Pamper Time Quotes

When did my house turn into a hangout for every grossly overpaid, terminally pampered professional football player in northern Illinois?" "We like it here," Jason said. "It reminds us of home." "Plus, no women around." Leandro Collins, the Bears' first-string tight end emerged from the office munching on a bag of chips. "There's times when you need a rest from the ladies." Annabelle shot out her arm and smacked him in the side of the head. "Don't forget who you're talking to." Leandro had a short fuse, and he'd been known to take out a ref here and there when he didn't like a call, but the tight end merely rubbed the side of his head and grimaced. "Just like my mama." "Mine, too," Tremaine said with happy nod. Annabelle spun on Heath. "Their mother! I'm thirty-one years old, and I remind them of their mothers." "You act like my mother," Sean pointed out, unwisely as it transpired, because he got a swat in the head next.

Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.2 Who was responsible? Neither kings, nor priests, nor merchants. The culprits were a handful of plant species, including wheat, rice and potatoes. These plants domesticated Homo sapiens, rather than vice versa.

Youth was the time for happiness, its only season; young people, leading a lazy, carefree life, partially occupied by scarcely absorbing studies, were able to devote themselves unlimitedly to the liberated exultation of their bodies. They could play, dance, love, and multiply their pleasures. They could leave a party, in the early hours of the morning, in the company of sexual partners they had chosen, and contemplate the dreary line of employees going to work. They were the salt of the earth, and everything was given to them, everything was permitted for them, everything was possible. Later on, having started a family, having entered the adult world, they would be introduced to worry, work, responsibility, and the difficulties of existence; they would have to pay taxes, submit themselves to administrative formalities while ceaselessly bearing witness--powerless and shame-filled--to the irreversible degradation of their own bodies, which would be slow at first, then increasingly rapid; above all, they would have to look after children, mortal enemies, in their own homes, they would have to pamper them, feed them, worry about their illnesses, provide the means for their education and their pleasure, and unlike in the world of animals, this would last not just for a season, they would remain slaves of their offspring always, the time of joy was well and truly over for them, they would have to continue to suffer until the end, in pain and with increasing health problems, until they were no longer good for anything and were definitively thrown into the rubbish heap, cumbersome and useless. In return, their children would not be at all grateful, on the contrary their efforts, however strenuous, would never be considered enough, they would, until the bitter end, be considered guilty because of the simple fact of being parents. From this sad life, marked by shame, all joy would be pitilessly banished. When they wanted to draw near to young people's bodies, they would be chased away, rejected, ridiculed, insulted, and, more and more often nowadays, imprisoned. The physical bodies of young people, the only desirable possession the world has ever produced, were reserved for the exclusive use of the young, and the fate of the old was to work and to suffer. This was the true meaning of solidarity between generations; it was a pure and simple holocaust of each generation in favor of the one that replaced it, a cruel, prolonged holocaust that brought with it no consolation, no comfort, nor any material or emotional compensation.

We must distinguish between ‘sentimental’ and ‘sensitive’. A sentimentalist may be a perfect brute in his free time. A sensitive person is never a cruel person. Sentimental Rousseau, who could weep over a progressive idea, distributed his many natural children through various poorhouses and workhouses and never gave a hoot for them. A sentimental old maid may pamper her parrot and poison her niece. The sentimental politician may remember Mother’s Day and ruthlessly destroy a rival. Stalin loved babies. Lenin sobbed at the opera, especially at the Traviata.

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale. The gun will wait. The lake will wait. The tall gall in the small seductive vial will wait will wait: will wait a week: will wait through April. You do not have to die this certain day. Death will abide, will pamper your postponement. I assure you death will wait. Death has a lot of time. Death can attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is just down the street; is most obliging neighbor; can meet you any moment. You need not die today. Stay here–through pout or pain or peskyness. Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow. Graves grow no green that you can use. Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

her heart swelled up with misery, until it felt too large for her bosom. It beat with odd little jerks; her hands were cold, and a feeling of disaster oppressed her. There were pain and bewilderment in her face, the bewilderment of a pampered chhild who has always had her own way for the asking and who now, for the first time, was in contact with the unplesantness of life.

If you want to leave the park and your child isn’t ready to go, give her a hug and say, “You’re really upset right now. I know you want to stay, but it’s time to leave.” Then hold your child and let her experience her feelings before you move on to the next activity. If you were instead to pamper your child by letting her stay at the park longer, she doesn’t have the opportunity to learn from experience that she can survive disappointment.

Breakfast! My favorite meal- and you can be so creative. I think of bowls of sparkling berries and fresh cream, baskets of Popovers and freshly squeezed orange juice, thick country bacon, hot maple syrup, panckes and French toast - even the nutty flavor of Irish oatmeal with brown sugar and cream. Breaksfast is the place I splurge with calories, then I spend the rest of the day getting them off! I love to use my prettiest table settings - crocheted placemats with lace-edged napkins and old hammered silver. And whether you are inside in front of a fire, candles burning brightly on a wintery day - or outside on a patio enjoying the morning sun - whether you are having a group of friends and family, a quiet little brunch for two, or an even quieter little brunch just for yourself, breakfast can set the mood and pace of the whole day. And Sunday is my day. Sometimes I think we get caught up in the hectic happenings of the weeks and months and we forget to take time out to relax. So one Sunday morning I decided to do things differently - now it's gotten to be a sort of ritual! This is what I do: at around 8:30 am I pull myself from my warm cocoon, fluff up the pillows and blankets and put some classical music on the stereo. Then I'm off to the kitchen, where I very calmly (so as not to wake myself up too much!) prepare my breakfast, seomthing extra nice - last week I had fresh pineapple slices wrapped in bacon and broiled, a warm croissant, hot chocolate with marshmallows and orange juice. I put it all on a tray with a cloth napkin, my book-of-the-moment and the "Travel" section of the Boston Globe and take it back to bed with me. There I spend the next two hours reading, eating and dreaming while the snowflakes swirl through the treetops outside my bedroom window. The inspiring music of Back or Vivaldi adds an exquisite elegance to the otherwise unruly scene, and I am in heaven. I found time to get in touch with myself and my life and i think this just might be a necessity! Please try it for yourself, and someone you love.

A person has only so much juice, and it’s ideally kept for your homeboys, not all pissed away on strangers before three in the day. Simple as that sounds, it was a game changer for me. I taught myself to save the juice. It’s a skill, like weight training, you do reps. Tell yourself ten times each night, don’t spend your juice on those sirens, worrying about the life screaming past on its way to getting tanked. Don’t spend it on the customers around you at Walmart Supercenter, just do your job without feeling the madness or sadness, the moms on the brink of snatching their kids bald-headed. The carts loaded with cases of PBR and Pampers.

Go where your nose leads you

Why I waited until the last days of my life to feel pampered and beautiful. People tell themselves there’s plenty of time to do it all, but most of the time they never see death coming.

Take time to feed your soul, compliment yourself, pamper yourself, smile at yourself, think positive thoughts and speak life. Watch how you talk to yourself – because you are listening.

You do not have to die this certain day. Death will abide, will pamper your postponement. I assure you death will wait. Death has a lot of time. Death can attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is just down the street; is most obliging neighbor; can meet you any moment. You need not die today. Stay here–through pout or pain or peskyness. Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow. Graves grow no green that you can use. Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

There should be a palpable pleasure in pampering your skin.

