Huge Fan Of Yours Quotes

Not really. But I'm a huge fan of your ass. I could write a song about your ass. " "You've never even seen it." "Feeling is believing.

I wondered if it would've been too subtle to wear a T-shirt that said thank you for your interest, but I am no longer dating. I knew Todd, wasn't a huge fan of reading, but he did like to stare at my shirts.

Dr. Banner, your work is unparalleled. And I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous, green rage monster.

Son, are you gay?” I spat the cognac out, choking on the earthy liquid. Dad remained calm, crossing one leg over the other. “Be frank. You know we don’t care, and we’ll support you no matter what. There’s nothing wrong with being gay.” “There’s nothing wrong with it, all right, but I’m not gay.” He blinked, saying nothing. “Why the fuck would you think that?” “You’re not a huge fan of the other sex.” “I’m not a huge fan of the human race.” “Me either. But then there’s your mother. I am a huge fucking fan of hers.

Not really. But I'm a huge fan of your ass. I could write a song about your ass." "You've never even seen it." "Feeling is believing.

I hate it, all of this," I screamed, my voice breaking. "I even hate him, even him." A huge sob came up from my chest. And I did, right then. I hated you for everything; for making me feel so helpless everywhere I went, for making me lose control. I hated you for all the emotions in my head, for the confusion... for the way I was suddenly doubting everything. I hated you for turning my life upside down and then smashing it into shards. I hated you for making me stand with a whirring fan in my hand, screaming at my mum. But I hated you for something else, too. Right then, and at every moment since you'd left me, all I could think about was you. I wanted you in that apartment. I wanted your arms around me, your face close to mine. I wanted your smell. And I knew I couldn't-shouldn't-have it. That's what I hated most. The uncertainty of you. You'd kidnapped me, put my life in danger... but I loved you, too. Or thought I did. None of it made sense.

The man in 4B wondered if he could have your autograph. He told me his daughter is a huge fan.” Fan? What the hell? Dylan lifted himself up and looked over the back of his seat. Since when did covert operators have fans?

While I was backstage before presenting the Best New Artist award, I talked to George Strait for a while. He's so incredibly cool. So down-to-earth and funny. I think it should be known that George Strait has an awesome, dry, subtle sense of humor. Then I went back out into the crowd and watched the rest of the show. Keith Urban's new song KILLS ME, it's so good. And when Brad Paisley ran down into the front row and kissed Kimberley's stomach (she's pregnant) before accepting his award, Kellie, my mom, and I all started crying. That's probably the sweetest thing I've ever seen. I thought Kellie NAILED her performance of the song we wrote together "The Best Days of Your Life". I was so proud of her. I thought Darius Rucker's performance RULED, and his vocals were incredible. I'm a huge fan. I love it when I find out that the people who make the music I love are wonderful people. I love Faith Hill and how she always makes everyone in the room feel special. I love Keith Urban, and how he told me he knows every word to "Love Story" (That made my night). I love Nicole Kidman, and her sweet, warm personality. I love how Kenny Chesney always has something hilarious or thoughtful to say. But the real moment that brought on this wave of gratitude was when Shania Twain HERSELF walked up and introduced herself to me. Shania Twain, as in.. The reason I wanted to do this in the first place. Shania Twain, as in.. the most impressive and independent and confident and successful female artist to ever hit country music. She walked up to me and said she wanted to meet me and tell me I was doing a great job. She was so beautiful, guys. She really IS that beautiful. All the while, I was completely star struck. After she walked away, I realized I didn't have my camera. Then I cried. You know, last night made me feel really great about being a country music fan in general. Country music is the place to find reality in music, and reality in the stars who make that music. There's kindness and goodness and....honesty in the people I look up to, and knowing that makes me smile. I'm proud to sing country music, and that has never wavered. The reason for the being.. nights like last night.

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.' 'John Lennon,' I say with a sigh. 'My mother is a huge fan.' 'So then you must know that every day, in every way, it's getting better.

I am a huge, huge fan of in-your-face, make-no-apologies female badasses.

Oh, my goodness! It’s such an honor to meet you, Steve. I am a huge, huge fan of your work! You are amazing, truly amazing! I never thought that I would ever meet you, but here we are!” he said as his voice rose even higher.

