Lynn Loud Quotes

In the family of punctuation, where the full stop is daddy and the comma is mummy, and the semicolon quietly practises the piano with crossed hands, the exclamation mark is the big attention-deficit brother who gets overexcited and breaks things and laughs too loudly.

As they grew sloppier and less alert, the twins argued too loudly about whether Tiger Lily was ugly or beautiful, and finally agreed that she was "ugly beautiful". Tiger Lily pretended she hadn't heard, but her heart slowed to absorb the blow.

Never mistake my silence for weakness. No one plans a murder out loud.

My favorite thing about music—when you played it loud enough through good headphones (and I had the best)—was that it softened the edges of the world.

Some of us exist just a little too loudly for the comfort of those who would prefer we did not exist at all

You're a quiet, beautiful woman in a loud, ugly place. An orchid among weeds. You define obvious.

I wanted to stand up and shout that this was unfair, but loud voices were not permitted in the library.

You are only given one life, one chance at fully living it...take risks, believe in your dreams, explore the world and her people, live out loud!

I got to get back to work. I’ll be looking for you to come entertain me soon, Becca Lynn,” Cage said in a low whisper then stepped around her and headed out the door without a backward glance. The second the door closed behind him Becca pulled out a kitchen chair and sank down into it with a loud thump. “OHMYGOD!” she squealed. “I swear I think I just creamed my damn panties.

When you lose the remote control to your television, four percent of the time it ends up in the freezer!” Sloane blurted out loudly.

You’re fearless.” Draven laughed loudly and shook his head. Zarah frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I’m not. Trust me. I’m scared all the time. You scare the living hell out of me.” Her jaw dropped. “I scare you?” “Anyone who isn’t scared of you is insane.

It was true love, Ted. I looked over, saw this guy, and I totally lost my mind. I know he's loud and in-your-face, but whenever I look at him I feel a little weak-kneed. And when I drive him - forget about it. He's fast and wild and a little unruly, and I can feel his throaty rumbles all through my body when I bury that gas pedal. That beast has forever ruined me for all other vehicles.

That was the first time I’d said that last bit out loud. Toby Hawthorne loved my mother. She loved him. It had been an epic, seaside kind of love. Literally. Just knowing that made me feel like I’d been lying to myself every time I’d pretended that I didn’t have feelings, that things didn’t have to be messy.

I cranked the radio and sang loud. I needed to hear a live human voice, and I was my own best hope.

Repeat after me, Gray: My feelings are valid.” “Stop talking,” Grayson ordered. “My emotions are real,” Xander continued. “Go on. Say it.” “I’m hanging up on you now.” “Who’s your favorite brother?” Xander called loudly enough that Grayson could still hear him even as he removed the phone from his ear. “Nash,” he answered loudly. “Lies!” Grayson’s phone vibrated. “I’m getting another call,” he told Xander. “More lies!” Xander said happily. “Give my regards to Girl Grayson!” “Good-bye, Xander.” “You said good-b—

Ice. Bank. Mice. Elf. (Say it out loud)

No, it's okay. It was just … weird. No one has ever called me hot before.” “Really?” Trace frowned. “Well, that changes right now.” He ceased walking, stopping in the dead center of the pathway and reached for my hands. “Jade Cannon, you are totally hot!” Trace announced loudly, and people nearby stopped to stare at us after his outburst. I couldn't help but laugh.

