Housewarming Quotes

Housewarming presents aren't usually human beings." "We can have a debate on whether or not Summerset's human, but either way, I'll make an exception.

Surprisingly, it was Jackal who finally smiled and stepped back, raising his hands. "Okay, bloodbag," he said, looking past me to Zeke. "Fine. I can be civil. For now. Observe." He made a great show of looking around the chamber. "Nice place you got here. Love what you've done with it. If I'd known, I would've brought a housewarming gift. A shag rug to go with the lovely piles of garbage.

So here we are, in the family planning aisle with a cart full of sports drinks and our hands full of . . . “Trojans, Ramses, Magnum . . . Jeez, these are worse than names for muscle cars,” Jase observes, sliding his finger along the display. “They do sound sorta, well, forceful.” I flip over the box I’m holding to read the instructions. Jase glances up to smile at me. “Don’t worry, Sam. It’s just us.” “I don’t get what half these descriptions mean . . . What’s a vibrating ring?” “Sounds like the part that breaks on the washing machine. What’s extra-sensitive? That sounds like how we describe George.” I’m giggling. “Okay, would that be better or worse than ‘ultimate feeling’—and look—there’s ‘shared pleasure’ condoms and ‘her pleasure’ condoms. But there’s no ‘his pleasure.’” “I’m pretty sure that comes with the territory,” Jase says dryly. “Put down those Technicolor ones. No freaking way.” “But blue’s my favorite color,” I say, batting my eyelashes at him. “Put them down. The glow-in-the-dark ones too. Jesus. Why do they even make those?” “For the visually impaired?” I ask, reshelving the boxes. We move to the checkout line. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” the clerk calls as we leave. “Do you think he knew?” I ask. “You’re blushing again,” Jase mutters absently. “Did who know what?” “The sales guy. Why we were buying these?” A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Of course not. I’m sure it never occurred to him that we were actually buying birth control for ourselves. I bet he thought it was a . . . a . . . housewarming gift.” Okay, I’m ridiculous. “Or party favors,” I laugh. “Or”—he scrutinized the receipt—“supplies for a really expensive water balloon fight.” “Visual aids for health class?” I slip my hand into the back pocket of Jase’s jeans. “Or little raincoats for . . .” He pauses, stumped. “Barbie dolls,” I suggest. “G.I. Joes,” he corrects, and slips his free hand into the back pocket of my jeans, bumping his hip against mine as we head back to the car.

on my cell phone, telling me about a housewarming party, but

Jenks snickered. “Yeah, Rache. Why bother? I mean, this could be good. Ivy could invite her mom over for a housewarming. We’ve been here a year, and the woman is dying to come over. Well, at least she would be if she were still alive.” Worried, I looked up from the phone book. Alarm sifted over Ivy. For a moment it was so quiet I could hear the clock above the sink, and then Ivy jerked, her speed edging into that eerie vamp quickness she took pains to hide. “Give me the phone,” she said, snatching it.

As I completed dinner preparation, Rosie set the table—not the conventional dining table in the living room, but a makeshift table on the balcony, created by taking a whiteboard from the kitchen wall and placing it on top of the two big plant pots, from which the dead plants had been removed. A white sheet from the linen cupboard had been added in the role of tablecloth. Silver cutlery—a housewarming gift from my parents that had never been used—and the decorative wineglasses were on the table. She was destroying my apartment!

Gaslighting is when you encourage the belief in something you know to be untrue, to the detriment of someone’s mental health.

She wouldn’t go to the house-warming parties, though. She couldn’t manage parties. They made her feel sad.

Mi piace il modo in cui i gatti amano stare un po' dentro e un po' fuori, per assecondare sia il loro lato domestico sia quello selvatico, e anch'io mi sento selvatica e domestica. Posso stare in casa, ma solo se la porta è aperta.