[The wives of powerful noblemen] must be highly knowledgeable about government, and wise – in fact, far wiser than most other such women in power. The knowledge of a baroness must be so comprehensive that she can understand everything. Of her a philosopher might have said: "No one is wise who does not know some part of everything." Moreover, she must have the courage of a man. This means that she should not be brought up overmuch among women nor should she be indulged in extensive and feminine pampering. Why do I say that? If barons wish to be honoured as they deserve, they spend very little time in their manors and on their own lands. Going to war, attending their prince's court, and traveling are the three primary duties of such a lord. So the lady, his companion, must represent him at home during his absences. Although her husband is served by bailiffs, provosts, rent collectors, and land governors, she must govern them all. To do this according to her right she must conduct herself with such wisdom that she will be both feared and loved. As we have said before, the best possible fear comes from love. When wronged, her men must be able to turn to her for refuge. She must be so skilled and flexible that in each case she can respond suitably. Therefore, she must be knowledgeable in the mores of her locality and instructed in its usages, rights, and customs. She must be a good speaker, proud when pride is needed; circumspect with the scornful, surly, or rebellious; and charitably gentle and humble toward her good, obedient subjects. With the counsellors of her lord and with the advice of elder wise men, she ought to work directly with her people. No one should ever be able to say of her that she acts merely to have her own way. Again, she should have a man's heart. She must know the laws of arms and all things pertaining to warfare, ever prepared to command her men if there is need of it. She has to know both assault and defence tactics to insure that her fortresses are well defended, if she has any expectation of attack or believes she must initiate military action. Testing her men, she will discover their qualities of courage and determination before overly trusting them. She must know the number and strength of her men to gauge accurately her resources, so that she never will have to trust vain or feeble promises. Calculating what force she is capable of providing before her lord arrives with reinforcements, she also must know the financial resources she could call upon to sustain military action. She should avoid oppressing her men, since this is the surest way to incur their hatred. She can best cultivate their loyalty by speaking boldly and consistently to them, according to her council, not giving one reason today and another tomorrow. Speaking words of good courage to her men-at-arms as well as to her other retainers, she will urge them to loyalty and their best efforts.

It’s funny, how for an entire lifetime we keep thinking ‘How’ will our life-partner look like, how will he be? How will he react to a particular situation? How will he get angry, and how will we love and pamper him? We have so many questions like if he will accept me the way I am? Or if I have to change for him? We all have made plans for our future, subconsciously. We don’t exactly plan out everything with a pen and paper, it’s something that happens automatically, just like an involuntary action. Whenever we are alone and our mood is good, we usually think about our life with our partner. The days and nights in his arms, and the time that we will reserve for him. But when all that turns into reality, it’s strikingly different. Everything that you thought, seems to be a joke, and life laughs at you from a distance! You are helpless and can’t do anything about it, but have to accept it the way it is. You are totally caught into a web of dilemmas and problems before you realize that this is the time you waited for, and that this is the time you dreamt about! You have to make efforts, compromises, sacrifices and you have to change yourselves too sometimes to make things work. You can never expect to get a partner exactly the way you thought or dreamt about. It’s always different in reality and it’s always tough to make both ends meet for a relationship to work, but you have to! It’s your relationship, if you won’t work for it, who else will?

My job is to be in tune with your wants, needs and desires. I’m not worth much as a man if I can’t do that for the woman in my care. The ultimate power rests with you. Because you control my actions. I want to please you. It’s very important to me that I please you. I want you to be satisfied. I want you to be so spoiled, pampered and cherished that you don’t want to be anywhere but with me all the time.

Rather than heralding a new era of easy living, the Agricultural Revolution left farmers with lives generally more difficult and less satisfying than those of foragers. Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.

So when that time comes, make sure to pick the one you can’t live without. The one that lifts you up and never lets you touch the ground. The one that loves you so much, he’ll put you first above anything else. The one that will love you on the sunny days, but love you most through the heavy, thunderous storms. Let him pamper you, shelter you, and romance you till he’s given his all. And in return, love hard and give back everything he’d given you.

Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.

We spend all our time and energy pampering our bodies and minds, but if we ignore our souls, we will end up spiritually starved and malnourished.

You selfish dog. I pity you that you must leave the comfort of your pampered surroundings and sacrifice a little to serve our country for a time

Take time to empower yourself. Delegate tasks so you have time to pamper yourself and invest your energy in what you love. Be the ruler of your own life. http://journeycharms.com/charms-store...

I think you two are secretly friends,” I joked, as Vidrol shoved Vale to the side to avoid a rotten piece of wood jutting from the wall. Vale shoved him back. I assumed in thanks. “Me and that pampered prince?” Vale scoffed derisively. “Not in your lifetime.” “I only associate with nonpsychotic individuals,” Vidrol agreed. “You only associate with pussy,” Vale shot back. “I haven’t associated with pussy in such a long time, I’m basically as nonperforming as you are. I might as well get a hut in the woods and start wearing unflattering robes and waxing on about how everyone’s fate belongs to the water while I howl at the moon with the rest of my weird-ass sector.” “Everything flatters me,” Vale responded calmly. “And I performed to the hilt inside the very body you went celibate for, so I can understand why you now strive to be like me.

In the bathroom, I studied my body, trying to see what he had seen. My hipbones were more prominent than I remembered, probably from all the days of being unable to eat after discovering Jonathan’s betrayal. My thinness suddenly angered me. Why had I punished myself when it had been him that had been at fault? I should have pampered myself, nurtured my soul with my favourite foods and wine and spent time with friends instead of languishing at home and drowning myself in work.

You do not have to die this certain day. Death will abide, will pamper your postponement. I assure you death will wait. Death has a lot of time. Death can attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is just down the street; is most obliging neighbor; can meet you any moment. You need not die today. Stay here–through pout or pain or peskyness. Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow. Graves grow no green that you can use. Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

As a rule, today’s young adults grew up hovered over and showered with things. Every team member gets a trophy, and an emphasis on feelings and fairness permeates children’s environments. All of this pampering, overthinking, and risk-reducing may not provide children the freedom to make mistakes and learn from them as was common in times past. Historians speculate that this thwarts maturation and the development of empathy for others’ feelings. Instead, maybe all of the attention enhances children’s focus on themselves.

I smoked my first pipe with Seth. I knew the stuff was bad, but I was so tired of being the cop, begging and ragging at him, throwing Pampers in his face when he walked in the door. I wanted to be on the same side again. So I smoked with Seth one afternoon when the girls were napping, and oh my God, I can only think about this for a minute or every part of me will turn into a mouth wanting more: the sexiness of it, fucking Seth like wild for the first time in months, going on even when the girls started to whimper and bang on the door. Then looking out the window and seeing the world shake itself to life: the heavy trees, the sky. And I was back on top. We were going to make it, Seth and I. The voice in my head was back again, telling me stories, too many to write down or even tell one from another.

Don’t multitask by combining your treats, unless you specifically design one as something stacked (a fancy coffee while reading a good book, for example). If you overload your treat time, you’ll lose out on the full experience of enjoying each aspect, and the self-care might become perfunctory.

The commonest and cheapest sounds, as the barking of a dog, produce the same effect on fresh and healthy ears that the rarest music does. It depends on your appetite for sound. Just as a crust is sweeter to a healthy appetite than confectionery to a pampered or diseased one. It is better that these cheap sounds be music to us than that we have the rarest ears for music in any other sense. I have lain awake at night many a time to think of the barking of a dog which I had heard long before, bathing my being again in those waves of sound, as a frequenter of the opera might lie awake remembering the music he had heard.

Heart; I named my lass sweetly; She danced to the mundane tunes of daftness; By nature she was midsummer madness; Or rather a reckless, careless, devil-may-care colleen. I pampered all her hefty desires; Brain; my friend said treat her with caution; For she is a child; doesn’t ruminate her action; You are mother, with deep devotion. And one fine day came the tempest darling; She named him love, besotted and infatuated; Enchanted by his charms, smelled the roses; Failed to see the thorns that pricked. And drip-drip-drip, the blood it dripped; When her beloved tossed and crushed her core; She knew not how to stand up straight; I opened my eyes and the driblets fell. Don’t nurse her; said my friend; my brain; For she is a demented lass not worth the pain; She will go away when her wounds are dried; To her unmoved brutal hero, Love. A mother cannot be unmoved, I cried; For all this time, I held her high; I knocked at your door, you flinty villain; Not to hear, all that you said. Call me a demon or a dragon; For all I will say is don’t nurse the brat; Let her bleed and cry for some more time; She will get up; for she is your child. All he said was unerred truth; She bled and nursed her own wounds; She drove me to her hero’s place; And said, “This is where my poem stays.