(Background: Morgan is a female warrior looking for a fight. Adhémar is your garden variety male.) A man near the door leered at her. Adhémar immediately stepped in front of her, but Morgan pushed him aside. She looked at the man and smiled pleasantly. Ah, something to take her mind off her coming journey. "Did you say something?" she asked. "Aye," he said, "I asked it you were occupied tonight, but I can see you have a collection of lads here to keep you busy—" Adhémar apparently couldn't control his chivalry. He took the man by the front of the shirt and threw him out the door. The man crawled to his feet and started bellowing. Adhémar planted his fist into the man's face. The stranger slumped to the ground, senseless. Morgan glared at Adhémar. "You owe me a brawl," she said. "What?" he asked incredulously. "A brawl," Morgan said. "And it had best be a good one." "With me?" he asked, blinking in surprise. "I'd prefer someone with more skill, that I might not sleep through it, but you'll do." Paien laughed out loud and pulled him away. "Adhémar, my friend, you cannot win this one. Next time, allow Morgan her little pleasures. She cannot help the attention her face attracts, and thus she has opportunities to teach ignorant men manners. In truth, it is a service she offers, bettering our kind wherever she goes.

Some of us exist just a little too loudly for the comfort of those who would prefer we did not exist at all.

A gentleman doesn’t participate in locker room talk. All he needs to do is fuck her hard enough that she screams loud enough that everyone can hear it. Different route, same outcome. -Note to self

What is childlike humility? It's that precious, fleeting time before we have accumulated enough pride or position to care what other people might think. The same un-self-conscious honesty that enables a three-year-old to splash joyfully in a rain puddle, or tumble laughing in the grass with a puppy, or point out loudly that you have a booger hanging out of your nose, is what is required to enter heaven. It is the opposite of ignorance—it is intellectual honesty: to be willing to accept reality and to call things what they are even when it is hard.

I have also noted, over the course of our friendship, that his hearing is curiously erratic. He can hear a lizard-bird scratching itself half a mile away, but occasionally seems unable to hear the politest of requests no matter how loudly I shout them at him.

She swallowed it down and willed her heart to settle. This was an important moment. For the first time she could introduce herself how she wanted. She got to define her own self. And no one was going to stop her. "Ella," she said quietly, as if saying out loud what had been only in her head for so long would break it further.

Why are there upper and lowercase letters, but not numbers? Sometimes I want to write loud numbers, and I can’t do that since there aren’t any uppercase numbers.

My favourite thing about music- when you played it loud enough through good headphones - was that it softened the edges of the world.

We are very good at desperate emails tinged with self-destruction. Hers are more active, more interactive. We have lives that look concretely, wholly separate, lives that, if one were to track back to the causes, to the feelings and the thinking, might feel largely the same. My depression is the flattest; it’s so boring; it’s all inward—in books, at least, as well as in her emails, the characters all do things. They have too much sex; they drink; they travel and their lives at least are filled with stories that they might tell later when they’re older and they’re better, when they’re the grown-up versions of these unformed, reckless things. I envy her these stories, their shape and texture, the concreteness of her self-destruction. She is looked at, and because she’s looked at, she lives her anger and her sadness out loud and people see; I disappear and so slip down and under. I, sporadically, quite violently, try to be seen and am then further knocked down by how completely that effort fails.

As I lay there, trying to swallow a loud, obnoxious yawn, I remembered something he’d said when we first met, about life being too short. I imagined he had firsthand experience with shortened lives while he was serving. That mentality came from experience. I got that now. Could even understand it, but there was something I didn’t understand. “Why?” I asked. There was a beat. “Why what?” Jax sounded tired, and I should shut up or point out that I was now tired and could sleep, so he could leave. But I didn’t. “Why are you here? You don’t know me and . . .” I trailed off, because there really wasn’t anything left to say. A minute went by, and he hadn’t answered my question, and then I think another minute ticked on, and I was okay with him not answering because maybe he didn’t even know. Or maybe he was just bored and that was why he was here. But then he moved. Jax pressed against my back, and the next breath I took got stuck in my throat. My eyes shot open. The sheet and blanket were between us, but they felt like nothing. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Getting comfortable.” He dropped an arm over my waist, and my entire body jerked against his. “It’s time to sleep I think.” “But—” “You can’t sleep when you talk,” he remarked. “You don’t need to be all up on me,” I pointed out. His answering chuckle stirred the hair along the back of my neck. “Honey, I’m not all up on you.” I freaking begged to differ on that point. I started to wiggle away, but the arm around my waist tightened, holding me in place. “You’re not going anywhere,” he announced casually, as if he wasn’t holding me prisoner in the bed. Okay. The whole prisoner thing might be melodramatic, but he wasn’t letting me up. Not when he was getting all kinds of comfy behind me. Oh my God, this was spooning. Total spooning. I was spooning with an honorary member of the Hot Guy Brigade. Did I wake up in a parallel universe? “Sleep,” he demanded, as if the one word carried that much power. “Go to sleep, Calla.” This time his voice was softer, quieter. “Yeah, it doesn’t work that way, Jax. You have a nice voice, but it doesn’t hold the power to make me sleep on your command.” He chuckled. I rolled my eyes, but the most ridiculous thing ever was the fact that after a couple of minutes, my eyes stayed shut. I . . . I actually settled in against him. With his front pressed to my back, his long legs cradling mine, and his arm snug around my waist, I actually did feel safe. More than that, I felt something else—something I hadn’t felt in years. I felt cared for . . . cherished. Which was the epitome of dumb, because I barely knew him, but feeling that, recognizing what the warm, buzzing feeling was, I fell right asleep.

