Lori Loud Quotes

For thinking I’m a psychopath, you don’t seem to fear being alone with me.” “I can scream. Loudly.” He glanced at me, like my words had an entirely different meaning— like he might like to hear me scream. My breathing became shallow.

Trace asked Jackson, “Why the hell are you even here?” Jackson looked far too uneasy for Trace’s peace of mind. “I know you didn’t want me here. I got the message loud and clear when you cut the call. Thing is, your little lady was damned insistent that I do something.” “Like get stunned and tied up?” “You try planning with a hellcat breathing fire in your ear, making demands, prodding you-“ “Priss?” “She’s a terror. That name doesn’t suit her at all.

Adam ” Lori called loudly enough for me to hear her but not so loud that her voice would carry up to my mom in the marina office- or to her dad who might be listening from their screened porch facing the water. “I came over to get some tips from the boys about teaching Tammy and Rachel to board. Of course I did not come over here to see you. How could you think such a thing That would be disobedient.” I held up the wax. “For my own disobedience I have to buff the boat. Then I’m going for a jog.” She tilted her head. Probably her eyes widened but I couldn’t see them behind her sunglasses. I hated not being able to see her eyes. She asked “In this heat?” I didn’t mind jogging in the heat. The heat was a big friendly animal that liked to wrestle and only occasionally sat on me until I lost my breath. Anyway she was missing the point. I repeated carefully ”I am GOING for a JOG.” “I HEARD you the FIRST time ” she said. “It’s late afternoon in the middle of June. It’s ninety-five degrees out here.” “He means he’s GOING for a JOG” Rachel and Tammy said at the same time. “He’s GOING for a JOG.” Lori still didn’t get it. Normally her blondeness was one of the things I loved about her. At the moment not so much. Exasperated Cameron told her “Adam wants you to go for a jog too.” She said “Oh ” “If you two airheads have to hook up secretly for very long ” Sean said “you’re not going to make it.

Mrs. Vader shook her head as she picked up a sponge and wiped the counter. “Lori, you need to watch out around these boys.” I was still miffed at her for implying I didn’t have a mind of my own. “Maybe they need to watch out around me.” I had thought this for a while, but I never said it out loud. When I saw the look on Mrs. Vader’s face, I wished I could take it back. “Maybe they do!” Her voice was shrill.

The Gong lived in the Pit. It made a loud, brassy "nnnnnnngggggggggg" that set everyone's teeth on edge. Any deal over 50K per annum, the salesman got to take a whack at it, so that the whole company would know he’d landed a big fish.

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!” ~~ Hunter S. Thompson

Because life happens and therapy helps us confront our demons when they pay a visit. And visit they will, because everyone has demons — big, small, old, new, quiet, loud.

You know what I love about Rosie?” he says. “She’s the only one who doesn’t ask things of me. The only one who isn’t, in one way or another, disappointed with me—or at least, she wasn’t before she bit me! Who wouldn’t love that?” He laughs loudly, like we’re at a bar and he’s just tossed out a breezy one-liner.

His thumb rubbed over her knee, and Priss wondered if he was aware of doing it, if he did it on purpose to turn her on, or if it was extension of the thoughts she saw flickering across his face. “Trace . . .” “It occurs to me that I didn’t see a single freckle on you. Not on your face.” He gave her a quick, level look. “And not on your body.” “Yeah, so?” “That’s kind of curious, don’t you think, given the color of your hair?” Priss lifted his hand and dropped it over next to him. “Okay, first off, hands to yourself. Got it?” He said nothing, but she saw the corner of his mouth tilt up in the slightest of smiles. “Secondly, did you happen to notice that my brows and lashes are a darker brown without a hint of red?” “Meaning?” “Meaning I’m not like other redheads who are . . .” Her face heated. “Red all over.” “Yeah?” He glanced at her lap meaningfully. “Do tell.” Priss punched him in the shoulder. “I don’t like what you’re thinking.” “You don’t know what I’m thinking.” And with another provoking grin, “Do you?” Like she’d say it out loud? No way. Priss crossed her arms. “If you were hinting that you think I dye my hair, I don’t. Everything on me is natural.” “We’ll see.” “No, we will not see a damn thing!” Under his breath, Trace said, “I damn near saw today. If I’d moved a foot closer for a better look—” “Stop it!” Priss felt heat throbbing in her face, and she hated it. “And that reminds me. I want you to delete that damned picture.” “Not a chance. Seeing you in that getup was a trophy moment for me.

Oh, good,” he says, cutting me off. “I still have twenty minutes left.” And then he’s back to his story. I sense a yawn coming on, a strong one, and it takes what feels like superhuman strength to keep my jaw clenched tight. I can feel my muscles resisting, twisting my face into odd expressions, but thankfully the yawn stays inside. Unfortunately, what comes out instead is a burp. A loud one. As though I’m drunk. (I’m not. I’m a lot of unpleasant things in this moment, but drunk isn’t one of them.) Because of the burp, my mouth starts to pop open again. I squeeze my lips together so hard that my eyes begin to tear. Of course, John doesn’t seem to notice. He’s still going on about Margo. Margo did this. Margo did that. I said this. She said that.

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.