Well. Um. The thing is…” I inhale, then continue with rapid-fire speed. “Imnotahockeyfan.” A wrinkle appears in his forehead. “What?” I repeat myself, slowly this time, with actual pauses between each word. “I’m not a hockey fan.” Then I hold my breath and await his reaction. He blinks. Blinks again. And again. His expression is a mixture of shock and horror. “You don’t like hockey?” I regretfully shake my head. “Not even a little bit?” Now I shrug. “I don’t mind it as background noise—” “Background noise?” “—but I won’t pay attention to it if it’s on.” I bite my lip. I’m already in this deep—might as well deliver the final blow. “I come from a football family.” “Football,” he says dully. “Yeah, my dad and I are huge Pats fans. And my grandfather was an offensive lineman for the Bears back in the day.” “Football.” He grabs his water and takes a deep swig, as if he needs to rehydrate after that bombshell. I smother a laugh. “I think it’s awesome that you’re so good at it, though. And congrats on the Frozen Four win.” Logan stares at me. “You couldn’t have told me this before I asked you out? What are we even doing here, Grace? I can never marry you now—it would be blasphemous.” His twitching lips make it clear that he’s joking, and the laughter I’ve been fighting spills over. “Hey, don’t go canceling the wedding just yet. The success rate for inter-sport marriages is a lot higher than you think. We could be a Pats-Bruins family.” I pause. “But no Celtics. I hate basketball.” “Well, at least we have that in common.” He shuffles closer and presses a kiss to my cheek. “It’s all right. We’ll work through this, gorgeous. Might need couples counseling at some point, but once I teach you to love hockey, it’ll be smooth sailing for us.” “You won’t succeed,” I warn him. “Ramona spent years trying to force me to like it. Didn’t work.” “She gave up too easily then. I, on the other hand, never give up

Twenty-five years later, I’m still not a huge fan of surprises. This is your brain on introversion.

Those of you who know me know that I'm a huge fan of my sister. She's my rock, my soul mate, and the reason that I'm still standing here, alive and well. When her heart beats for someone, mine falls in line and thumps for them too. Baron, there's one thing I cannot take from you–you make her happy. Glow, even... Some loves are old, and sure, others are new and frantic. Yours is both, and that's what made your feelings toward one another outsoar everything. Even the past... I wish you joy, freedom, health, and wealth, though I think you're all covered with the last one... So I guess I would like to make a toast to two of my favorite people. To the woman I love more than life itself, and to the man who spends his life making her happy. Baron and Millie, you don't need my words to make it work. You have this thing covered. But just in case, I wish you everything you wish for yourself and more. Now down these glasses and have some fun.

It is immensely gratifying to hear from fans from around the world where being a gay or lesbian teen, having feelings for someone of your own gender is simply not acceptable. We noticed that our show fills a huge void for large audiences in many different countries. That’s why our choice of format for the show, the web series, is such a fortunate one as it allows viewers in those countries to feel acknowledged. While the series is not exclusively dealing with gay and lesbian issues, the fact that we don’t sanitize it gives us truly global appeal, especially with the gay and lesbian community. In fact, demand is such that we are subtitling the show in French and perhaps other languages to even better reach those audiences.

This music ebbs and flows, irregular, sad. It reminds me, weirdly, of watching the ocean during a bad storm, the lashing, crashing waves and the spray of sea foam against the docks; the way it takes your breath away, the power and the hugeness of it. That’s exactly what happens as I listen to the music, as I come up over the final crest of hill, and the half-ruined barn and collapsing farmhouse fan out in front of me, just as the music swells, a wave about to break: The breath leaves my body all at once, and I’m struck dumb by the beauty of it. For a second it seems to me like I really am looking down at the ocean—a sea of people, writhing and dancing in the light spilling down from the barn like shadows twisting up around a flame.

