Neanderthal Seeks Human Quotes

« Quote of the day: “Friendship is like peeing your pants; everyone can see it but only you can feel it».

I decided, as I succumbed to sleep, that men should come with manuals, subtitles, and reset buttons.

You make me want to be less of an asshole.

There are only 10 types of people in the world. Those who understand binary, and those who don't.

We see the strengths and faults in others that we do not or cannot recognize in ourselves.

I have no desire to cherish each person's bullshit and call it a beautiful snowflake.

She said I owned the clothes of a radiologist and the shoes of an OBGYN; which is like the medical doctor equivalent of saying that I dressed like a librarian with a propensity of fuckmeboots.

If we were in Victorian England I would have called him dashing;but, since we lived in the 21st century I would have to settle for the wordier GQ model hot.

It means my brain finds you more interesting than all the really interesting trivial facts I could be contemplating or researching at present.

If I were a function, you would be my asymptote. I always tend toward you.

Almost immediately I told that voice to go eat shit and die.

I had reclusive tendencies for a reason, I couldn’t be trusted to live in the world and make decisions on my own.

My upstairs brain and my downstairs brain engaged in a game of risk and it was downstairs’ turn to roll the dice.

God, Quinn, you have no idea how permanent I’d like this to be. I’d like us to be Twinkies and cockroaches, death and taxes. But I…

I was determined to stay off the see-saw of crazy

I didn’t like trusting, I didn’t like setting greater than mild expectations

He didn’t save us ; haven’t you been listening?” Elizabeth held an icepack to her chin where she’d been hit by an meaty elbow . “Fiona stabbed one of them with a Susan Bates needle, Marie was wielding a tequila bottle, Sandra pistol-whipped the other, and I shot the third.” “Where were Janie and Kat?” Ashley looked from me to Kat. “Hiding behind the couch like sane people!” Kat said before anyone else could speak.

Since I spent much of my childhood being left behind and ignored, one might think that, as an adult, moments of perceived abandonment would feel old hat. The truth is, as an adult, I am always waiting to be left behind. I’m always ready to be discarded and, therefore, I spend a significant amount of time preparing for this eventuality. I lower my expectations, I don’t seek out meaningful relationships, and I don’t engage in any sort of real intimacy, physical or otherwise. Engage is the key word here. Except, when I engage, when it happens, when I’m left behind it doesn’t feel old hat. It feels like it did the first time and it takes me by surprise. So, I don’t let it happen.

And when you’re ready to cut his balls off, I will provide the knife.

That is why I don't want a cell phone. I don't want a droopy fin.

However, the more stressful my situation is, the less I think about it, or anything related to it. At present , I thought about how the elevators were like mechanical horses, and I wondered if anyone loved them or named them.

I wondered what steps I could take to remove the word ‘moisture’ or even ‘moist’ from the English language; I really hated the way it sounded and always went out of my way to avoid saying it. I also really didn’t like the word slacks

Men should come with manuals, subtitles, and reset buttons.

Quote of the day: “Friendship is like peeing your pants; everyone can see it but only you can feel it.

I had no intention of drinking tequila with Quinn. Quinn plus tequila equaled Quinquelia and that sounded like something that happens in Mexican jails.

Who called it? I called it! That’s right, uh huh!

He half said, half mumbled, "I'm not that nice.

I didn't care about embarrassing myself further. What was one more debit of mortification when my balance sheet was already in the red by hundreds of thousands?

My head said no and my vagina said yes and my heart said I DON’T KNOW!! I’M EMOTIONALLY INHIBTED! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

Who thinks, I’m going to cheat on my girlfriend, but I’ve got too much of a social conscience to leave my condom wrapper on the floor—heaven forbid I litter.

I was planning to sort my comic books based on level of second wave feminist influence.” “As opposed to first wave?” “Yes, well, Susan B. Anthony laid the foundation for those who have come after. It’s all really interrelated but she didn’t have direct influence over late twentieth century comics.

We fought over the bill when it came. By fought I mean: I insisted loudly on paying half and he responded with beleaguered silence. Instead of discussing it or attempting to engage in my one-sided conversation, he wordlessly put his credit card in the holder; he kept it carefully out of my reach as I continued to list all the reasons we should split the check, not the least of which was that we’d agreed earlier that this was not a date, then handed it stealthily to the waiter as he passed. I was still oblivious, making my case, when Quinn signed the receipt.“Wait- what are you doing?” I looked from him to the paper slip.Silence. Scribble. Silence. “Did you just sign that? Was that the check?” My voiced hitched, my eyes wide with pseudo outrage. He glanced up at me, something like mock innocence lighting his features, and said, “I’m sorry. Did you want to split that?