Do you? Do you know, do you understand, that I’m always going to want to pamper and please you? That making you come, seeing you blissed out and hearing you panting is like a drug for me?” My stomach twisted delightfully at the picture he painted even as my spine straightened at the use of the word drug. “I don’t want to be your drug.” “Too late.” He grinned, his glorious left dimple completely adorable, almost distracting me from my concern. “Can’t I just be your person?” I asked, my eyes flickering between his and the thought-derailing dimple on his left cheek. “Can’t you be both?” Abram slid his nose against mine, giving my lips a tender kiss. “Can’t I be both for you?

Adversity causes the mind to think properly. — In a time when everything goes well, my mind is pampered with enjoyment, possessiveness, etc. Only in times of adversity, privation, or mishap, does my mind function and think properly of my state. This close examination of self strengthens my mind and leads me to understand and be understood.

Danger in modesty ― To adapt ourselves too early to the tasks, societies, everyday life and everyday work, in which chance has placed us, at a time when neither our strength nor our goal has yet entered our consciousness with the force of law; the all-too-early certainty of consciousness, comfortableness, sociability thus achieved, this premature resignation that insinuates itself into our feelings as a release from inner and outer unrest, pampers and holds one back in the most dangerous fashion. To learn to feel respect after the fashion of 'those like us,' as if we ourselves had no measure in us and no right to determine values; the effort to evaluate as others do, against the inner voice of our taste, which is also a form of conscience, becomes a terrible, subtle constraint: if there is not finally an explosion, with a sudden bursting asunder of all the bonds of love and morality, then such a spirit becomes withered, petty, effeminate, and factual. The opposite is bad enough, but better nonetheless: to suffer from one’s environment, from its praise as well as from its blame, wounded by it and festering inwardly without betraying the fact; to defend oneself with involuntary mistrust against its love, to learn silence, perhaps concealing it behind speech, to create for oneself nooks and undiscoverable solitudes for moments of relief, of tears, of sublime consolation ― until one is finally strong enough to say, 'what do I have to do with you?' and go one’s own way.

You’re itching to be on your own. You don’t want anybody telling you what time you have to be in at night or how to raise your baby. You’re going to leave your mother’s big comfortable house and she won’t stop you, because she knows you too well. But listen to what she says: When you walk out of my door, don’t let anybody raise you—you’ve been raised. You know right from wrong. In every relationship you make, you’ll have to show readiness to adjust and make adaptations. Remember, you can always come home. You will go home again when the world knocks you down—or when you fall down in full view of the world. But only for two or three weeks at a time. Your mother will pamper you and feed you your favorite meal of red beans and rice. You’ll make a practice of going home so she can liberate you again—one of the greatest gifts along with nurturing your courage, that she will give you. Be courageous, but not foolhardy. Walk proud as you are.

Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.2

The elevator opened up to the apartment’s lobby—the apartment had its own lobby—and Todd was there to meet him in a polo shirt and mid-thigh shorts. He was probably five-ten. Yes, Todd, Toby thought, but when was the last time you were blown in a stairwell? “How is the good doctor?” he said, putting his hand out and grabbing Toby’s and pumping it so that his body moved like a tide he was fighting against. “I’m doing okay.” This was the kind of soft, pampered bro that Rachel wished he were. This was what Rachel would have preferred.

Now we are either horrified or pretend to be horrified, though we really gloat over the spectacle, and love strong and eccentric sensations which tickle our cynical, pampered idleness. Or, like little children, we brush the dreadful ghosts away and hide our heads in the pillow so as to return to our sports and merriment as soon as they have vanished. But we must one day begin life in sober earnest, we must look at ourselves as a society; it’s time we tried to grasp something of our social position, or at least to make a beginning in that direction.

Want to be an AWESOME mom? TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF TAKE TIME FOR YOURSELF and REWARD YOURSELF Vent and cry if you need to. Say how you feel. Ask for help. Stop comparing yourself to other moms. Walk away from senseless toxic drama. Forget about the housework. Escape from reality every now and then. Take a hot bath. Take a nap. Lose yourself in a book. Pamper yourself. Go to the spa. Buy something for YOU. Go out to eat. Order in. Have a few drinks. Go out with the girls. Plan a date night. Go see a movie. Dance the night away. Celebrate LIFE. Celebrate YOURSELF. It’s NOT selfish. It’s necessary and important.

[The eighteenth century] was the century, as we are frequently told, of women - the intellectual life of women in salons, women wielding unseen influence, women as members of academies, theatrical productions whose success depended on the power of actresses to charm; in the economic sphere, financiers amassing great fortunes in order to marry their daughters into the aristocracy, and women ruling over whole peoples and empires: Maria Theresa, Catherine the Great, Queen Elisabeth Farnese of Spain, as well as the likes of Mme du Pompadour and Mme du Barry. It was as if some residual matriarchy - the oldest culture of the Mediterranean - was struggling to emerge from the blood and the collective unconscious; as if the time would one day return when, in every tribe, it was the women who possessed wealth and power and the men who 'married out', moving into the wife's extended family, where they became gentle, pampered, more or less superfluous drones. [...] In the century of women, it was inevitable that these erotic legends should attach themselves to the outstanding female figures of the time [...] and all this applied even more strongly in France. It was there that women reached the greatest positions of power, and there that this erotic momentum was at its strongest, by virtue of the traditions and nature of the French people.

Rather than heralding a new era of easy living, the Agricultural Revolution left farmers with lives generally more difficult and less satisfying than those of foragers. Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.2 Who

Getting pampered can be addictive. If you are talented, people will pamper you, make you feel high and then get you to help them. When you will be busy thinking of some new thing to be done so that you will again get your moments of getting appreciated, pampered, at that time those who pamper you, get busy to focus on what they want to achieve. And slowly and steadily you see then going ahead of you and then you wonder - how can they achieve what you failed to.. They played and you let them play with you. Become aware. Be talented. Yet be strong. Learn to say NO. You are there to do your part and attain what you have set out to. Don't let pampering take you off your feet. It is difficult to handle. Because we are deep inside wired to like getting pampered..

We must distinguish between "sentimental" and "sensitive." A sentimentalist may be a perfect brute in his free time. A sensitive person is never a cruel person. Sentimental Rousseau, who could weep over a progressive idea, distributed his many natural children through various poorhouses and workhouses and never gave a hoot for them. A sentimental old maid may pamper her parrot and poison her niece. The sentimental politician may remember Mother's Day and ruthlessly destroy a rival. Stalin loved babies. Lenin sobbed at the opera, especially at the Traviata. A whole century of authors praised the simple life of the poor, and so on. Remember that when we speak of sentimentalists, among them Richardson, Rousseau, Dostoevski, we mean the non-artistic exaggeration of familiar emotions meant to provoke automatically traditional compassion in the reader.

March 28, 2005 I am so ready to be home I have already gone into autopilot mode. Just counting the days, waiting for that big bird to take me home. I am sorry to hear that you are not feeling good. Hopefully getting off the pill will help. Hopefully when I get home I can help with your emotions. Whatever you need, just tell me. I want to make things easy for you when I am home. At least as easy as possible. I love you so much gorgeous. Glad to hear your dad has busted his ass to help us out so much. We are so lucky with our family, I couldn’t have married into a better one. Not to mention couldn’t have married a better woman, cause there is none better. I also got an email from your niece. It was a PowerPoint slide that was real cute. It had a green background with a frog, and said she missed me. Sweet, huh. If she didn’t forward a copy to you, I can. Oh, about the birth control: You said you wanted ten kids anyway. Change your mind yet? What is Bubba doing that has changed? Is he being a fart or is he just full of energy? I’m sure when I get home you will be ready for a break. How about after I get to see you for a little while, you go to a spa for a weekend to be pampered? I REALLY think you deserve it. You’ve been going and going, kinda like the Energizer Bunny. Just like when I get home for sex, we keep going and going and going and going and, you get the point. Hopefully you at least smiled over that. I always want you to be happy, and want to do whatever it takes to make it happen. Even if it means buying a Holstein cow. Yuk! That’s big time love. Wow. I hope you have a good day, and can find time in the day to rest. I love you more than you will ever know. Smooooooch! -XOXOOXOXOXOXOXOX

Foragers knew the secrets of nature long before the Agricultural Revolution, since their survival depended on an intimate knowledge of the animals they hunted and the plants they gathered. Rather than heralding a new era of easy living, the Agricultural Revolution left farmers with lives generally more difficult and less satisfying than those of foragers. Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.2

Rather than heralding a new era of easy living, the Agricultural Revolution left farmers with lives generally more difficult and less satisfying than those of foragers. Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud. Who was responsible? Neither kings, nor priests, nor merchants. The culprits were a handful of plant species, including wheat, rice and potatoes. These plants domesticated Homo sapiens, rather than vice versa.