First, if you participate in Movember, fuck you. Second, if you want to raise money for prostate cancer (a noble cause), do it the old-fashioned way, by either begging for it or exerting yourself physically for donations. Sitting on your ass and letting nature take its course above your upper lip is not the same thing as running a 10K at a local high school or breaking out the set of power tools your dad gave you as a housewarming present collecting dust in your garage and using them to go out and build a habitat for humanity. Maybe I can raise money for rectal cancer by getting people to pledge a dollar every time I take a shit. And third no one wants to see that horrific seventies pornstache growing like a caterpillar with cerebral palsy zigzagging across your face; you look like you're about to go door to door informing people that you're a registered sex offender who's just moved in next door and would their kids like to come out and was your windowless van for a dollar? Fuck Movember. And November.

I’ve enjoyed the comicbook writings of Warren Ellis since a friend introduced me to Transmetropolitan via the “holiday special” in collected volume three. Ah yes, Scott and Edé’s housewarming, I had passed out in a chair, our friend Aeric on the couch, and I woke up to the sound of Edé’s girlfriend coming downstairs and asking Aeric, “what’cha got there?” and Aeric replied, “I’m not sure, but it’s psychotic. Ru, are you up yet? You have to see this when I’m done.” Everyone else should be so lucky to have such an introduction to Ellis.

The big celebration, the wedding or housewarming, takes place not when the debt is discharged, but when it is undertaken. What is emphasized on TV, for example, is not the middle-aged man who has finally paid off his mortgage, but the young man who moves into his new home with his family, proudly waving the papers he has just signed and which will bind him for most of his productive years. After he has paid his debts—the mortgage, the college expenses for his children and his insurance—he is regarded as a problem, a “senior citizen” for whom society must provide not only material comforts but a new “purpose.

But it seems to me a tragedy both specific and cruel that all the things we might do to lift ourselves out of our lowest moments - a long walk, a carefully prepared meal, a favourite piece of music - are, in those moments, all the things we cannot face, while all the things that will make us feel worse, ,much worse - eating crap, drinking too many glasses of wine, staying in a room that vibrates with haunted silence - seem infinitely enticing.

সংগতি ~ অমিয় চক্রবর্তী মেলাবেন তিনি ঝোড়ো হাওয়া আর পোড়ো বাড়িটার ঐ ভাঙ্গা দরজাটা । মেলাবেন । পাগল দাপটে দেবে না গায়েতে কাঁটা । আকাশে আগুনে তৃষ্ণার মাঠ ফাটা মারী-কুকুরের জিভ দিয়ে খেত চাটা,- বন্যার জল, তবু ঝরে জল, প্রলয় কাঁদনে ভাসে ধরাতল- মেলাবেন । তোমার আমার নানা সংগ্রাম, দেশের দশের সাধনা, সুনাম, ক্ষুধা ও ক্ষুধার যত পরিণাম মেলাবেন । জীবন, জীবন-মোহ, ভাষাহারা বুকে স্বপ্নের বিদ্রোহ- মেলাবেন, তিনি মেলাবেন। দুপুর ছায়ায় ঢাকা, সঙ্গীহারানো পাখি উড়ায়েছে পাখা, পাখায় কেন যে নানা রঙ্ তার আঁকা । প্রাণ নেই, তবু জীবনেতে বেঁচে থাকা -মেলাবেন । তোমার সৃষ্টি, আমার সৃষ্টি, তাঁর সৃষ্টির মাঝে যত কিছু সুর, যা-কিছু বেসুরো বাজে মেলাবেন । মোটর গাড়ির চাকায় ওড়ায় ধুলো, যারা সরে যায় তারা শুধু - লোকগুলো ; কঠিন, কাতর, উদ্ধ্বত, অসহায়, যারা পায়, যারা সবই থেকে নাহি পায়, কেন কিছু আছে বোঝানো, বোঝা না যায় - মেলাবেন । দেবতা তবুও ধরেছে মলিন ঝাঁটা, স্পর্শ বাঁচায়ে পুণ্যের পথে হাঁটা, সমাজধর্মে আছি বর্মেতে আঁটা, ঝোড়ো হাওয়া আর ঐ পোড়ো দরজাটা মেলাবেন তিনি, মেলাবেন ।।