... It wasn't my finest moment, but I rolled my eyes and actually huffed. "Fine, don't answer. I don't even know why I asked." "No, I am not having sex with anyone." "Oh." I shrugged nonchalantly, but for some reason his response filled me with glee. It was as if a unicorn had appeared beneath a double rainbow and started tap dancing.

I don’t think of you as perfect. “Oh… ok.” My eyelashes blinked in rapid succession and my brain started compiling the list of all my imperfections, “It’s because of my height? My seepage of trivial facts? My granny panties-

Seriously, big guy, you just need to make like a shepherd and get the flock out of here.

His response filled me with glee. It was as if a unicorn had appeared beneath a double rainbow and started tap dancing.

Over the last several days, I'd done a fair amount of practiced focusing on my present state of "lesness" - homelessness, joblessness and relationshiplessness. Less was not more. Less was an unstable, uncomfortable place to be.

They hovered at an appropriate blast radius: close enough to watch my shame unfold but far enough to pass for a socially acceptable distance.

Some guys just aren’t boyfriend material.” “Well, then, what kind of material are they? Suede?

His eyes always seemed to be a shade of up-to-no-good blue.

have no judgment for Wendells; in fact, I applaud their stamina and ability to provide excellent service to so many women. It seems like a very efficient and generous use of resources.

It’s nice to hear your voice…?” The statement came out sounding like a question, as though I were playing jeopardy and I’d chosen my category- ‘I’ll take ‘Charming Chit Chat’ for $200, Alex’ and behind the $200 read: ‘This is what you say to the hot guy- you abandoned- when he returns after you inexplicably leave him and his private jet in Las Vegas after having amazing and multiple occurrences of the hot sex.

When we unloaded the last box Vincent surprised me by taking my hand and placing a kiss on my knuckles. His deep chocolate eyes gazed into mine as he spoke with an air of knowing wisdom, “If I ever cheated on my wife I think she’d have cut my balls off. If you don’t want to castrate this guy after what he’s done then he’s not the one for you.” he nodded as though affirming the truth of his words.

DEDICATION To my computer: I couldn’t have written this without you To the software developers responsible for spellcheck: You are my everyday heroes To Karen: I hope this makes you laugh and makes you proud. To my readers (all 3 of you): Thank you

Everything about her was unexpected and unique. She was my bright light of eccentricity in a very predictable and ordinary world. She made everything new and interesting or funny.

I suppose if the relationship is between two people who are keeping score, then you are right—there will be a winner and a loser. However, if no one is keeping score, then no one loses.

I wondered what steps I could take to remove the word ‘moisture’ or even ‘moist’ from the English language; I really hated the way it sounded and always went out of my way to avoid saying it.

Dan was shorter than me, especially as I was wearing sky blue silk stilettos. He appeared to be my age or a few years older,stocky, and thick necked with swirling tattoos just visible beneath the blue collar of his uniform.Dan gave me a plain once over as he walked me to an elevator and placed his palm against a glass screen. The screen retracted to reveal keypad. Dan then punched in a series of numbers and he said- “You’re very big.”I gave him a cursory smile, “Yes. I ate all my vegetables as a child.

A little voice in the back of my head said: don’t trust him! You’re not special! You’re weird and awkward and a big-headed Neanderthal freak with Medusa hair!!! He’s confused you with someone else!!!! Almost immediately I told that voice to go eat shit and die.

My internal temper tantrum tirade continued: But attracting and holding the interest of someone like Quinn Sullivan will have to go into my box of make believe with the eventual remake of Final Fantasy 7 with Playstation 3 graphics or finding an original, pristine version of Detective Comics No. 27- Batman's debut.

Look at them. Where are they looking? They're not looking at each other, they're not looking at the art on the wall or the sun in the sky; they're looking at their phones. They hang on to every beep and alert and tweet and status update. I don't want to be that. I'm distracted enough as it is by the actual, tangible, physical world. I've embraced the efficiency of a desktop PC for work and research, and I even use a laptop on my own time, but I draw the line at a cell phone. If I want social media, I'll join a book club. I will not be collared and leashed and tracked like a tagged orca in the ocean.

The dreams were the troubling kind where I thought the action and events were genuine while asleep; upon waking and in retrospect I realized they were obviously completely implausible.The one I remembered most intensely upon waking was about losing my teeth. The fragments of bone continually fell out of my mouth every time I opened it to speak; and they ran away- though they had no legs- which, in the dream, sent me into a panic. There is nothing quite like watching one’s own legless teeth running away.