I had never touched this particular knob before and shall never find it again. This moment of conscious contact holds a drop of solace. The emergency brake of time. Whatever the present moment is, I have stopped it. Too late. In the course of our, let me see, twelve, twelve and three months of life together, I ought to have immobilized by this simple method millions of moments; paying perhaps terrific fines, but stopping the train. Say why did you do it? the popeyed conductor might ask. Because I liked the view. Because I wanted to stop these speedy trees and the path twisting between them. By stepping on it's receding tail. What happened to her would perhaps not have happened, had I been in the habit of stopping this or that bit of our common life, prophylactically, prophetically, letting this or that moment rest and breath in peace. Taming time. Giving her pulse respite. Pampering life, life - our patient.

Plato in his Protagoras well saith, a good philosopher as much excels other men, as a great king doth the commons of his country; and again, [2062] quoniam illis nihil deest, et minimè egere solent, et disciplinas quas profitentur, soli à contemptu vindicare possunt, they needed not to beg so basely, as they compel [2063] scholars in our times to complain of poverty, or crouch to a rich chuff for a meal's meat, but could vindicate themselves, and those arts which they professed. Now they would and cannot: for it is held by some of them, as an axiom, that to keep them poor, will make them study; they must be dieted, as horses to a race, not pampered, [2064] Alendos volunt, non saginandos, ne melioris mentis flammula extinguatur; a fat bird will not sing, a fat dog cannot hunt, and so by this depression of theirs [2065] some want means, others will, all want [2066] encouragement, as being forsaken almost; and generally contemned.

Not everytime Self Love means pampering your wants, sometimes it just means to pat your self while knowing you did the right thing by choosing the path of Patience. Sometimes it's just waking up in the morning and telling your self, you've got this. Sometimes it is as simple as a cup of coffee or a hot shower after a realy tiresome day. Sometimes it's just watching the day pass by, while you take time to assimilate your thoughts and let your mind detangle in the simplicity of literally not doing anything. Sometimes it's the urge to find a reason and purpose to carry on, to feel alive, to live. Sometimes it's watching the sunset paint in a beautiful horizon and sometimes it's just keeping awake just to catch a glimpse of the rising Sun. Sometimes it's getting drenched in the rain or simply madly crazily dancing in the rain not caring of what or who passes by. Because who knows how long you got this dance of Life. Sometimes it's pulling yourself up and letting your heart know all that happens has a reason and you don't have to know all of it. Really you don't have to have all the answers, trusting the Universe is always the Only answer. Sometimes it's just reminding yourself that you can't change the past but value what your past has taught you, that you can't write your future entirely because circumstances always play a part but you can work through your present, you can live and make your present a gift, a present that your future would feel good about. Sometimes it's just knowing that disciplining Life is never easy but that always finds the lasting smile in the end. Sometimes it's just holding on with all your Soul to know that you have done your bit, to know that somewhere someday everything will make sense. Sometimes it's just to know that goals aren't always about achieving something but to be some more of your self by truly loving your self, a little bit more each passing day. Love & Light, always - Debatrayee

And then now a very strange argument indeed ensues, me v. the Lebanese porter, because it turns out I am putting this guy, who barely speaks English, in a terrible kind of sedulous-service double-bind, a paradox of pampering: viz. the The-Passenger’s-Always-Right-versus-Never-Let-A-Passenger-Carry-His-Own-Bag paradox. Clueless at the time about what this poor little Lebanese man is going through, I wave off both his high-pitched protests and his agonized expression as mere servile courtesy, and I extract the duffel and lug it up the hall to 1009 and slather the old beak with ZnO and go outside to watch the coast of Florida recede cinematically à la F. Conroy. Only later did I understand what I’d done. Only later did I learn that that little Lebanese Deck 10 porter had his head just about chewed off by the (also Lebanese) Deck 10 Head Porter, who’d had his own head chewed off by the Austrian Chief Steward, who’d received confirmed reports that a Deck 10 passenger had been seen carrying his own luggage up the Port hallway of Deck 10 and now demanded rolling Lebanese heads for this clear indication of porterly dereliction, and had reported (the Austrian Chief Steward did) the incident (as is apparently SOP) to an officer in the Guest Relations Dept., a Greek officer with Revo shades and a walkie-talkie and officerial epaulets so complex I never did figure out what his rank was; and this high-ranking Greek guy actually came around to 1009 after Saturday’s supper to apologize on behalf of practically the entire Chandris shipping line and to assure me that ragged-necked Lebanese heads were even at that moment rolling down various corridors in piacular recompense for my having had to carry my own bag. And even though this Greek officer’s English was in lots of ways better than mine, it took me no less than ten minutes to express my own horror and to claim responsibility and to detail the double-bind I’d put the porter in—brandishing at relevant moments the actual tube of ZnO that had caused the whole snafu—ten or more minutes before I could get enough of a promise from the Greek officer that various chewed-off heads would be reattached and employee records unbesmirched to feel comfortable enough to allow the officer to leave; 42 and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-fraught and filled almost a whole Mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psychoskeletal outline.

Scholars once proclaimed that the agricultural revolution was a great leap forward for humanity. They told a tale of progress fuelled by human brain power. Evolution gradually produced ever more intelligent people. Eventually, people were so smart that they were able to decipher nature’s secrets, enabling them to tame sheep and cultivate wheat. As soon as this happened, they cheerfully abandoned the gruelling, dangerous, and often spartan life of hunter-gatherers, settling down to enjoy the pleasant, satiated life of farmers. Map 2. Locations and dates of agricultural revolutions. The data is contentious, and the map is constantly being redrawn to incorporate the latest archaeological discoveries.1 {Maps by Neil Gower} That tale is a fantasy. There is no evidence that people became more intelligent with time. Foragers knew the secrets of nature long before the Agricultural Revolution, since their survival depended on an intimate knowledge of the animals they hunted and the plants they gathered. Rather than heralding a new era of easy living, the Agricultural Revolution left farmers with lives generally more difficult and less satisfying than those of foragers. Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.2 Who was responsible? Neither kings, nor priests, nor merchants. The culprits were a handful of plant species, including wheat, rice and potatoes. These plants domesticated Homo sapiens, rather than vice versa.