And visit they will, because everyone has demons—big, small, old, new, quiet, loud, whatever. These shared demons are testament to the fact that we aren’t such outliers after all. And it’s with this discovery that we can create a different relationship with our demons, one in which we no longer try to reason our way out of an inconvenient inner voice or numb our feelings with distractions like too much wine or food or hours spent surfing the internet (an activity my colleague calls “the most effective short-term nonprescription painkiller”).

When Zev still didn’t say anything, Toby visibly stiffened, seemingly steeling his courage, and then continued speaking. “Is something going on with Jonah?” “We haven’t talked about Jonah since he moved away,” Zev answered after a short pause. “I know.” “That was three and a half years ago,” Zev continued. “I know.” He probably should have been surprised that Toby had known he’d kept in touch with Jonah, but Zev wasn’t. Lori was pretty perceptive, and she probably knew exactly where Zev went when he traveled for business. And what Lori knew, Toby knew. Whether they were aware of the nature of Zev’s feelings for the human wasn’t clear, but Zev was too tired to try to make excuses. “He’s gonna go to medical school.” Zev still hadn’t moved his arm from his face, so he couldn’t see Toby’s reaction. “Medical school?” Toby’s voice was tempered but confused. “That’s, like, four years of school and then four years of residency. Which means eight more years away from Etzgadol.” Eight more years away from me. The last part was really the crux of the problem, but Zev didn’t dare say it out loud. It’d give away too much. Still, it didn’t make sense. A few years away so they could grow up and be old enough to tie when they came back together, Zev was almost able to understand. But that time had passed, Zev had figured out how to tie with a male, and he was ready for his mate to join him. Why would nature give him a mate who insisted on staying away? Zev felt like he was missing something. Like there was a lesson he should be learning, but he had no clue what it was. Instead, he just felt frustrated and angry. So many thoughts were swirling in his mind that he hadn’t registered Toby’s long silence until the other man spoke again. “You know my mom works with Doc Carson.” The change in topic was weird, but welcome, so Zev engaged Toby in the conversation. “Yeah, I know.” “So I was asking her the other day if she thinks he’d take me on at the clinic when I get my nursing degree, and you know what she told me?” The conversation was about as interesting as watching paint peel, but at least it got Zev thinking about something other than Jonah. Almost.

want to capture the process in which humans, struggling to evolve, push against their shells until they quietly (but sometimes loudly) and slowly (but sometimes suddenly) crack open.

because everyone has demons—big, small, old, new, quiet, loud, whatever. These shared demons are testament to the fact that we aren’t such outliers after all. And it’s with this discovery that we can create a different relationship with our demons, one in which we no longer try to reason our way out of an inconvenient inner voice or numb our feelings with distractions like too much wine or food or hours spent surfing the internet (an activity my colleague calls “the most effective short-term nonprescription painkiller”). One of the most important steps in therapy is helping people take responsibility for their current predicaments, because once they realize that they can (and must) construct their own lives, they’re free to generate change.

Sometimes people can't identify their feelings because they were talked out of them as a children. The child says, "I'm angry," and the parent says, "Really? Over such a tiny thing? You're so sensitive!" Or the kid says, "I'm sad," and the parent says, "Don't be sad. Hey, look, a balloon!" Or the child says, "I'm scared," and the parent says, "There's nothing to be worried about. Don't be such a baby." But nobody can keep profound feelings sealed up forever. (...) With two chaotic parents who argued with abandon and liberal strings of expletives, sometimes so loudly that the neighbors complained - she had been forced to act as a grownup prematurely, like an underage driver navigating her life without a license. She rarely got to see her parents acting like adults, like her friends' parents. She'd had to parent herself, and her younger brother too. Children, however, don't like having to be hyper-competent. So it's not surprising that she wants me to be the mother for her now. I can be the normal parent who safely and lovingly drives the car, and she can have the experience of being taken care of in a way she never has before. But in order to cast me in the competent role, she believes she has to cast herself as the helpless one, letting me see only her problems. Patients often do this as a way to ensure that hte therapist won't forget about their pain if they mention something positive. Good things happen in her life too, but I only rarely hear about them; if I do, it's either in passing or months after they occurred.

You don’t need to prove your competence to Becca,” she says. “I know that. It’s Becca I’m worried about.” Ian coughs loudly, then pretends to gag. The entire group bursts out laughing. “Okay, maybe I do.” I put some cheese on a cracker. “It’s like this other patient I have who’s in a relationship with a guy who doesn’t treat her very well, and she won’t leave because on some level, she wants to prove to him that she deserves to be treated better. She’s never going to prove it to him, but she won’t stop trying.” “You need to concede the fight,” Andrea says.

It turns out that most of us aren’t aware of how we actually spend our time or what we really do all day until we break it down hour by hour and say it out loud.

I want to capture the process in which humans, struggling to evolve, push against their shells until they quietly (but sometimes loudly) and slowly (but sometimes suddenly) crack open.

Nor, as happened to me, do you want to run into a former patient in the bra section of a department store as the salesperson announces loudly, “Good news, ma’am! I was able to find the Miracle Bra in the thirty-four A.

And visit they will, because everyone has demons—big, small, old, new, quiet, loud, whatever. These shared demons are testament to the fact that we aren’t such outliers after all.

For thinking I’m a psychopath, you don’t seem to fear being alone with me.” “I can scream. Loudly.