Words they could never say out loud were swimming through her head, tearing at her heart even as it was opening fully to him. They could not have forever, but they could have now, so she stilled her mind and focused on the feel of his arms around her and on the all the love she could give him in this one moment.

I sat down and read out loud a statement on the box, a message from the Celestial realm. If I had my child to raise all over again, I'd finger paint more, and point the finger less. I'd do less correcting, and more connecting. I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes. I would care to know less, and know to care more. I'd take more hikes and fly more kites. I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play. I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars. I'd do more hugging, and less tugging. I would be firm less often, and affirm much more. I'd build self-esteem first, and the house later. I'd teach less about the love of power, And more about the power of love. -Diane Loomans, Full Esteem Ahead

They tell us that women make loud noises during sex “from the Lower East Side to the upper reaches of the Amazon”, overlooking the fact that as far as the Amazonian tribes are concerned, signs of female sexual enjoyment are sometimes discouraged and the existence of the female orgasm is often not even recognized. In all of these tribes where we have had the information, female sexual pleasure is either a non-issue, discouraged, or sex is as private and as quiet as possible.

Ollie appeared, a cellphone in one hand and Raphael wiggling in the other. “Smile!” he shouted as he snapped a picture on his phone. “It’s like my two kids are going to prom.” Both Cam and I were dumbstruck. Ollie beamed. “Putting this in my scrapbook. Have fun!” He popped back into their apartment, closing the door behind him. “Um…” Cam laughed loudly. “Oh God, that was different.” “He doesn’t normally do that?” “No.” He laughed again, putting his hand on my lower back.

No choice. No coincidence. Pah! We take this train on purpose." Fabbio waved his long arms dismissively. "And what about htis bump in the road?" Fabbio looked out the window. "I see no bump." Pumpkin let out a loud sigh. "'Bump in the road' is an expression." He was wearing a toga he'd found in an abandoned suitcase, tied with a curtain tie. He flounced one tassel around dramatically as he talked, smiling haughtily at Kitty from the corner of his eye. "It doesn't mean a real bump. It means-" Bump "Meay!" Somber Kitty, hissing, bounced against one of the closed windows, then landed on all fours. Pumpkin flew across the table under a cascade of dards; Beatrice and May hurtled off their bench onto the ground; Fabbio tumbled flat against the wall behind him. Scccccccccccccccrrrrrrrrrrrrrrcccccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! The train came to a dead halt. A bone-chilling stillness followed. The Bogey. Pumpkin whimpered and zipped under the table. Somber Kitty positioned himself between May and the rear car door. And they all readied themselves for whatever might come through it.