Not every time Self Love means pampering your wants, sometimes it just means to pat yourself while knowing you did the right thing by choosing the path of Patience. Sometimes it's just waking up in the morning and telling yourself, you've got this. Sometimes it is as simple as a cup of coffee or a hot shower after a really tiresome day. Sometimes it's just watching the day pass by, while you take time to assimilate your thoughts and let your mind detangle in the simplicity of literally not doing anything. Sometimes it's the urge to find a reason and purpose to carry on, to feel alive, to live. Sometimes it's watching the sunset paint in a beautiful horizon and sometimes it's just keeping awake just to catch a glimpse of the rising Sun. Sometimes it's getting drenched in the rain or simply madly crazily dancing in the rain not caring of what or who passes by. Because who knows how long you got this dance of Life. Sometimes it's pulling yourself up and letting your heart know all that happens has a reason and you don't have to know all of it. Really you don't have to have all the answers, trusting the Universe is always the Only answer. Sometimes it's just reminding yourself that you can't change the past but value what your past has taught you, that you can't write your future entirely because circumstances always play a part but you can work through your present, you can live and make your present a gift, a present that your future would feel good about. Sometimes it's just knowing that disciplining Life is never easy but that always finds the lasting smile in the end. Sometimes it's just holding on with all your Soul to know that you have done your bit, to know that somewhere someday everything will make sense. Sometimes it's just to know that goals aren't always about achieving something but to be some more of yourself by truly loving yourself, a little bit more each passing day. Love & Light, always - Debatrayee

While he’d previously had the look of a pirate about him that she’d found rather appealing, she now found him to be devastatingly handsome—not simply because he’d been born far too attractive, but because she believed she saw genuine niceness residing in his very soul. When he suddenly lifted a finger to push a damp strand of hair off her cheek, his touch caused any reasonable thoughts she still retained to flee from her mind, and everything surrounding her disappeared except Bram. “You’re very beautiful.” Just like that, the world returned in a flash. “Thank you,” she said before she stepped back from him and felt a sliver of temper—not at him, but at herself—begin flowing through her veins. She’d known he was infatuated with her, as most of her admirers were. And yet, instead of nipping that immediately in the bud, she’d allowed herself to believe he was different, different because his touch sent her pulse racing and his smile turned her knees a little weak, which, in actuality, did make him a touch different, although . . . “Forgive me, Lucetta, but have I done something to upset you?” Lucetta caught Bram’s eye. “To be perfectly honest, I’m more upset with myself.” Bram’s brow furrowed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” “I should have addressed the misconceptions I’m certain you’re holding about me straightaway, and yet . . . I’ve let matters fester too long.” “You do recall that we only met a few hours ago, don’t you?” “Indeed, but I’m quite certain you’ve been harboring misconceptions about me from the moment you saw me step foot on stage, which I’m going to assume was a year or two ago.” The furrow deepened. “I’m still not sure what you’re trying to say.” “I’m not a lady who enjoys being told I’m beautiful, nor am I a lady who enjoys being pampered, catered to, or treated as if I’m fragile. I’m also nothing like any of the characters I’ve ever played on stage.” “You’re exactly like the character in The Lady in the Tower,” he argued. “Charming, demure, and delightful.” Resisting a sigh, she moved to a fallen tree lying off the path and took a seat. “I would never be content to remain a prisoner in a tower, waiting for my very own prince charming to rescue me, which is exactly what Serena Seamore, my character, does. I’ve been on my own, Bram, for a very long time, and I’m quite capable, thank you very much, of taking care of myself.” She held up her hand when it looked as if he wanted to argue. “What you need to remember is that I’m an actress. Playing a part is what I do, and I’m successful because I can play parts very, very well. I’ve also been given an unusual face, expressive if you will, and that expressiveness allows me to convince people I’m someone I’m not.” “Your face is lovely, not unusual.” Lucetta waved away his compliment. “I’m not getting through to you, am I.” “Of course you are.” Lucetta drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. “I’m afraid I’m not the lady you think you hold in high esteem.” “I don’t think I hold you in high esteem, I know I do.” “Oh . . . dear,” she muttered before she squared her shoulders. “I’m peculiar.” “I highly doubt that.” “Oh,

I'll stay if you'll tell me about the time you broke your nose.” Bronson's smile lingered as he touched the angled bridge of his nose reflectively. “I got this while sparring with Tom Crib, the former coal porter they called the ‘Black Diamond.’ He had fists as big as hams and a left hook that made you see stars.” “Who won?” Holly asked, unable to resist. “I outlasted Crib after twenty rounds and finally knocked him down. It was after that fight that I got my name—‘ Bronson the Butcher.’” The obvious masculine pride he took in the name made Holly feel slightly queasy. “How charming,” she murmured in a dry tone that made him laugh. “It didn't improve my looks much, having Crib smash my beak,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I wasn't a pretty sort to begin with. Now I'll definitely never be mistaken for an aristocrat.” “You wouldn't have anyway.” Bronson pretended to wince. “That's as painful a jab as any I received in the rope ring, my lady. So you don't exactly fancy my beat-up mug, is that what you're saying?” “You know very well that you're an attractive man, Mr. Bronson. Just not in an aristocratic way. For one thing, you have too many… that is, you're too… muscular.” She gestured to his bulging coat sleeves and shoulders. “Pampered noblemen don't have arms like that.” “So my tailor tells me.” “Isn't there any way to make them, well… smaller?” “Not that I'm aware of. But just to satisfy my curiosity, how much would I have to shrivel to pass for a gentleman?” Holly laughed and shook her head. “Physical appearance is the least of your worries, sir. You need to acquire a proper air of dignity. You're far too irreverent.” “But attractive,” he countered. “You did say I was attractive.” “Did I? I'm certain I meant to use the word ‘incorrigible.

Being thoroughly a man, one whose nature was rooted in competition, Zachary had experienced jealousy before. But nothing like this. Not this mixture of rage and alarm that shredded his insides. He was no idiot—he had seen the way Holly was looking at Ravenhill in the ballroom, and he had understood it all too well. They were cut from the same cloth, and they shared a past that he'd had no part of. There were bonds between them, memories, and even more, the comfort of knowing exactly what to expect from each other. All of a sudden Zachary hated Ravenhill with an intensity that approached fear. Ravenhill was everything he was not… everything he could never be. If only this were a more primitive time, the period of history when simple brute force overrode all else and a man could have what he wanted merely by staking his claim. That was how most of these damned bluebloods had originated, in fact. They were the watered-down, inbred descendents of warriors who had earned their status through battle and blood. Generations of privilege and ease had tamed them, softened and cultured them. Now these pampered aristocrats could afford to look down their noses at a man who probably resembled their revered ancestors more than they themselves did. That was his problem, Zachary realized. He had been born a few centuries too late. Instead of having to mince and prance his way into a society that was clearly too rarefied for him, he should have been able to dominate… fight… conquer. As Zachary had seen Holly leave the ballroom, her small hand tucked against Ravenhill's arm, it had required all his will to appear collected. He had nearly trembled with the urge to snatch Holly into his arms and carry her away like a barbarian. For a moment, the rational part of his brain had commanded him to let Holly go without a struggle. She had never been his to lose. Let her make the right decisions for herself, the comfortable decisions. Let her find the peace she deserved. The hell I will, he had thought savagely. He had followed the pair, intent as a prowling tiger, letting nothing stand in the way of what he wanted. And now he found Holly sitting here alone in the garden, looking dazed and dreamy, and he wanted to shake her until her hair cascaded loose and her teeth rattled.

Traditionally the best lot in life for a male was to hitch his star to a powerful female and hope to be looked after, or else – for those born with valuable Understandings – to end up a pampered commodity in a seraglio, ready to be traded away or mated off as part of the constantly shifting power games between peer houses.

Lakia yawns. “I hope all your courtesans aren’t defeated so easily.” “Yes, it will make for a tedious day,” Tarek replies, sipping his flask. I cut them a glare. Ameya just sacrificed her life. She wanted freedom from being a courtesan so much that death was a better alternative. I want to shred Tarek’s pampered face with my nails, but I do as Mathura said. I absorb my hatred and let it feed me, transforming it into something bigger, meaner, uglier. I will wait. I will crouch in the dark until the time is ripe, and then I will eat Rajah Tarek alive.

Perhaps the solicitation to pamper the way men live is too strong for them, for much of the business of philosophy at the present time seems to be to give high-sounding names to cover the sins of men. The clay is now molding the potter and the marble carving out the sculptor.

I would ten thousand times rather my children should be the half-starved paupers of Ireland,” Jacobs vowed, “than the most pampered slaves of America.

you want to leave the park and your child isn’t ready to go, give her a hug and validate her feelings: “You’re really upset right now. I know you want to stay, and it’s time to leave.” Then hold your child and let her experience her feelings before you move on to the next activity. If you were to pamper your child by letting her stay at the park longer, she would not have the opportunity to learn from experience that she can survive disappointment—and she might be learning that you can be manipulated.