Why do you love it?” I had a sense that I would enjoy her answer. I knew it would be unexpected and unique. Everything about her was unexpected and unique. She was my bright light of eccentricity in a very predictable and ordinary world. She made everything new and interesting or funny.

I think you’re better off without him.” Ashley didn’t lift her blue eyes from her scarf as she offered her thoughts; her long,straight brown hair was pulled into a clever twist. She was a nurse practitioner originally from Tennessee and I loved listening to her accent; “I never trust a Jon without an ‘h’. John should be spelled J-o-h-n, not J-o-n.

I admired him from afar, like a really amazing piece of art that you only see in photographs or behind glass in a museum. So we affectionately referred to him as Handsome McHotpants; more accurately, Elizabeth and I knighted him Sir Handsome McHotpants one night after drinking too many mojitos.

... smart, funny, sweet, nice to his family, good looking in an adorable kind of way.

Did you really just say ‘by the mighty power of Thor’?” “I’m trying to cuss less.

The driver asked me where I wanted to go; I wanted to say Las Vegas but I didn’t think that would go over very well

I hated it when people used air quotes. It was like when someone says ‘we’ instead of ‘I’. As in ‘We would be so delighted… we just did the laundry… we have a yeast infection.

You’re angry with me.” I heard him sigh. “I’m not angry. I don’t get angry.” “Then you do a really good impression of angry.

How can you be certain of what you’ll do? What if I kidnap your dog?” “What? Why would you-” he huffed impatiently, shook his head, “I don’t have a dog.

The color of her eyes was mossy gold. It make me want to write crap poetry and hire a skywriter." Quinn Sullivan

Janie, you’re not the only one in this room who is freakish.” “No you’re not. You’re a falcon, and I’m an ostrich.

I was asked if I’d had a chance to spend any time gambling since we’d arrived. I wanted to respond that life was a gamble, and we were all losers.

I sighed again, “Because she was inconsistent and unreliable and was the female version of a Wendell.” He openly considered me, his beautiful lips twisting to the side, “A Wendette?

ISO 8601, data elements and interchange formats. It allows seamless intercourse between different bodies, governments, agencies, and corporations.” I couldn’t help myself as the words tumbled out. It was a sickness.

I want to touch you and kiss you, frequently, and I want you--” he shifted on his feet as though steadying himself then his hand reached out; he stepped closer and he cupped my cheek in his palm, “I want you to touch me.

As much as the idea of collaring and leashing you sounds promising, the purpose of the phone is to ensure you’re reachable.” I interrupted him. “You mean bound and restrained.” “Janie, if I wanted to restrain you, I’d use rope.

And become so open minded my brain falls out? Make so many excuses for people’s bad behavior that I become spineless? No thanks. I have no desire to cherish each person’s bullshit and call it a beautiful snowflake. I will not make excuses for all the ways they treat the people around them like garbage.

Explaining the kiss away via alcohol-induced madness made my head feel better, as though the world had been righted on its axis, and inalienable truths still existed. It also made by heart plus all the girly parts of me fee bad, like when you find out Santa is a myth or that Superman doesn't really exist.

I thoroughly enjoyed their company. I loved how open and supportive and nonjudgemental they were. There is just something about women who spend hours and hours knitting a sweater with mind-glowingly expensive yarn, when they could just buy a sweater for a fraction of the price - not to mention the time saved doing so - that lends itself to acceptance and patience of the human condition.

Don’t you think everyone deserves a chance?” “A chance?” “Yes, a chance.” “What – what kind of chance?” ... “Yes. Everyone deserves a chance.” He gave me one of his barely there smiles, just a hint of a smile, and licked his lips, “Then I want my chance.

I returned his smile although I felt suddenly sober, my eyes inexplicably watery, “Quin…” I took a deep, steadying breath. “Quinn, you need to be a good guy. I need you to be a good guy.” He nodded, his expression reacting to and echoing my sudden seriousness, “I know. I want to.” Quinn licked his lips as his eyes moved to my mouth. “I will.

And what?” I pulled my arm out of his grip. “And become so open-minded that my brain falls out? Make so many excuses for people’s bad behavior that I become spineless? No thanks. I have no desire to cherish each person’s bullshit and call it a beautiful snowflake.

Quinn. His name was Quinn. I must to remember to call him Quinn, not Sir Handsome McHotpants

and the Boss- you know, Quinn Sullivan.” I glared at Steven, “Thank you. I get it now.

Without action, even good intentions are meaningless.

It was as if a unicorn had appeared beneath a double rainbow and started tap dancing.

Furthermore, I preferred to only have cravings I could satisfy without the requirement or assistance of another person. This was, after all, the definition of self-reliance.