Runach took the book in hand and went to look for that Bruadarian lass, who was likely having a conversation with the flora and fauna of his grandfather's garden... He just hadn't expected her to be singing. It wasn't loud singing, though he could hear it once he'd wandered the garden long enough to catch sight of her, standing beneath a flowering linden tree, holding a blossom in her hand. Runach came to a skidding halt and gaped at her. Very well, so he had ceased to think of her as plain directly after Gobhann, and he had been struggling to come up with a worthy adjective ever since. He supposed he might spend the rest of his life trying, and never manage it. It was difficult to describe a dream. He had to sit down on the first bench he found, because he couldn't stand any longer. He wondered if the day would come where she ceased to surprise him with the things she did. Her song was nothing he had ever heard before, but for some reason it seemed familiar in a way he couldn't divine. It was enough for the moment to simply sit there and watch as she and the tree--and several of the flowers, it had to be said--engaged in an ethereal bit of music making. It was truthfully the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, and that was saying something, because the musicians who graced his grandfather's hall were unequalled in any Elvish hall he'd ever visited. And then Runach realized why what she was doing sounded so familiar. She was singing in Fadaire. He grasped for the rapidly disappearing shreds of anything resembling coherent thought, but it was useless. All he could do was sit on that very cold bench and listen to a woman who had hardly set foot past her place of incarceration, sing a song in his mother's native tongue, that would have brought any elf in the vicinity to tears if they had heard it. He knew because it was nigh onto bringing him to that place in spite of his sorry, jaded self.

Andrew laughed at the use of the word “theater.” “B.Atlman will have plenty of theater on Monday,” he said, “when Estée Lauder arrives to secure a prime location in the new cosmetic department. I was told on Friday that she intends to bring along her husband, Joseph, as well as her sons, Leonard and Ronald, to make sure she gets exactly what she wants.” Nina laughed loudly. “Oh, she’ll get what she wants all right. She’s a determined woman.” She glanced sideways at Dana. “And we know what a determined woman can accomplish, don’t we?” “Yes, we do,” Dana replied. In Nina’s presence, the restrictions imposed by Bea and Helen seemed almost trivial. Dana had experienced a single setback, but Nina was a reminder of what real determination and enthusiasm could accomplish. “Her reputation precedes her,” Andrew said. “Ira already told me to give Ms. Lauder whatever she wants.” “Sounds like a done deal,” Dana said. “That’s why there’s going to be a little drama on Monday,” Andrew said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “The space she wants has already been promised to Charles of the Ritz.

Nathaniel slapped him on the back with a loud smack, then whispered into his face. “It’s too easy to ruffle your feathers, Thomas.” His eyes lit with mischief. “Don’t worry, I know you saw her first.

Aren’t we as good as married now?” Richard’s gaze flicked to the bed, then back at her. Jessica blushed in spite of herself. “That was part of my question,” she acknowledged. “Aye, we’re wed.” “Well,” she said, nodding, “that’s good to know.” Richard looked at her side, then frowned. “We will wait,” he announced. “We will?” “Until your side is healed.” He paused. “If that suits.” “It might be best,” she agreed. “You don’t mind waiting?” he asked. “No, I don’t mind.” “I don’t either,” Warren said loudly. “And I want a niece, not a nephew.” Richard gritted his teeth and put Jessica to bed before he walked away. Jessica heard a yelp, then the sound of a protesting Warren being escorted to the door. “Jessica said I could stay—” “Jessica is not lord here!” The door shut with a slam.

After Rep. Martin Sweeney of Ohio delivered a scathing attack on the Roosevelt administration for allegedly using conscription as a way to get the United States into the war, Rep. Beverly Vincent of Kentucky, who was next to Sweeney, loudly muttered that he refused “to sit by a traitor.” Sweeney swung at Vincent, who responded with a sharp right to the jaw that sent Sweeney staggering. It was, said the House doorkeeper, the best punch thrown by a member of Congress in fifty years.

Are you going to tell me you don’t think about it anymore? What it would be like to date you, to have the right to touch you? Kiss you?” My breath hisses out of me, loud, needy, and I know he heard. “What it would feel like when my cock’s inside you, fucking you hard and deep.