How did that proverb go, the one that Nanny singsonged to her years ago, in the nursery? Born in the morning, Woe without warning; Afternoon child Woeful and wild; Born in the evening, Woe ends in grieving. Night baby borning Same as the morning. But she remembered this as a joke, fondly. Woe is the natural end of life, yet we go on having babies. No, said Nanny, an echo in Melena's mind(and editorializing as usual): No, no, you pretty little pampered hussy. We don't go one having babies, that's quite apparent. We only have babies when we're young enough not to know how grim life turns out. Once we really get the full measure of it - we're slow learners, we women - we dry up in disgust and sensibly halt production. But men don't dry up, Melena objected; they can father to the death. Ah, we're slow learners, Nanny countered. But they can't learn at all.

Social distinctions were fewer and much less sharp among the 16th century Marathas than among richer and more civilized communities. The rich man was not immeasurably above the poor in such a simple society; and even the poorest man had his value as a fighter or indispensable labourer; at least, he preserved his self-respect, because where few had anything to spare, none was tempted to lead the pampered life of the professional beggars and hangers-on of Agra or Delhi. Poverty and immemorial custom alike preserved the womankind of Maharashtra (except among those castes that aspired to be Kshatriyas) from seclusion in the harem, and thus the effective strength of society was doubled, while life gained in health and sweetness.

when a person has no problems, the mind automatically finds a way to invent some. I think what most people—especially educated, pampered middle-class white people—consider “life problems” are really just side effects of not having anything more important to worry about. It then follows that finding something important and meaningful in your life is perhaps the most productive use of your time and energy. Because if you don’t find that meaningful something, your fucks will be given to meaningless and frivolous causes.

Damn, but they are trapped in their own pampered white world. They’re blind. They can’t see it. They think there’s no racism here because they haven’t experienced it.

Indulge in some "you" time because self-care isn't selfish; it's self-preservation with a side of sass! Treat yourself like the VIP you are, whether it's a spa day or a Netflix binge in your PJs. Remember, you're the CEO of your life, so make executive decisions about your well-being. After all, a little self-care goes a long way in keeping your mind sharp, your heart happy, and your spirit sassy! So go ahead, pamper yourself like the fabulous boss you are!

That tale is a fantasy. There is no evidence that people became more intelligent with time. Foragers knew the secrets of nature long before the Agricultural Revolution, since their survival depended on an intimate knowledge of the animals they hunted and the plants they gathered. Rather than heralding a new era of easy living, the Agricultural Revolution left farmers with lives generally more difficult and less satisfying than those of foragers. Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.2

For, apart from the fact that I am a decadent, I am also the reverse of such a creature. Among other things my proof of this is, that I always instinctively select the proper remedy when my spiritual or bodily health is low; whereas the decadent, as such, invariably chooses those remedies which are bad for him. As a whole I was sound, but in certain details I was a decadent. That energy with which I sentenced myself to absolute solitude, and to a severance from all those conditions in life to which I had grown accustomed; my discipline of myself, and my refusal to allow myself to be pampered, to be tended hand and foot, and to be doctored—all this betrays the absolute certainty of my instincts respecting what at that time was most needful to me. I placed myself in my own hands, I restored myself to health: the first condition of success in such an undertaking, as every physiologist will admit, is that at bottom a man should be sound. An intrinsically morbid nature cannot become healthy. On the other hand, to an intrinsically sound nature, illness may even constitute a powerful stimulus to life, to a surplus of life. It is in this light that I now regard the long period of illness that I endured: it seemed as if I had discovered life afresh, my own self included. I tasted all good things and even trifles in a way in which it was not easy for others to taste them—out of my Will to Health and to Life I made my philosophy.... For this should be thoroughly understood; it was during those years in which my vitality reached its lowest point that I ceased from being a pessimist: the instinct of self-recovery forbade my holding to a philosophy of poverty and desperation. Now, by what signs are Nature's lucky strokes recognised among men? They are recognised by the fact that any such lucky stroke gladdens our senses; that he is carved from one integral block, which is hard, sweet, and fragrant as well. He enjoys that only which is good for him; his pleasure, his desire, ceases when the limits of that which is good for him are overstepped. He divines remedies for injuries; he knows how to turn serious accidents to his own advantage; that which does not kill him makes him stronger. He instinctively gathers his material from all he sees, hears, and experiences. He is a selective principle; he rejects much. He is always in his own company, whether his intercourse be with books, with men, or with natural scenery; he honours the things he chooses, the things he acknowledges, the things he trusts. He reacts slowly to all kinds of stimuli, with that tardiness which long caution and deliberate pride have bred in him—he tests the approaching stimulus; he would not dream of meeting it half-way. He believes neither in "ill-luck" nor "guilt"; he can digest himself and others; he knows how to forget—he is strong enough to make everything turn to his own advantage. Lo then! I am the very reverse of a decadent, for he whom I have just described is none other than myself.

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.

Solomon was busy judging others, when it was his personal thoughts that were disrupting the community. His crown slid crooked on his head. He put it straight, but the crown went awry again. Eight times this happened. Finally he began to talk to his headpiece. “Why do you keep tilting over my eyes?” “I have to. When your power loses compassion, I have to show what such a condition looks like.” Immediately Solomon recognized the truth. He knelt and asked forgiveness. The crown centered itself on his crown. When something goes wrong, accuse yourself first. Even the wisdom of Plato or Solomon can wobble and go blind. Listen when your crown reminds you of what makes you cold toward others, as you pamper the greedy energy inside.

Pampering your down-turned lips kills time when you are out on a date with some creep boring you to death. You can go to the loo, pull out your make-up bag and fantasize about all the people you would prefer to be with: Brad Pitt, Robert Pattinson, Eddie Redmayne, Cameron Diaz.

You act like a resort virgin, Miss Li.” “I’m a resort slut, Ford.” I shake my head at her. “But it’s been a pretty long time since I’ve been pampered, so if it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna be a silly virgin today.

they hunted and the plants they gathered. Rather than heralding a new era of easy living, the Agricultural Revolution left farmers with lives generally more difficult and less satisfying than those of foragers. Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.2 Who was responsible? Neither kings,

depended on an intimate knowledge of the animals they hunted and the plants they gathered. Rather than heralding a new era of easy living, the Agricultural Revolution left farmers with lives generally more difficult and less satisfying than those of foragers. Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history’s biggest fraud.2 Who was responsible? Neither kings,

Isaiah, Jeremiah, and John, in Revelation, all give us an insight into how the Daughter of Babylon manifests her arrogance: The Message (NavPress) gives us a contemporary interpretation of Isaiah’s biting criticism of the nation that Isaiah calls the “Virgin Daughter of Babylon”: “You said, ‘I’m the First Lady. I’ll always be the pampered darling.’…Well, start thinking, playgirl. You’re acting like the center of the universe, smugly saying to yourself, ‘I’m Number One. There’s nobody but me. I’ll never be a widow, I’ll never lose my children.’…You were so confident and comfortable in your evil life, saying ‘No one sees me.’ You thought you knew so much, had everything figured out. What delusion! Smugly telling yourself, ‘I’m Number One. There’s nobody but me.’ (Isaiah 47:7, 8,10) In the New Testament, John tells us: “In her heart she boasts, ‘I sit as queen; I am not a widow, and I will never mourn.’ (Revelation 18:7)

Look, I like to have a good time as much as anyone. And if the people putting on the Golden Globes can afford to spend such ungodly sums on a bunch of pampered liberals, so be it. However, I don’t need these same people, liquored up, caviar-stuffed, and driven around in limousines, to lecture us about how Republicans don’t care about the poor. These people pour more money down their throats on a single night than many Americans earn in an entire year.