A cell phone rang from the end table to my right and Kristen bolted up straight. She put her beer on the coffee table and dove across my lap for her phone, sprawling over me. My eyes flew wide. I’d never been that close to her before. I’d only ever touched her hand. If I pushed her down across my knees, I could spank her ass. She grabbed her phone and whirled off my lap. “It’s Sloan. I’ve been waiting for this call all day.” She put a finger to her lips for me to be quiet, hit the Talk button, and put her on speaker. “Hey, Sloan, what’s up?” “Did you send me a potato?” Kristen covered her mouth with her hand and I had to stifle a snort. “Why? Did you get an anonymous potato in the mail?” “Something is seriously wrong with you,” Sloan said. “Congratulations, he put a ring on it. PotatoParcel.com.” She seemed to be reading a message. “You found a company that mails potatoes with messages on them? Where do you find this stuff?” Kristen’s eyes danced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you have the other thing though?” “Yeeeess. The note says to call you before I open it. Why am I afraid?” Kristen giggled. “Open it now. Is Brandon with you?” “Yes, he’s with me. He’s shaking his head.” I could picture his face, that easy smile on his lips. “Okay, I’m opening it. It looks like a paper towel tube. There’s tape on the—AHHHHHH! Are you kidding me, Kristen?! What the hell!” Kristen rolled forward, putting her forehead to my shoulder in laughter. “I’m covered in glitter! You sent me a glitter bomb? Brandon has it all over him! It’s all over the sofa!” Now I was dying. I covered my mouth, trying to keep quiet, and I leaned into Kristen, who was howling, our bodies shaking with laughter. I must not have been quiet enough though. “Wait, who’s with you?” Sloan asked. Kristen wiped at her eyes. “Josh is here.” “Didn’t he have a date tonight? Brandon told me he had a date.” “He did, but he came back over after.” “He came back over?” Her voice changed instantly. “And what are you two doing? Remember what we talked about, Kristen…” Her tone was taunting. Kristen glanced at me. Sloan didn’t seem to realize she was on speaker. Kristen hit the Talk button and pressed the phone to her ear. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you!” She hung up on her and set her phone down on the coffee table, still tittering. “And what did you two talk about?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. I liked that she’d talked about me. Liked it a lot. “Just sexually objectifying you. The usual,” she said, shrugging. “Nothing a hot fireman like you can’t handle.” A hot fireman like you.I did my best to hide my smirk. “So do you do this to Sloan a lot?” I asked. “All the time. I love messing with her. She’s so easily worked up.” She reached for her beer. I chuckled. “How do you sleep at night knowing she’ll be finding glitter in her couch for the next month?” She took a swig of her beer. “With the fan on medium.” My laugh came so hard Stuntman Mike looked up and cocked his head at me. She changed the channel and stopped on HBO. Some show. There was a scene with rose petals down a hallway into a bedroom full of candles. She shook her head at the TV. “See, I just don’t get why that’s romantic. You want flower petals stuck to your ass? And who’s gonna clean all that shit up? Me? Like, thanks for the flower sex, let’s spend the next half an hour sweeping?” “Those candles are a huge fire hazard.” I tipped my beer toward the screen. “Right? And try getting wax out of the carpet. Good luck with that.” I looked at the side of her face. “So what do you think is romantic?” “Common sense,” she answered without thinking about it. “My wedding wouldn’t be romantic. It would be entertaining. You know what I want at my wedding?” she said, looking at me. “I want the priest from The Princess Bride. The mawage guy.

Disney now unofficially tolerates hundreds of small online shops run by die-hard fans selling T-shirts, buttons, pins, patches, jewelry, and thousands more items that leverage Disney characters. These stores don’t pay Disney a dime in licensing fees. Why the pivot to tolerating knockoffs? Because Disney learned that fan-made, unlicensed twenty-five-dollar T-shirts drive their wearers to Disney parks, where they buy expensive entrance tickets and pass the day spending even more money. Another reason for Disney’s newfound tolerance: it has discovered the marketing research value from the hundreds of small knockoff shops. These shops turn out to be a vibrant source of ideas for new official Disney merchandise. In 2016 the online vendor Bibbidi Bobbidi Brooke came out with a hugely popular line of rose-gold sequined Mickey ears, something that had not occurred to the Disney licensors. So Disney copied the design, which sold out immediately in its official stores. Bibbidi Bobbidi Brooke was gracious, posting “always excited to see new merch offerings.” Her fans replied, “Yours will always be the original!!!” Everyone wins.