STAR PLUNKED INTO THE SHALLOW END WITH A loud splash, startling a flock of geese. He trotted out of the lake, shook himself, and collapsed, exhausted, in the coarse sand. He lay for a long time, swatting flies with his tail and thinking about what had just happened. The Hundred Year Star blazed next to the sun, visible even during the brightest day.

On Why It’s A Threat by Lynne Schmidt The first time she is catcalled, she is nineteen years old and we are walking down the street, dog leashes in hand, on a college campus that is not ours but is close enough to be home. Close enough that I should feel safe to walk my pets, go for a run, exist. He rolls up, and I bristle when I hear the stop because it’s too soon, and she mistakes the slowing for the sign at the end of the road. My ears wait for what may or may not come next and sure enough his voice rises just loud enough so we can hear it, “I don’t know which is more beautiful, the dogs, or the girls walking them.” Beside me, she stills, a deer in the sights of a gun, eyes wild like prey ready for fight or flight, because she is. Another youngest child seeking protection when there may not be any safety to be had. She does not realize she walks beside a bomb who marched in DC against a rapist in seat, who has been fighting off men like this since her knuckles could bleed. I ignite for all the times she will be yelled at and all the times my oldest sister has thrown me behind her when the vehicles stop and the car doors open. I position my body between her and this man, the way my sister did for me, a shell of a shield if need be, grip the leash tighter with my hand and demand he to keep driving. My hands shake. My voice doesn’t. This is all I need her to hear. His saccharine words turn to acid, smile sliding off his face like an avalanche, Bitch-cunt you have STIs I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole before his tires peel away pavement and leave us reeling in dust. When we return home, she is still shaking, and I am still furious. She tells me she was scared she would be hurt, or I would be hurt, and I tell her, the same thing my sister told me, I wouldn’t let that happen. Later, when she tells her partner what happened, he says, “It’s not a big deal. Why are you acting like it is?

After opening his concert with the American national anthem, Rubinstein stood up and told the audience that he did not see the flag of his own country among the dozens displayed in the Opera House. His next selection, he announced, would therefore be the Polish national anthem. As he played the stirring notes of “Poland Has Not Yet Perished as Long as We Live,” the audience burst out in loud, sustained applause.

How’s the patient? I know you said she’s asleep, but I need to see how she’s healing. Would now be all right?” “Of course.” Thomas motioned for Nathaniel to lead the way. “She’s improving all the time, I’m happy to say.” Nathaniel let out a slight chuckle. “I bet you are happy.” “What do you mean by that?” Thomas protested, grabbing his arm and stopping him mid-stride on the stairs. “Nothing.” Nathaniel painted a look of bewilderment on his face. “But, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how would you feel about me, say, taking her around town once she’s feeling up to it?” A sudden fire burned inside Thomas. The muscles in his face began to twitch as he shot Nathaniel a glowering look. How dare his friend make such a comment? Nathaniel tried to suppress a large grin. “That’s what I thought.” He laughed under his breath. Thomas relaxed a bit and attempted a small grin of his own as his pulse cooled. “You’re asking for trouble.” Nathaniel slapped him on the back with a loud smack, then whispered into his face. “It’s too easy to ruffle your feathers, Thomas.” His eyes lit with mischief. “Don’t worry, I know you saw her first.” If