I didn’t offer so that you’d feel obligated to me in any way. I mean, who knows? Jack Whatshisname might turn out to be just what you’ve always dreamt of.” “You jealous of him already?” she asked. “You’re goddamn right,” he said, leaning back in his chair, drawing those fierce eyebrows together. “He’s going to spend the next six months with you and I’m not.” “Well, he doesn’t stand a chance,” she said softly. He thought, this must be how Peg felt when he was leaving for a long remote tour, as though there was a chance he wouldn’t come back to her. “I’ve been down this road,” he told Muriel. “Separations for work. It’s not easy, but it’s highly survivable. Do you need a ride to the airport?” “That would be nice. It’s just to Garberville.” “Picking up a charter?” he asked. She shook her head. “They’re sending a jet.” His eyebrows shot up. “I haven’t been down that road,” he said, shaking his head. “You want meat loaf? Or do you want to go upstairs, let me peel your clothes off and tell you goodbye properly?” She grinned at him. “Let’s think about meat loaf for breakfast.” “Good idea,” he said, standing. He reached for her hand. “Come on, honey. This is my last chance to pamper you before your Oscar. What time does your flight leave?” “When I get there.” The

was just a toddler when my grandmother passed away, and Gamma filled the void by visiting frequently. She never got married, so we became her family. She was a great help to Mom and took care of me, especially when she had to work the late shifts. Gamma pampered me, which was the best part. But at the same time, she sheltered me, perhaps too much.

Of course, in time traditions grew up around each week,” he continued. “During the holding week a male keeps his bride safe in the circle of his arms and holds her close to prove he can protect her from any danger that might come.” He looked at her steadily. “I wanted to do that for you, Lilenta, but I didn’t want to scare you away or frighten you—any more than you already were, anyway.” Liv started to deny her fear as she had from the start but something made her stop. It was true—she was afraid of Baird. Of what he represented, of everything and everyone she could lose if she let herself fall into his arms and never look back. Instead she said quietly, “Go on.” “During the bathing week, a Kindred male cares for and pampers his bride by worshiping her body,” he continued in a low voice. “He washes her hair and bathes and massages and oils her to show her what their life will be like together if she consents to bond with him. The care he takes with her symbolizes how precious she is to him, how beautiful and perfect he finds her.” Liv cleared her throat. “Sounds, ah…intense.” “It can be.” Baird gave her a serious look. “Although I hear some females find it most relaxing to be bathed and pampered. Don’t you Earth women go to special places for it?” “Uh, you mean like a spa? Sure, I guess.” Liv shrugged uncomfortably. “But usually the emphasis there is on relieving stress and the attendants are all very professional and impersonal.” One corner of Baird’s full mouth twitched. “Afraid I can’t promise you that, Lilenta.” “I didn’t think so,” Liv mumbled.

Take some time to tackle part of your self-love toolbox now. Make a list of self-care activities that make you feel pampered and deserving of kindness. Create your mood-boosting playlist. Talk to a loved one about possibly turning to them for support in the future.

It feels good. I forgot how good the cold feels. It's been such a long time." "It's been three weeks." I throw him a glare. "We're not going back to the pampered princess horseshit. I miss my home, and that's allowed, so fuck you." "Fuck me?" He takes a step toward me, eyes flaring. "Oh, princess, you keep standing there, wide-eyed and excited, sighing in pleasure like that, and I'll turn that 'fuck you' into a 'fuck me' the whole of Featherblade can hear.

At the same time there was something delicate in his face, almost childlike, cosseted, something I couldn’t name but today I know is simply a trait of the upper crust, who are pampered their entire lives.

In Redburn, ten years after the fact, Melville reconstructed his own journey as the first time in his life that he was neither pampered nor pressured by adults who placed high hopes in him, but was ordered about as just another hired hand. “Let to rove / At last abroad among mankind,” he found himself amid rough men who had no interest in his pedigree except as a subject for mockery. In Liverpool, he was struck by the sight of black men embracing willing white women, and of people dying or dead in the gutter while pedestrians passed by unfazed as if the bodies were trash awaiting disposal by the street sweepers.

special dedication and tribute goes out to Jyoti Singh. She was brutally beaten, gang-raped, tortured, and killed. All of this occurred while Ms. Singh was traveling with her male friend on a bus. Jyoti had an iron rod rammed into her vagina. Her intestines were pulled out of her body and she was thrown off of a moving bus. The incident occurred in Munirka (a neighborhood in South West Delhi, India) on December 16, 2012. Mukesh Singh, Vinay Sharma, Pawan Gupta, Akshay Thakur, Ram Singh (the bus driver), and Mohammed Afroz were convicted. The “juvenile”, Mohammed Afroz, was the rapist who shoved an iron rod inside of her vagina. Since he was 17 years old and six months old at the time of the crime, he was NOT TRIED AS AN ADULT. He was given a maximum sentence of three years’ imprisonment in a “reform facility” due to the Juvenile Justice Act. He is now a cook at a hotel in South India. Why does he get to be pampered while Jyoti suffered such a cruel fate?

A special dedication and tribute goes out to Jyoti Singh. She was brutally beaten, gang-raped, tortured, and killed. All of this occurred while Ms. Singh was traveling with her male friend on a bus. Jyoti had an iron rod rammed into her vagina. Her intestines were pulled out of her body and she was thrown off of a moving bus. The incident occurred in Munirka (a neighborhood in South West Delhi, India) on December 16, 2012. Mukesh Singh, Vinay Sharma, Pawan Gupta, Akshay Thakur, Ram Singh (the bus driver), and Mohammed Afroz were convicted. The “juvenile”, Mohammed Afroz, was the rapist who shoved an iron rod inside of her vagina. Since he was 17 years old and six months old at the time of the crime, he was NOT TRIED AS AN ADULT. He was given a maximum sentence of three years’ imprisonment in a “reform facility” due to the Juvenile Justice Act. He is now a cook at a hotel in South India. Why does he get to be pampered while Jyoti suffered such a cruel fate?

Look at Matthew 11:16-19, “But whereunto shall I liken this generation? It is like unto children sitting in the markets, and calling unto their fellows, and saying, we have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned unto you, and ye have not lamented. For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, He hath a devil. The son of man came eating and drinking, and they say, behold a man gluttonous, and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners.  But wisdom is justified of her children.” What a description of this generation! John the Baptist came fasting, and Jesus came feasting, and they called John a demoniac and Jesus a glutton. Nothing suited them. They were like spoiled children who’ve had too many toys.  Today, our churches are filled with spoiled "adults." They’ve been petted and pampered and no kind of preaching pleases them. If the wrath of God is preached, the minister is too severe. If the love of God is proclaimed, he’s too sentimental. If he speaks in a low tone of voice, he’s dull. If he speaks in a loud voice, he’s deafening. If he stands still, he’s a statue. If he moves around, he’s a sensationalist. That used to bother me a lot until I learned how to identify these children of the marketplace. They play, they pipe, they play a wedding, they mourn, they play funeral; and it looks real, but it’s all make-believe.  And we play church just like that. I was invited to Fremont Temple in Boston some time ago for an evangelistic conference, and the pastor said, “We're so worried about playing church.” Well, I’ve heard that many times before, but what a common thing it is today to play at it and our Lord called it play acting, hypocrisy: spiritual babies who won’t grow up. The Apostle Paul experienced the same problem in the church in his day. He said, "And I, brethren, could not speak unto you as unto spiritual, but as unto carnal, even as unto babes in Christ. I have fed you with milk, and not with meat: for hitherto ye were not able to bear it, neither yet now are ye able," (I Cor.3:1-2). We have overgrown babies who have become such as have need of milk but not of meat, 150 and 200 pound church babies who keep the pastor busy running around with a milk bottle when they ought to have been on meat a long time ago. And, then when they call a new pastor, they say, “I don’t like him. He changed my formula.” Ah, they’re a headache and a heartache to any pastor, pouting and selfish to whom John the Baptist would be only a demoniac and Jesus a glutton.

Venus doesn’t like to be ignored, and a great way to celebrate its annual return is to spend some time pampering yourself and getting in touch with your sensuality in whatever way feels the most titillating!