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41: 10 NIV Nadin Khoury was thirteen years old, five foot two, and weighed, soaking wet, probably a hundred pounds. His attackers were larger and outnumbered him seven to one. For thirty minutes they hit, kicked, and beat him. He never stood a chance. They dragged him through the snow, stuffed him into a tree, and suspended him on a seven-foot wrought-iron fence. Khoury survived the attack and would have likely faced a few more except for the folly of one of the bullies. He filmed the pile-on and posted it on YouTube. The troublemakers landed in jail, and the story reached the papers. A staffer at the nationwide morning show The View read the account and invited Khoury to appear on the broadcast. As the video of the assault played, his lower lip quivered. As the video ended, the curtain opened, and three huge men walked out, members of the Philadelphia Eagles football team. Khoury, a rabid fan, turned and smiled. One was All-Pro receiver DeSean Jackson. Jackson took a seat close to the boy and promised him, “Anytime you need us, I got two linemen right here.” Then, in full view of every bully in America, he gave the boy his cell phone number. 16 Who wouldn’t want that type of protection? You’ve got it . . . from the Son of God himself.

Have you ever noticed how when someone you admire goes out and does something phenomenal, you’re happy for her or him, but you’re not surprised—of course they did something phenomenal, they’re a phenomenal person! But to get yourself to see how amazing you are is like pushing a giant marshmallow up a hill. Yes, there we go, we are up, we are awesome! Ooop! We’re sagging—we are sagging on the left! Push it up. There we go. We are all good! Wait, now we’re sagging on the right . . . We run around, taking one step forward and fourteen steps back when it’s so unnecessary. Instead, try seeing yourself through the eyes of someone who admires you. They get it. They believe in you leaps and bounds. They aren’t connected to your insecurities and negative beliefs about yourself. All they see is your true glory and potential. Become one of your own die-hard fans, look at yourself from the outside, where all your self doubts can’t crawl all over you, and behold what shines through. You get to choose how you perceive your reality. So why, when it comes to perceiving yourself, would you choose to see anything other than a super huge rock star of a creature? You are a badass. You were one when you came screaming onto this planet and you are one now. The Universe wouldn’t have bothered with you otherwise. You can’t screw up so majorly that your badassery disappears. It is who you are. It’s who you always will be. It’s not up for negotiation. You are loved. Massively. Ferociously. Unconditionally. The Universe is totally freaking out about how awesome you are. It’s got you wrapped in a warm gorilla hug of adoration. It wants to give you everything you desire. It wants you to be happy. It wants you to see what it sees in you. You are perfect. To think anything less is as pointless as a river thinking that it’s got too many curves or that it moves too slowly or that its rapids are too rapid. Says who? You’re on a journey with no defined beginning, middle or end. There are no wrong twists and turns. There is just being. And your job is to be as you as you can be. This is why you’re here. To shy away from who you truly are would leave the world you-less. You are the only you there is and ever will be. I repeat, you are the only you there is and ever will be. Do not deny the world its one and only chance to bask in your brilliance. We are all perfect in our own, magnificent, fucked-up ways. Laugh at yourself. Love yourself and others. Rejoice in the cosmic ridiculousness. PART 2: HOW

Bailey sat on the edge of the couch and fed Maddy grapes. The very swollen mommy-to-be initially complained about being fed like a pet. Eventually, she gave in and enjoyed the attention. Not to be outdone, Sawyer turned a fan towards Maddy and was painting her nails. I watched them baby her and wondered about when I would be that big and uncomfortable. “I’m in no hurry to have a baby,” Tawny said, maybe for the tenth time since arriving. “Not in any hurry at all.” Farah grinned from where she was cutting carrots into little perfect sticks for dipping. “Coop is obsessed with getting me pregnant. First, his little brother is about to have a baby then his best friend. I swear whenever we’re alone, he’s inside me,” she said then her smile grew. “It’s awesome.” “Huh,” Tawny muttered. “Judd is in me all the time too and not because he’s trying to plant his flag or lay his seed or whatever.” “Jealous?” Farah asked and Tawny fake glared at her. “Sometimes, my sister irritates me too,” I said and they both laughed. “I’m going to brush the baby’s hair,” Bailey announced to no one in particular. “When she’s old enough, I’m going to put those little barrettes in her hair and make her wear headbands and turn her into a doll. Then when she cries, I’m giving her back to Maddy.” “Yeah for me,” Maddy whispered with her eyes closed. “Are you suffering?” Bailey asked. “Like should I do more for you to ease away the horror of how huge you’ve become?” Opening her eyes a crack, Maddy muttered, “Stop charming me.” Bailey grinned. “Seriously, you look pretty miserable today.” “I’ve been having those Braxton Hicks contractions since yesterday.” “Is that bad?” Sawyer asked, looking up from her meticulous work on Maddy’s toes. “Is it like hemorrhoids?” When we laughed, Sawyer beamed, even though she likely had no idea what was funny. “They’re like practice contractions,” Maddy explained. “They don’t hurt much, but they’re uncomfortable.” Bailey frowned. “How do you know all this stuff?” “I read a book.” “Yeah, I did that once. Not a fan.” “You guys don’t have to hang out here,” Maddy said. “The guys are out having fun and you’re pampering me. You could go to the movies if you want.” “No,” Bailey said quickly. “I need to be super nice because I had a dream that being nice will lead to a handsome awesome guy who is the fucker. I want that guy. He belongs to me and I’m sick of waiting, so shut up and let me be nice to you.” “Sure,” Maddy said, sighing. “This is nice, but I’m going to have to pee soon.” “Do you need me to carry you?” Bailey asked. “Maybe. Ask me in a few minutes.