Tis good to see you, Nathaniel. As always.” She cleared her throat, upset at how her words expressed more longing than she’d wished to expose. “But, I certainly do not wish to detain you, I know how busy you’ve been. I’ll let you be on your way.” Kitty turned and started up the street again, but he was instantly at her side.  “I’m in no hurry, and since it appears that you have no fixed engagements, allow me to walk with you a while. I’ve missed our conversations, Kitty.” This cannot be happening. She stopped and guarded her breathing to keep her rising anxiety at bay. “Really, Nathaniel, I’m going nowhere, I’m simply—” “You’re trying to be rid of me.” He jerked back and pressed a hand to his chest in exaggerated shock. “I cannot believe it.” Kitty failed to snuff-out the smile that burst to life on her face. “Nay, I’m not, I’m—” “You’re angry with me.” He shook his head. “What have I done this time?” Now she giggled. “I am not angry.” “Oh dear. I know what it is,” he said, his mouth twisted to the side. “You’re going to meet another gentleman.” “Nay!” This time she laughed out-loud. “I am not. I am doing nothing but taking a leisurely stroll.” She sighed through her smile. If anyone could make her forget her sorrows, it was Nathaniel.  For the first time in two weeks, the ugliness around her heart receded and the beauty of the world radiated around her in all its color and brilliance. “I speak truthfully,” she said, shrugging. “I am merely walking.” Nathaniel’s handsome face lit as if the sun shone from within him. “Good.” He cocked his elbow. “Come, this day is far too beautiful to stroll without someone with whom to enjoy it. I promise to be on my best behavior.” Taking

Y'all know that little gal Kelly Crawford that works down at Tuckers?" Tuckers Jiffy Lube was the only gas station and mechanical shop in town. Jena Lynn's face contorted in disapproval. "You referring to that scantily clad girl who runs the register?" I asked as Jena Lynn hopped up to retrieve the coffeepot. "That's the one." Betsy curled up her lip in disgust. "That girl is barely legal!" I was outraged. "I know! I'm going to tell her granny. She'll take a hickory switch to the girl when she finds out what she's been up to. She was all over Darnell." Betsy wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She was right about that. Her granny wasn't the type to spare the rod; she parented old-school style. Jena Lynn's tone rose as she stirred raw sugar into her coffee. "You caught them?" "Well, I called him after what happened with poor Mr. Ledbetter---" We shook our heads. "---told him I was going to be late 'cause I was taking that extra shift. Guess he thought late meant real late 'cause when I got home, they we're rootin' around on my couch, the one my meemaw gave me last spring when she had her house redecorated." We sat in stunned silence. "I threw his junk out last night. And when he still didn't budge from the TV"---she paused for effect---"I set it all on fire, right there in the front yard." She leaned back and crossed her arms over her expansive chest. "That's harsh." Sam stacked his empty plates. "Maybe it wasn't Darnell's fault." Jena Lynn and I gave him a disapproving glare. He appeared oblivious to his offense, and the moron had the audacity to reach into the container for a cream cheese Danish. "Sam, if you value that scrawny hand of yours, I'd pull it out real slow or you'll be drawing back a nub," Betsy warned. "Sheesh!" Sam jerked backward. It was obvious he didn't doubt her for a second. He marched toward the kitchen and dropped the plates in the bus tub with a loud thud. "He should know better. You don't touch a gal's comfort food in a time of crisis," I said, and my sister nodded in agreement. Jena Lynn patted Betsy on the arm. "Ignore him, Bets. He's a man." I stood. "And if I may be so bold as to speak for all the women of the world who have been unfortunate enough to be in your shoes, we applaud you." A satisfied smile spread across Betsy's lips. "Thank you." She took a little bow. "That's why my eyes look like they do. Smoke got to me." She leaned in closer. "I threw all his high school football trophies into the blaze while he was hollering at me. The whole neighborhood came out to watch." I chuckled. The thought of Darnell Fryer running around watching all his belongings go up in smoke was hilarious. I wished I'd been there. "Did anyone try to step in and help Darnell?" "Hell nah. He owes his buddies so much money from borrowing to pay his gambling debts, the ones that came out brought their camping chairs and watched the show while tossing back a few cold ones." She got up from the counter to scoop a glass full of ice and filled it with Diet Coke from the fountain. "Y'all, I gotta lose this weight now I'm back on the market." Betsy was one of a kind.