What is it about the Greek character that has allowed this complex culture to thrive for millennia? The Greek Isles are home to an enduring, persevering people with a strong work ethic. Proud, patriotic, devout, and insular, these hardy seafarers are the inheritors of working methods that are centuries old. On any given day, fishermen launch their bots at dawn in search of octopi, cuttlefish, sponges, and other gifts of the ocean. Widows clad in black dresses and veils shop the local produce markets and gather in groups of two and three to share stories. Artisans stich decorative embroidery to adorn traditional costumes. Glassblowers, goldsmiths, and potters continue the work of their ancient ancestors, ultimately displaying their wares in shops along the waterfronts. The Greeks’ dedication to time-honored occupations and hard work is harmoniously complemented by their love of dance, song, food, and games. Some of the earliest works of art from the Greek Isles--including Minoan paintings from the second millennium B.C.E.--depict the central, day-to-day role of dance, and music. Today, life is still lived in common, and the old ways often survive in a deep separation between the worlds of women and men. In the more rural areas, dancing and drinking are--officially at least--reserved for men, as the women watch from windows and doorways before returning to their tasks. At seaside tavernas throughout the Greek Isles, old men sip raki, a popular aniseed-flavored liqueur, while playing cards or backgammon under grape pergolas that in late summer are heavy with ripe fruit. Woven into this love of pleasure, however, are strands of superstition and circumspection. For centuries, Greek artisans have crafted the lovely blue and black glass “eyes” that many wear as amulets to ward off evil spirits. They are given as baby and housewarming gifts, and are thought to bring good luck and protect their wearers from the evil eye. Many Greeks carry loops of wooden or glass beads--so-called “worry beads”--for the same purpose. Elderly women take pride in their ability to tell fortunes from the black grounds left behind in a cup of coffee.

Every house needs a party to break it in, make it feel loved." "She's a crazy person," Luc informs me with a grin that says he wouldn't have it any other way. "But if you don't plan one, she'll plan it for you." "I'll have one, but I can't this weekend," I explain. "I'm attending a fund-raiser tomorrow and besides, I don't have any furniture other than a bed. I could still have a party with just that, but it's not a party I'd invite old married people like you to.." Luc laughs. Rose turns pink and shakes her head. "You single hockey players are the worst.

Charlotte held up the glass ball. It was the size of an apple and was one of her prettiest, graduating from clear on top to a bubbled lavender color on the bottom. One of the glassblowers at the Sugar Warehouse had made it. "I came over to give you a housewarming gift. Welcome to the Dellawisp." Surprise registered on Zoey's face. She stepped out onto the patio and took the ball from her. Sunlight caught the three strings of glass suspended inside and made them shimmer like icicles. "It's called a witch ball," Charlotte said, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her cutoffs. "Those thin glass strings are supposed to catch spirits that come into your house and trap them inside the ball, protecting you from them. If the ball breaks, it means you have a particularly strong ghost.

Compassion for myself is necessary if I am to treat myself better. But it seems to me a tragedy both specific and cruel that all the things we might do to lift ourselves out of our lowest moments – a long walk, a carefully prepared meal, a favourite piece of music – are, in those moments, all the things we cannot face, while all the things that will make us feel worse, much worse – eating junk, drinking too many glasses of wine, staying in a room that vibrates with haunted silence – seem infinitely enticing.

You're a mammy now, for one thing, Moira. It's the full swimsuit you'll be wearing from here on in. Your days of the wispy bits of string are gone.' - Mammy O'Mara from The Housewarming, The Guesthouse on the Green (Book 11)

I don't know why my mother insisted on giving us two of Jezebel's kittens as a housewarming gift. Who is going to watch them?" "Not a problem. Oded already offered. And they're Juju's kittens too." "Exactly," he says with a shudder. "Well, Keanu is adorable and Katniss is---" "Trouble. I caught her climbing the curtains the other day.

We singles buy gifts we can’t afford and take off work to get fitted for endless numbers of (mostly unflattering) bridesmaids’ dresses and budget for housewarming presents, birthday presents, anniversary presents, graduation presents, shower presents, and on and on and on . . . all in the name of being supportive of our married friends’ life choices. And that’s a beautiful thing. But why aren’t our choices being celebrated?

I’ll have to get her a housewarming gift… whips are good for that right?