What have you done with your day?” Nee asked, her fan spread in the attitude I recognized from our fan lesson as Harmonic Discourse. “We had a bout with the group at the garrison, had a squint at some horses brought from up-mountain. Danric answered mail, and I went over to town with Calder to look at the plans for paving the streets.” This was Tlanth business. I said, “Did you talk to the elders? They want part of their taxes to go to that.” Bran nodded. “It’s a fair plan,” he said; and I sat back, relieved. Nee put her chin in her hand. “‘Answered mail,’ Vidanric? Is he referring to that formidable bag your equerries brought in this morning?” “We’re finishing the last of the dispersal and reassignment of Galdran’s army,” Shevraeth said. “Dispersal?” I repeated, thinking immediately of my plans for evaluating his forming government. Surely it would raise no suspicions to ask about it, since he had introduced the subject. “You’ve dismantled that gigantic army?” “A huge standing army with little to do is both--” “‘--a financial burden and a threat,’” I said. “I recognize the quote--and I agree,” I added hastily, seeing consternation on Bran’s face. “I just…wondered what was happening to them,” I finished rather lamely. To my surprise, Shevraeth said, “I shall be happy to discuss it with you. My decision did not meet with universal approval--there were advocates for extremes at either end--and some of my nearest associates grow tired of the whole affair.” Here he saluted Bran with his wineglass, and Bran grinned unrepentantly. “It’s boring,” my brother retorted. “And I can’t even begin to keep it all in my head. Tlanth’s affairs I see as my duty. Dealing with the affairs of the kingdom I regard as a narrow escape.

How do we stay connected? How do we abide with Jesus, the Vine (John 15:5)? How do we keep in step with the Spirit (Galatians 5:25)? That’s what we will be talking about in this book. My prayer is that God moves in your heart about your own need, not just to sit down on the outside but on the inside. And may He show you exactly how to stay seated with Him in a world that stands—a world that busies itself at every waking moment, tirelessly trying to produce the fruit that would easily flow from a seated relationship with Him. I’m not a fan of abstract things. I would rather someone just tell me the three things I need to do to maintain this kind of relationship. I’m sorry, but I don’t have that for you. However, what I do have for you is something much better—the opportunity to discover in a real relationship with God how you specifically hear from Him, worship Him, converse with Him, and feel His love, joy, and pleasure over you. Since God is real, Jesus is alive, and He desires a two-way relationship with you—and since there is only one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus (1 Timothy 2:5)—all you need to do is ask Him (James 1:5), and I’m confident He will show you. This is what I think John wrote about in 1 John 2:27: “But the anointing that you received from Him abides in you, and you have no need that anyone should teach you. But as His anointing teaches you about everything, and is true, and is no lie—just as it has taught you, abide in Him” (1 John 2:27 ESV). In the context of this verse, there were people going around claiming to have a special knowledge that everyone else had missed, but John said it was foolishness! They didn’t need anyone to teach them some huge thing they had missed. They needed to keep growing in that same relationship with Jesus and keep receiving revelation from Him. The same is true for you. You don’t need anyone to teach you because you have revelation, and revelation is always found in relationship—just press into God and He will confirm all He has shown to you. So, John wasn’t saying that we don’t need someone to instruct us, encourage us, or exhort us. He was saying that if you have Jesus, you have everything you need for life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3). You don’t need special knowledge, you just need to abide with Jesus. He has already seated you with Himself in heavenly places—it is up to you to stay seated!