Sheriff?” I asked tightly, turning around to find him less than a foot away. I swallowed. “And what do you want for lunch?” He eyed me for a long moment, then said, “Your double platter of bacon and egg biscuits with a side of hash browns, easy on the salt.” He stepped back, leaning a hip against the edge of the counter as I dug the ingredients out of the fridge. “The questions can wait, just wanted to see how you’re holding up, seeing as you were the one to find her and all.” The sizzle of an egg landing on the griddle was loud as I prepared his meal. “I’m fine.” I reached for another egg. Crack. “Thank you for asking.

She won’t say this part out loud to Kate—she’s not quite capable of saying shame out loud.

After the show Humphrey Barclay, a highly talented Harrovian Head Boy who could act, direct, and draw cartoons, introduced me to John Cleese, a very tall man with black hair and piercing dark eyes. They were very complimentary and encouraged me to audition for the Footlights. I had never heard of this University Revue Club, founded in 1883 to perform sketches and comedy shows, but it seemed like a fun thing to do, and a month later Jonathan Lynn and I were voted in by the Committee, after performing to a packed crowd of comedy buffs in the Footlights’ Club Room. Jonathan, a talented actor, writer, and jazz drummer, would go on to direct Pass the Butler, my first play in the West End, and also write and direct Nuns on the Run, a movie with me and Robbie Coltrane. The audition sketch I had written for us played surprisingly well and, strange details, in the front row, lounging on a sofa, laughing with some Senior Fellows, was the author Kingsley Amis, next to the brother of the soon-to-be-infamous Guy Burgess, who would shortly flee the country, outed as perhaps the most flamboyant of all the Cambridge spies—for whenever he was outrageously drunk in Washington, which was every night, he would announce loudly to everybody that he was a KGB spy. Nobody believed him

At the next interview, I tripped over a chair and reflexively grunted out a semi-loud fuck me as it happened.

You sound like a person who needs to think out loud...proceed

I met Chris at the Student Union. We both used to study there between our 9:30 and 11:30 classes. I had seen him on campus before. He was always wearing this yellow sweatshirt and giant headphones. The kind of headphones that say, “I may not take my clothes seriously. I may not have brushed or even washed my hair today. But I pronounce the word ‘music’ with a capital ‘M.’ Like God.” So I had noticed him before. He had Eddie Vedder hair. Ginger brown, tangly. He was too thin (much thinner than he is now), and there were permanent smudges under his eyes. Like he was too cool to eat or sleep. I thought he was dreamy. I called him Headphone Boy. I couldn’t believe my luck when I realized we studied in the Union at the same time. Well, I studied. He would pull a paperback out of his pocket and read. Never a textbook. Sometimes, he’d just sit there with his eyes closed, listening to music, his legs all jangly and loose. He gave me impure thoughts. (...) There we were. In the Student Union. He always sat in the corner. And I always sat one row across from him, three seats down. I took to leaving my 9:30 class early so I could primp and be in my spot looking casual by the time he sauntered in. He never looked at me – or anyone else, to my relief – and he never took off his headphones. I used to fantasize about what song he might be listening to… and whether it would be the first dance at our wedding… and whether we’d go with traditional wedding photography or black and white… Probably black and white, magazine style. There’d be lots of slightly out-of-focus, candid shots of us embracing with a romantic, faraway look in our eyes. Of course, Headphone Boy already had a faraway look in his eyes, which my friend Lynn attributed to “breakfast with Mary Jane.” This started in September. Sometime in October, one of his friends walked by and called him “Chris.” (A name, at last. “Say it loud and there’s music playing. Say it soft and it’s almost like praying.”) One Tuesday night in November, I saw him at the library. I spent the next four Tuesday nights there, hoping it was a pattern. It wasn’t. Sometimes I’d allow myself to follow him to his 11:30 class in Andrews Hall, and then I’d have to run across campus to make it to my class in the Temple Building. By the end of the semester, I was long past the point of starting a natural, casual conversation with him. I stopped trying to make eye contact. I even started dating a Sig Ep I met in my sociology class. But I couldn’t give up my 10:30 date with Headphone Boy. I figured, after Christmas break, our schedules would change, and that would be that. I’d wait until then to move on. All my hope was lost. And then… the week before finals, I showed up at the Union at my usual time and found Chris sitting in my seat. His headphones were around his neck, and he watched me walk toward him. At least, I thought he was watching me. He had never looked at me before, never, and the idea made my skin burn. Before I could solve the problem of where to sit, he was talking to me. He said, “Hey.” And I said, “Hi.” And he said, “Look…” His eyes were green. He kind of squinted when he talked. “I’ve got a 10:30 class next semester, so… we should probably make other arrangements.” I was struck numb. I said, “Are you mocking me?” “No,” he said, “I’m asking you out.” “Then, I’m saying yes.” “Good..,” he said, “we could have dinner. You could still sit across from me. It would be just like a Tuesday morning. But with breadsticks.” “Now you’re mocking me.” “Yes.” He was still smiling. “Now I am.” And that was that. We went out that weekend. And the next weekend. And the next. It was wildly romantic.

