command. Yes, but mine is…ummm…private. Private, Steven? Yes, Miss Palma. PRIVATE Steven? Again with the capital letters?

I tucked him in with his stuffed-animal pet dog—cleverly named Dog-Dog, by the way.

You are a wonderful son, and a wonderful man. Yet another parent busting forth with the “man” thing! I’d have to check my chest for signs of hair when I got home.

(Yes teenage boys who are fine always cry on their mothers’ shoulders until they leave a snot trail.)

You can be our critic. Would you dig that? (Yes, he was the last Man in America who could say “dig” with a straight face without referring to the process of using a tool to remove dirt from the ground.)

Annette had kissed me. Who would’a thunk it?

Mr. Watras asked me whether I was practicing, and I told him I was practicing my tissue basketball skills.

Well your mom was right, in a way. What do you mean? He DID fall, right? So he wasn’t safe on the stool. Thanks, Annette. Thanks a lot. That’s exactly what I needed to hear right now. You’re a very inspiring person, you know that?

Take care, Jeffy. I’ll see you soon, right? Just remember not to throw food at the nurses. I don’t want to get any complaint calls, OK? Steven, I don’t throw food at…oh, that was a joke, right? Yup, buddy boy. It was a joke. But seriously, no kissing the nurses on the lips, either. It messes up their makeup. Eeeeeeewwwww!

This was the kid who used to toddle over to my bed at 6 o’ clock in the morning every weekend morning to pull on my blankets so I’d get up and watch cartoons with him. This was the kid who once made me play Hungry Hungry Hippos for an hour straight, until I thought my hands were going to fall off from slamming down those dumb little levers to make the hippos’ heads move. This was the kid who had spent an entire days at a time begging me to play Chutes and Ladders with him. And now he was feeling too sick to play with me.

Finally the kitchen clock said 5:17. It was time to roll out. I shouted for my mom, woke Jeffrey up, ran upstairs, changed into my concert clothes, put on my shoes, and was standing by the door to the garage by 5:19—chanting “Let’s go! Come on!” (Feel free to try that at home, by the way; moms love it!)

A typical weeknight when he was home like this: 1. Sit down and try to do homework. 2. Get interrupted by Jeffrey: “Please play with me!” 3. Ignore brother, try to do homework. 4. Get interrupted by Jeffrey: “Come ON, Steven! I’m BORED!” 5. Beg Jeffrey for five minutes of peace. 6. Get begged for five minutes of play: “Steven, you never, ever play with me—ever!” 7. Move entire homework operations center to different room. 8. Repeat steps #1-7 as directed by small drugged maniac.

Steven, I look like a raccoon. You do NOT look like a raccoon. Actually, he looked like some deranged anteater, but I didn’t figure that would be the thing to tell him. Yes, I do. Oh, no. What if I stay this way forever? You’re not going to stay that way forever, Jeffy. People get black eyes all the time. If they never got better, the streets would be crowded with raccoon people. Soon the raccoon people would find each other and breed. I was on a roll here. The preschools would fill up with strange ring-eyed children. Soon the raccoons would be taking over our streets, stealing from our garbage cans, leaving eerie tails of Dinty Moore beef stew cams in their wakes. Gangs of them would haunt the malls, buying up all the black-and-gray-striped sportswear. THE RIVERS WOULD RISE! THE VALLEYS WOULD RUN WITH… Steven you’re joking, right?

If you could pick one word in the English language to describe the universe, what would it be? Why?" Here's my response: Unfair.

Instead of agonizing about the things you can't change, why don't you try working on the things you CAN change?

I’ll probably just stand in a corner, trying not to be noticed, until the decoration committee accidentally packs me into a box at the end of the night. There I will lie, crammed in between rolls of crepe paper, until the New Year’s dance two months from now. Jeffrey thought about this for a moment and said, Won’t they notice the box is too heavy when they go to put it away?

I kept having those "What's the point of ...?" moments, but plugged away at life pretty consistently, anyway.

Since when do you wear cologne to learn math? Oh, my son is growing up right in front of my very eyes. Maybe I should get out the video camera. Maybe you should tie me to a stake, douse me in kerosene, and torch me right on our front lawn. I won't need any kerosene, Steven - I'm sure the cologne will go up pretty fast! Ha-ha, Mom.

But just because you get distracted by the silver lining for a little while, that doesn’t mean there’s not still a huge dark cloud behind it.

Rehearsals and practice times by myself were like these little islands of "OK" in a vast sea of "Holy crap!" So I hopped from little musical island to little musical island.