After a long life, and a tumultuous presidency, Donald J Trump dies and arrives at the Gates of Heaven, where he sees a huge wall of clocks behind him. He asks an angel, "What are all those clocks?" The angel answers, "Those are Lie-Clocks. Everyone on Earth has a Lie-Clock. Every time you lie the hands on your clock will move." "Oh," says Trump, "whose clock is that?" "That's Washington's clock. The hands have never moved, indicating that he never told a lie." "Tremendous" says Trump. "And whose clock is that one?" The angel responds, "That's Abraham Lincoln's clock. The hands have moved twice, telling us that Abe told only two lies in his entire life." "So, where's my clock?" Asks Trump "Oh, your clock is in God's office. He's using it as a ceiling fan.

We continued our drive, not making any permanent decisions that day about where we’d live. We’d been engaged less than twenty-four hours, after all; there was no huge rush. When we finally returned to his house, we curled up on his couch and watched a movie. Gone With the Wind, of all things. He was a fan. And as I lay there that afternoon and watched the South crumble around Scarlett O’Hara’s knees for what had to have been the 304th time in my life, I touched the arms that held me so sweetly and securely…and I sighed contentedly, wondering how on earth I’d ever found this person. When he walked me to my car late that afternoon, minutes after Scarlett had declared that tomorrow is another day, Marlboro Man rested his hands lightly on my waist. He caressed my rib cage up and down, touching his forehead to mine and closing his eyes--as if he were recording the moment in his memory. And it tickled like crazy, his fingertips on my ribs, but I didn’t care; I was engaged to this man, I told myself, and there’ll likely be much rib caressing in the future. I needed to toughen up, to be able to withstand such displays of romance without my knees buckling beneath me and without my forgetting my mother’s maiden name and who my first grade teacher had been. Otherwise I had lots of years of trouble--and decreased productivity--ahead. So I stood there and took it, closing my eyes as well and trying with all my might to will away the ticklish sensations. They had no place here. Begone, Satan! Ree, hold strong. My mind won, and we stood there and continued to thumb our nose at the reality that we were two separate bodies…and the western sun behind us changed from yellow to orange to pink to a brilliant, impossible red--the same color as the ever-burning fire between us. On the drive home, my whole torso felt warm. Like when you’ve awakened from the most glorious dream you’ve ever had, and you’re still half-in, half-out, and you still feel the dream and it’s still real. I forced myself to think, to look around me, to take it all in. One day, I told myself as I drove down that rural country road, I’m going to be driving down a road like this to run to the grocery store in town…or pick up the mail on the highway…or take my kids to cell lessons.

I’m an addict, a knobhead, and a bitter arsehole who can’t even sit still when his enemy receives a Grammy. Everyone can—and does—see my scars. No exceptions. My soul is empty, because I whored it out. I signed fat contracts with huge labels to get big money. For the last six years, they’ve dictated my every move. And whatever they didn’t suck out of me, the crowd did. Because every night you go on that stage, Indie, you give your fans your everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. Then you wake up the next day and do it all over again.

Cassandra didn't seem to sense the danger and leaned closer. "I'm a huge fan of your show. Cassandra Lavlin. My fiancé is Adam Cashon." She looked at me expectantly. "How nice." I wanted to turn away. I wanted to lay into her. I stood frozen. She blinked, obviously expecting more. "And you're with?" "Lucian Osmond." It was fairly gratifying to watch the color leach from her face. "Oh. I...ah...I know Luc... Lucian, that is." "I know." "You do?" She appeared pleased at this and glanced toward the ice. It didn't take any special talent to know she was looking at Lucian. You don't deserve to set eyes on him. "Yes, his cousin Anton said Lucian had been engaged to a woman named Cassandra." Her smile was a little less steady now, and she eyed me with wariness. "How lucky for you to find another fiancé so soon." May made a strangled noise of amusement, and Cassandra's friend glared. "Uh..." Cassandra's nose wrinkled, and I knew she was trying to work out if I'd insulted her. "Thanks." My answering smile was glacial. "I really should thank you." "Thank me?" Confused brown eyes blinked rapidly. "Yes. If you hadn't walked out on Lucian, I might not have met him. He's the best man I've ever known. So thank you.