Inside, the animals greeted her. A parrot that had arrived that week, cage and all, squawked at her. The dogs---four of them now---launched into happy yips. One of the cats that had shown up on the porch rubbed itself against her legs. "Oh God, I'm Dr. Dolittle," Leeda said out loud.

It was cold and dark. The ocean tossed its waves with loud crashes upon the beach and the cliffside on the west side of the city, the roaring of the water a protest against the tyranny and oppression that weighted down the very air in this place.

Pauline let out a loud groan. “Everybody thinks everybody is the killer. The lady at the 7-Eleven says it’s that guy Sam from the Gill Creek Maritime Museum, because he has sinister eyebrows. I think it’s Liam.” Liam stared into the fire. “I did it with s’more sticks.

My favourite thing about music - when you played it loud enough through good headphones (and I have the best)- was that it softened the edges of the world.

nipples. “That’s the bitch that broke up with you because you had a kid?” Downy exclaimed rather loudly.

Suddenly, he heard a twig snap, loud and sharp—ominous—as though something heavy had stepped on it. Frightened, he knew he had to get back to the herd. He would trot home another way so no one would notice him returning by himself. He got up and made his way through the trees. He found a deer trail and followed it, trying to be quiet by placing each hoof softly in front of the other. After a while he emerged from the forest on a high ridge overlooking Dawn Meadow. Spread below him was Sun Herd, grazing, their wings blinking open and closed. The sun was setting, casting orange light across their vibrant feathers, and as usual, the pegasi had gathered into their family groups for the evening.

Tami Lynn Kent added mantras to each of the five A’s to make them even more powerful: Attention: I see you Appreciation: I value you Approval: I accept you Affection: I love you Allowing: I trust you I suggest that you say these each morning out loud to yourself while looking right into your eyes in the mirror. You’ll feel an energy shift by day 20—or even earlier. And in the future, you can judge the value of your relationships by whether or not these five A’s are present or absent.

Jimena sensed their fear. That brought a smile to her face. Her reputation was still so big that even tough enimigas wouldn't face her down. She strutted past them, her heels snapping loudly on the sidewalk. She enjoyed the feel of their admiring eyes, their sideways glances and the wonder she saw on their faces. Jimena wasn't choloed out in khakis, a tight T, and long, boyfriend-borrowed Pendletons. She wore a slinky dress and ankle-breaking high-heels. The rain made the dress cling to her body, so they knew she wasn't strapping. No gun. Still, they were afraid to confront her. This time she stopped for the red light, pausing to let the chicas know she didn't fear them. It felt good to be the toughest chola en el condado de Los Angeles. She was still down for Ninth Street, her old gang, but at age fifteen, already a veterana. A leyenda, her homegirls told her with pride. Jimena had been a real badass before she understood her destiny. She glanced at the scars and tattoos on her hand. What would the klika-girls do if they knew her true identity?