She wondered what it would be like to be more like Isabelle, so aware of your own feminine power you could wield it as a weapon instead of gazing at it mystified, like someone presented with a housewarming gift they had no idea where to display.

Syn watched Day look around at his lack of furniture ... or pictures ... or art ... or decorations ... or any other amenities that made a house a home. “Oh good. It looks like we didn’t miss the housewarming party. Are you registered?

She would have been surprised to know he thought of her every night when he went into the hotel restaurant right across the street from the mayor’s house for his supper. If he had been on better terms with Sarah, he would have called to bring her some little thing as a housewarming present, but he hadn’t thought she’d welcome such a visit.

You’re not leaving yet.” “No,” I said, taking my backpack back and unzipping it. “I wanted to, um…” I thrust my hand into my backpack and gripped a stack of what must’ve been three hundred double-spaced and double-sided papers. I pulled them out and handed them to him. “To give this to you, as a… housewarming gift.” Blaise arched a brow and slid onto one of the stools beside me. “What is it?” I glanced down at my feet, heart pounding inside my chest. “It’s the story that I’ve been writing… about us. It’s our story. It’s not finished yet. I still have to write the last chapter, but I wanted you to read it.” With brown eyes so big, Blaise peered over at me. “You wrote a story about us?” Somehow my cheeks burned even hotter. “Yeah, I did. And I plan on publishing it one day because I love us so fucking much.” I moved closer to him, so I stood between his legs, and then I grabbed his face. “And I love you more than I ever thought I could. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Blaise Harleen.

Whether you’re going to a housewarming party, networking event, or first date, you face the same initial challenges: How do I make a good first impression? Who should I talk to? What should I say?

The precious money Fiona’s mum gifted them as a housewarming gift, and more than they believed she had tucked away, is just enough to pay a plumber to fit a new boiler and replace the pipes in the kitchen and bathroom that make the sounds of a submarine running aground. A home-improvement loan, through the bank where Fiona works, must cover the roof’s repair, or replacement, a new fuse-box and wiring. New windows will have to wait until they can afford them. When he’s got work coming in again. To remain buoyant, to keep his nose and mouth above the choppy surface of the deepest, most precarious waters he’s ever swum – the mortgage he can’t really afford on a house that needs everything doing to it – his focus must remain upon one task at a time. One room and then another. Or he will be consumed, will drown. He knows this and tells himself this fact over and over.

She had already tied on her apron and started tapping notes into her phone as Daisy laid out the ingredients: a whole kosher chicken; a bottle of olive oil, a pound of butter, a lemon. Onions, garlic, shallots, shiitake mushrooms, Parmesan cheese, and a container of arborio rice; fresh rosemary and thyme, a bag of carrots, a half-pound of asparagus, and a half-pound of sugar snap peas. That was for dinner. For pantry staples, she'd gotten flour, white and brown sugar, kosher salt and Maldon salt, pepper, chili, and paprika; for the refrigerator: milk, eggs, and half-and-half, and, for a housewarming gift, a copy of Ruth Reichl's My Kitchen Year and two quarts of her own homemade chicken stock.

1 cup Basic Mayonnaise ¼ cup coconut cream 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar 1 tablespoon minced fresh parsley ½ teaspoon garlic powder ½ teaspoon onion powder ½ teaspoon black pepper ¼ teaspoon paprika This thick and creamy, kid-approved ranch is great for basting chicken, fish, or pork; makes a great dipping sauce for raw vegetables; and is perfect on a fresh green salad. Whisk together the mayo, coconut cream, and vinegar in a small bowl. Add the parsley, garlic powder, onion powder, pepper, and paprika and stir until thoroughly combined. This dressing will keep in the refrigerator for 2 to 3 days. ✪Super Snack Prep our Buffalo Sauce, whip up our hot wings, cut up some carrot sticks and celery, and serve with the Ranch Dressing, and you’ve got yourself the perfect sports-watching, New Year–celebrating, or housewarming appetizer.

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In South Korea, the typical gift for a house-warming party is toilet paper.

Oh for God’s sake,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry – my eyes are incontinent.