I’m sure it all sounds very romantic. I may have thought the same thing at your age, but what if you decide you want out of the relationship? What if one of your screaming fans gets overzealous? What if somebody rear-ends you? It doesn’t have to be intentional. It doesn’t have to be even a large slight. My son will respond to these things with the same impulse. Protect what’s his by any means necessary.” She gave him a pitying look. “Being the object of my son’s affections is a huge responsibility.

and Fergus came back to the convention around noon. I clocked out of helping Krissy, and the four of us went back to investigating the case of Captain Jupiter’s stolen raygun. My dad and his bald detective buddies were marching around with magnifying glasses, acting like huge dorks. Fans of the show kept snatching the bald detective’s hats off their heads, and ran off shouting, “Got your hat, ya old baldy boo!

I’m a huge fan of minimum viable. You could simply run an email-only campaign that links to your blog posts and then link to a sales page.

Melissa Rauch: I remember being in my dressing room, hearing that the show was interested in making me a series regular, but because it wasn’t a full series regular, they didn’t want a big announcement. It was almost like it was a trial run, meaning I wouldn’t know week to week if I was going to be on. And then at one point, it just became all episodes, which was a huge shift because I had a little more stability. Both Mayim and I were eased in, so I credit the producers with making the transition seamless in that it wasn’t forced down people’s throats. As a fan of the show, if they had been like, Here’s your new cast members!, I think there would have been something very jarring about that. And if I knew then what I know now—in terms of what the job turned into—my nerves would have been off the charts. I would have imploded. It was just supposed to be a onetime job. The fact that it was so gradual was such a lesson in life: One step at a time, one day at a time, and don’t always look at the endgame, which is something I tend to do so much. It was such a gift and lesson that’s a great reminder even now.

A well-dressed, sexy combination of Scrooge and the Grinch. By the looks of your minimally wrinkled face, you're not a huge fan of smiling.

Don’t mind him, he’s a joker,” I said. “Yes, these are the Piglin Brutes from the Triad Bastion. Now, we need to take them to the station for everyone’s safety.” “Yes, of course. Good job, detective.” Aaron said. “Farewell, sailors. Thanks once again for your help,” I said. “Goodbye. We’ll be here if you need us.” Henry replied. We took the prisoners to the police station. One by one, we put them in their individual cells and locked them up. The Piglin Brutes, as expected, didn’t say a word and obeyed our orders with no resistance. “I wish all prisoners acted like that,” Officer Barry said. “Don’t wish that. We still need them to talk,” I corrected him. Officers Zimmer and Sal were waiting for us at the main hall. “There they are, the travelling officers and detectives,” Officer Zimmer said. “Welcome back. We took care of the station while you guys were away,” Sal said. “Hello officers, I believe we haven’t been introduced yet because you were on your day off when I arrived. I’m CalvinPignes, nice to meet you.” “No need to introduce yourself, Detective. You’re too famous for that! It’s an honor to meet you. Officer Zimmer at your disposal.” “Officer Sal, I’m a huge fan of your work,” Sal said.

As I said, you can make sales from a single email, or sometimes even a single blog post. But the reality is that the people who buy from that post are your early adopters and super fans. They are ready and willing to buy before you ever make the offer. They are also going to be a pretty small percentage of your list. In addition, you can only tap them so many times before they’re tapped out. Think about the huge lines when a new iPhone comes out. Those people represent the early adopters and super fans for iPhone.

When I was a child and I would listen to my sister's LPs She was a huge fan and she was so in love with him that she wrote him a letter. I enjoyed seeing my sis so happy about Manilow Mania. I wrote some lyrics based on one of his songs, also thinking of those ships that pass in the night in the city where I was born. Can you guess which one? Anyway, my sister was already unconscious at the hospital when I inserted an earplug so that she could hear some of his songs. It was very low, very mild Manilow, when all of a sudden, in the second cord when he sang "I made it through the rain" in a beat a bit higher her heartbeat which was being monitored played faster. I could see that as a sign that she was listening. I stopped the song and I started Singing one of her songs that she had especially made for my birthday when I turned nine yrs old and I never forgot about that. I could see a little smile coming from the left side of her lips. It was the affirmation I needed. That she was and will always be there for me as I so admired her soul to the bones!