One man’s big bottom is another man’s idea of stunning; don’t hold it against this guy if he likes curves on his girl. On second thought, do hold it against him.

Holy hotness, Batman.

I shook my head, feeling like a natural disaster on mute.

He lifted a single eyebrow as he adjusted his pants, zipping his fly. The sound made my back stiffen and I realized how close we’d just been to copulating in the back of a car. “I think you look good just like that.” I stared at him for two seconds before I smacked him on his infuriatingly well-muscled shoulder. “My shirt is ripped open and…” I frantically twisted in my seat and may have shrieked, “Where are my underwear?!” There was no amusement in his voice when he responded, “Someplace safe.” My eyes widened further and, I knew, my mouth hung open dumbly. I was about to lose my mind. “Give them back-” “You don’t need them-” “-to me right now-” “-and you should try new things-” “I am not leaving this limo while commando!” The passenger door on Quinn’s side opened and I yanked the skirt I was wearing back to my midcalf. I didn't miss his dark smile when it was clear that I was not likely to push the underwear issue further until we were in private. And, by then, it likely wouldn't matter.

Silence stretched as his gaze moved over my face; at length he spoke, “Who is Wendell?” I blinked, startled. “Wendell?” “You said you wanted to talk about labels, dinner, and Wendell.

Cell phones, like the other social media constructs of our time, encourage the collecting of so-called friends and contacts similar to how my grandmother used to collect teacups and put them on display in her china cabinet. Only now, the teacups are people, and the china cabinet is Facebook.

Why does everyone call him Mr. Sullivan?” Steven placed a generous portion of shaved ginger on his sushi and lifted his eyebrows at me, “What do you want me to call him? Sully? Quinning the winning?

How many are we talking about? What percentage of females in Chicago are ready to have sex with you right now? What happens if one of them needs to travel? Do they have a phone tree? Is there a coverage plan or a backup plan for emergencies?” Quinn covered the bottom half of his mouth with his free hand, too late to mask the smile, his shoulders started shaking with silent laughter. I continued, feeling a little better knowing that he was able to laugh at himself, “Is there entry criteria? An established search committee? An interview process? Skills test? What kind of radius do you require? Do you have one circling the block now? Do you always keep one nearby? Was there one at the restaurant? At the bar maybe?

For the love of Thor, I was missing him even when we were in the same room together. The force of the feelings, and the virtually all-consuming nature of them, made me want to hide under my desk until my brain and my heart and my vagina came to a consensu

Yeah, I’m still here.” I heard him sigh. “These aren’t the same plans you made yesterday with your ex, are they?” Inwardly, I cringed. Then, outwardly, I also cringed. “Yes.” His response was silence. “Quinn?” “I’ll come too.” It didn’t sound at all like a request. “Uh, what?

Poker.” He nodded once, holding me in place with a clearly skeptical if not entertained expression. “Is it very cold? This place where you’re going to play poker?” Without me really noticing he’d crossed the room. I felt like one moment Quinn was at the far side by the window and the next moment he was standing directly in front of me, no more than three feet of air, and clothes, separated us. “N-no. Not necessarily. I just wanted to be prepared.” “Prepared for artic temperatures?” “Prepared for any eventuality.” “Like what? Poker in a freezer?

There is just something about women who spend hours and hours knitting a sweater with mind-blowingly expensive yarn, when they could just buy a sweater for a fraction of the price—not to mention the time saved doing so—that lends itself to acceptance and patience for the human condition.

I was still Quinn-kiss-tipsy enough to feel no mortification when I asked, “If you could have magic sperm, what kind of creatures would you want to create?” His smile widened; he shook his head looking around at the people packing up, “I don’t know how much good magic sperm would do me without a snake haired girl to put it in.” Quinn reached for his own water and took a gulp but he choked when I said, “You could use me!” He abruptly set his drink down, sat back on his heels, and picked up a napkin; his eyes were wide as he coughed.

waiting for the other shoe to drop. Did you know it originated in cities like Chicago and New York?” “No. I did not” He tilted his head, his mouth hooking upward to one side as though he were trying not to laugh. “Tell me about it.”He was teasing me again. “Well, it did. So…”He lifted his eyebrows, “That’s all? You’re not going to tell me the specific origin of the idiom waiting for the other shoe to drop’?”I shook my head, “I don’t know it.”He mimicked me and shook his head in response, “You’re lying. You do know.”“Nope. I don’t.”“This is just like the mammals.” He sighed and placed his phone on the table. Before he took a bite from his sandwich he said, “You’re stingy with information.”My frowned deepened, “No, I’m not-”His words were somewhat garbled as he spoke between chewing, “You’re an information tease.”“What?!”“Or maybe you don’t really know the origin and you’re just making things up to impress me-” he took another bite. “I am not! It originates from the late industrial revolution, in the late 19th and early 20th century.Apartments were all built with the same floor plan, in similar design so one tenant’s bedroom was under another’s. Therefore it was normal to hear an upstairs neighbor removing his or her shoes and hearing one shoe hit the floor, then the other, when they undressed at night.”“I wonder what else they heard.” His gaze held mine, seemed to burn with a new intensity.“I suppose anything that was loud enough.

One of the nice things - or not so nice things, depending on your perspective - about not having a cell phone is that you have to know people's phone numbers. Additionally, it keeps you from making meaningless acquaintances. It is nearly impossible for most individuals to remember a phone number unless they use it frequently. Cell phones, like other social media constructs of our time, encourage the collecting of so-called friends and contacts similar to how my grandmother used to collect teacups and put them on display in her china cabinet. Only now, the teacups are people, and the china cabinet is Facebook.

He shifted on his feet, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and studied me with open and growing amusement; “Are you going somewhere?” I swallowed and tried to shrug but the movement was lost under the layers of clothing, “Yes.” I lifted my chin, feeling suddenly hot which reminded me of how hot it was outside… even at 9:30pm; I then quickly amended, “No.” I lowered my hands from the hat on my head and tugged at the sleeves of the jacket, “I haven’t decided.

He wasn’t actually physically perfect, but he came close. He had a scar cutting through the center of his right eyebrow; I made a mental note to ask him about the story behind that. One ear was slightly larger than the other, and his nose was bent, just a whisper, to the left. His hairline wasn’t even, and his hair was too thick; it needed to be cut and thinned. His bottom teeth were slightly crooked, but I didn’t notice or see them unless he smiled his full-on one-thousand-watt smile. I loved that when I looked at him, I didn’t see the blinding McHotpants façade of perfection any more. I saw a frustratingly bossy, hilariously funny, irritatingly teasing, captivatingly intelligent, seriously sexy good guy.

The thing is, I like you. I like you a lot and I’ve really only known you for a few short weeks- less than a month- but you are very likeable. I’d like to be your friend because I appreciate your honesty about being a Wendell and, therefore, I would like to have dinner with you- not a date- but think the label applied should be friendship and not Wendell-slash-slamp because I don’t think I’m up for that but understand if you aren’t interested in being my friend especially since you’re already juggling a heavy load of slamps… then, I’d be disappointed but would understand.

He was… blindingly beautiful, and wealthy, and my boss; all really good reasons why we were not suitable. But, I really, really liked him. He was damn sexy and interesting and crazy smart and annoyingly insightful. I had to trust that there was something about me that he saw and liked enough to abandon his slamps and his Wendell lifestyle. I didn’t like trusting, I didn’t like setting greater than mild expectations, but I wanted to have faith in him. Call it wine, call it Quinn-sniff induced obscurity but I was too warm and fuzzy feeling to dwell on the scary side of strip poker.

I can’t- we can’t do that.” “But you’ll play strip poker with strangers?” He seemed to be studying me very closely. “Well, yeah-” this was a strange conversation to be having as I was speaking both in the theoretical and the literal. Theoretically, I’d play strip poker with strangers, depending on the circumstances and the strangers, but I had no literal intention of doing so. Quinn quickly countered, “And if I happened to be playing poker- strip poker- at the only table in the casino, would you still play?” I hesitated, feeling like I was being led into a trap that involved Quinn getting naked... which actually sounded really nice. I reluctantly said, “No.” “Why?” “Because… I- you’re you.” I congratulated myself for not slurring the words even as sweat was beading on my chest and upper back.

We’re not evenly matched.” I pointed to his tie then put my hands on my hips and mimicked his stance. I hoped bravado and wine-haze would prop up my resolve. So far so good. He glared at me, looking resentful, and his voice was steely as he asked, “What, specifically, makes you think so?” I lifted my chin and indicated his tie again, “Your tie, Quinn. I have on nine pieces of clothing and, assuming you’re wearing underwear of some sort, you have on ten. Now I can either put on my hat or you can take off your tie.” His glare morphed into a perplexed frown as I spoke but then, when I reached the end of the last sentence, his features transitioned into something like petulant yet amused understanding and most of the rigidity left his shoulders and neck. We stared at each other, again almost for a half minute, before I broke the silence. “Or, you could take off your jacket…?” Quinn’s mouth hooked to the side and he smoothly removed his jacket; he tossed it to the pile created by my discarded clothes. He began unfastening his cufflinks at his sleeves and the breath he released while pinning me with an irritated stare sounded relieved.