Seeds of greatness My question for you is this: Are you really alive? Are you passionate about your life or are you stuck in a rut, letting the pressures of life weigh you down, or taking for granted what you have? You weren’t created to simply exist, to endure, or to go through the motions; you were created to be really alive. You have seeds of greatness on the inside. There’s something more for you to accomplish. The day you quit being excited about your future is the day you quit living. When you quit being passionate about your future, you go from living to merely existing. In the natural there may not be anything for you to be excited about. When you look into the future, all you see is more of the same. You have to be strong and say, “I refuse to drag through this day with no passion. I am grateful that I’m alive. I’m grateful that I can breathe without pain. I’m grateful that I can hear my children playing. I am grateful that I was not hurt in that accident. I’m grateful that I have opportunity. I’m not just alive--I’m really alive.” This is what Paul told Timothy in the Bible: “Stir up the gift, fan the flame.” When you stir up the passion, your faith will allow God to do amazing things. If you want to remain passionate, you cannot let what once was a miracle become ordinary. When you stared that new job you were so excited. You told all your friends. You knew it was God’s favor. Don’t lose the excitement just because you’ve had it for five years. When you fell in love after meeting the person of your dreams, you were on cloud nine. You knew this match was the result of God’s goodness. Don’t take it for granted. Remember what God has done. When your children were born, you cried for joy. Their births were miracles. You were so excited. Now you have teenagers and you’re saying, “God, why did you do this to me?” Don’t let what was once a miracle become so common that it’s ordinary. Every time you see your children you should say, “Thank you, Lord, for the gift you’ve given me.” We worked for three years to acquire the former Houston Rockets basketball arena for our church. During that time, it was still for sports and music events. When there wasn’t a ball game or concert, Victoria and I would come up late at night and walk around it. We’d pray and ask God for His favor. When the city leaders approved our purchase, we celebrated. It was a dream come true. Nearly ten years later, it’s easy to get used to. Holding services in such a huge building could become common, ordinary, and routine because we’ve been doing it so long now. But I have to admit that every time I walk in the building, I can’t help but say, “God, thank you. You have done more than I can ask or think.

Which reminds me of a story that Stanley Holloway told me. He and Rex Harrison were out having dinner at a restaurant one night, when a chap approached them. ‘Oh, Mr Harrison! Forgive me, but I’m a huge fan . . .’ ‘Fuck off then,’ snapped Rex. Later, as they were leaving, the same chap was standing outside. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Harrison, I realize I shouldn’t have interrupted your meal so I’ve waited for you to finish.’ He proffered a piece of paper hoping for an autograph. ‘Fuck off!’ Rex snapped again. Without blinking, the chap thumped Rex in the face and sent him flying backwards. Stanley nearly wet himself with laughter. ‘That’s the first case of the fan hitting the shit I’ve ever witnessed,’ he chuckled.

I’m a huge basketball fan (Boston Celtics fan for life!),

Hey Celeste! I'm glad you made it to this page. I've heard how much you love books, so I thought it would be fitting to put your clues on here! I hope I make your big/little reveal a special time for you in Sigma, like it was for me! Clue #1: I am a HUGE Robin Williams fan, and I grew up watching his movies with my dad!

The minutes snailed by. Harry let Lockhart’s voice wash over him, occasionally saying, ‘Mmm’ and ‘Right’ and ‘Yeah’. Now and then he caught a phrase like ‘Fame’s a fickle friend, Harry’ or ‘Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that’. The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry moved his aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley’s address. It must be nearly time to leave, Harry thought miserably, please let it be nearly time … And then he heard something – something quite apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart’s prattle about his fans. It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone-marrow, a voice of breath-taking, ice-cold venom. ‘Come … come to me … let me rip you … let me tear you … let me kill you …’ Harry gave a huge jump and a large lilac blot appeared on Veronica Smethley’s street. ‘What?’ he said loudly. ‘I know!’ said Lockhart. ‘Six solid months at the top of the bestseller list! Broke all records!’ ‘No,’ said Harry frantically. ‘That voice!’ ‘Sorry?’ said Lockhart, looking puzzled. ‘What voice?’ ‘That – that voice that said – didn’t you hear it?’ Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment. ‘What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you’re getting a little drowsy?