Depending on the planets Venus interacts with, this planetary influence can be lovingly compassionate or excessively hedonistic. It’s a planet that points out what you value with your money, time, and energy. Venus energy also manifests in the way that we seek pleasure, pampering, and money. Venus’s energy is feminine, but not in the same way as the moon. Where the moon’s take on femininity is about security and nurturing, Venus’s femininity is all about seduction, charm, and attraction. No matter your gender or your belief about your own ability to charm people’s socks off, Venus’s influence is present in your psychological makeup, and when you learn to work with this energy, you find a deep reserve of power and confidence. To illustrate all the ways Venusian energy influences our lives, let’s consider the zodiac signs that Venus rules. Personal Planets The planets closest to the sun including Mars, Venus, and Mercury are called “the personal planets” because their impacts are more readily felt in our lives. The luminaries (sun and moon) are also sometimes considered personal planets. All of these together form the basic energies of our charts, and their influence in our lives depends on where (which house) these planets are in.

Once the defenses fall and we let go of faith, we are overcome by a sobering clarity: Of course, a religion that ever failed so miserably must be the product of humans, not divinity. There is no way that a god would sit back and watch for 600 years while his highest priests tortured thousands of innocents via the likes of anal vice until they denounced him. Something truly holy would never have been subjected to such gross misunderstanding and atrocious implementation in the past. It would be timeless, not a work in progress; otherwise it reduces the billions of people who have lived before us to some sort of experiments for our own well-being today, us living in much better times. What a horrifically narcissistic and insensitive attitude this would be, to disregard the past in order to soothe our own existential fears about our own deaths, most of which will be quite pampered relative to theirs. Again, I did it, too. And now I’m ashamed. In fact, it makes me wonder if some of the hostility I have towards people who remain faithful is projected, that is, I’m mad at myself for ever having been in so much denial, too. The truth is that we have come a long way so that religion is more civilized than ever before. But this is not because God cares more about us today than he did those living in the Middle Ages; it’s simply because we’re smarter than we were back then. And, despite how far we’ve come, we’re far from out of the woods. There’s still much more divinely inspired torture and murder in the world today than there ever should have been, and religious-based oppression of a less lethal nature remains quite rampant, even in the progressive and privileged West. Overall, we are still in a state of progress, meaning that we are actually an ongoing experiment for the people of the future who will have even better religious lives than us, one where there is even less murder of heretics and less oppression of slaves, women, and homosexuals.

We're maybe now in a position to appreciate the lie at the dark heart of Celebrity's brochure. for this — the promise to sate the part of me that always and only WANTS — is the central fantasy the brochure is selling. The thing to notice is that the real fantasy here isn't that this promise will be kept, but that such a promise is keepable at all. This is a big one, this lie. And of course I want to believe it — fuck the Buddha — I want to believe that maybe this Ultimate Fantasy Vacation will be enough pampering, that this time the luxury and pleasure will be so completely and faultlessly administered that my Infantile part will be sated. But the Infantile part of me is insatiable — in fact its whole essence or dasein or whatever lies in its a priori insatiability. In response to any environment of extraordinary gratification and pampering, the Insatiable Infant part of me will simply adjust its desires upward until it once again levels out at its homeostasis of terrible dissatisfaction.

All the girls are out for a pamper day.” “Not true,” Ringo nods to Goldie, who gets herself back on the stool next to him, her lip curled in disgust. “Since you find me so repulsive,” he goes on, “why don’t you join the girls for a pamper day?” “Why don’t you,” she retorts, looking down at her watch, “have a colonic, since you’re so full of shit too. It’s nearly time to evacuate.

The Times Childhood that loved stories Time to pamper nature... feet that don't hate sand... Eyes without panic. The days when mischief poured love. Adolescence where words built faith. A time when failures are priceless.. Hopeful days... struggling with emotions... Youth built a palace with dreams. A time when panic made efforts. Days of survival... Old age where the glances are merciful. Autumn years...Hopeless days. Building engrams of regrets... making carvings of achievements. Time to hate the soil...

It is a myth that European youth was ruthlessly sacrificed in 1914 by selfish and cynical age. The speeches of pre-war politicians were crammed with appeals to youth. Youth movements were a European phenomenon, especially in Germany where 25,000 members of the Wandervögel clubs hiked, strummed guitars, protested about pollution and the growth of cities, and damned the old. Opinion-formers like Max Weber and Arthur Moeller van den Bruck demanded that youth be brought to the helm. The nation, wrote Bruck, ‘needs a change of blood, an insurrection of the sons against the fathers, a substitution of the old by the young’.52 All over Europe, sociologists were assiduously studying youth to find out what it thought and wanted. And of course what youth wanted was war. The first pampered ‘youth generation’ went enthusiastically to a war which their elders, almost without exception, accepted with horror or fatalistic despair. Among articulate middle-class youth it was, at the outset at least, the most popular war in history. They dropped their guitars and seized their rifles.

We live in a time when everyone must bear arms on behalf of something on the outside of them that moves on the inside of their hearts. We no longer live in an era where peace was equivalent to detachment. Peace thanks to detachment is just an unwillingness to commit to being alive. That era is over. Peace by means of invalidation is over. Peace through the validation of what is essential to others, is the only way through this now. I validate you, you validate me, we validate each other, we are attached to each other. Peace through the acknowledgement of what is human. This is the way forward. "Invalidation" is an act of tyranny that is carried out daily at the personal level, between friends, family, lovers, co-workers, etc. It is the easiest and most prevalent form of "little tyrannies" that are enacted upon, and are carried out every day. Invalidating another's experience, feeling, thought, action, by making it seem irrelevant or small, is cowardice, and at the root of it is a fear of living life beyond your own borders. We talk about national borders all the time, when in reality, it's the borders that we place between ourselves and the people close to us, that take profound effect in human lives, on the daily. There is even a spiritual movement in the New Age group that focuses so much on putting up borders, that these borders are simply passive aggressive behaviours designed to pamper a person in their own preconceived or misconceived bubbles. The borders are old and that era is over. Peace in this new era is not about sitting on top of a rock in alienation to gain a selfish version of peace. Peace, in our new era now, is about the realisation that peace for all is peace for one! We now bear arms for battles happening beyond our own little worlds because this is what it means to be the new human.

Part of self-care is allowing yourself the permission to have those moments and to enjoy them. You are encouraged to pause and acknowledge the moment, whether it is good or bad. That moment of acknowledgment reinforces the idea that you are worth the time. It also validates your feelings, which can reduce overall stress. Rather than ignoring your feelings in a mad dash to drive forward, those moments of acknowledging yourself without judgment provide a healthy way to reassure your subconscious that it is allowed to have moods. It doesn’t have to be “up” or “on” all the time. In fact, it shouldn’t be. Everyone and everything needs downtime.

As passionate as you are about the causes you support and the freedoms you defend, sometimes trying to stay on top of the news and outreach can exhaust you. Sometimes it’s best for you to step back from it all and heal your stress in order to be in tip-top shape to get back into the fight. But not everyone has the privilege of stepping away, you might say. “How can I take the option to step out of the ring when there are people dying, starving, being oppressed?” you ask. Comparing your personal state to someone else’s is a recipe for ducking out of self-care. Someone will always be worse off. That doesn’t mean you should avoid taking care of yourself right now. Live to fight another day. Take time off to recharge and regroup, and bring your best self back to support your cause.

If you find yourself consistently giving too many fucks about trivial shit that bothers you—your ex-boyfriend’s new Facebook picture, how quickly the batteries die in the TV remote, missing out on yet another two-for-one sale on hand sanitizer—chances are you don’t have much going on in your life to give a legitimate fuck about. And that’s your real problem. Not the hand sanitizer. Not the TV remote. I once heard an artist say that when a person has no problems, the mind automatically finds a way to invent some. I think what most people—especially educated, pampered middle-class white people—consider “life problems” are really just side effects of not having anything more important to worry about. It then follows that finding something important and meaningful in your life is perhaps the most productive use of your time and energy. Because if you don’t find that meaningful something, your fucks will be given to meaningless and frivolous causes. Subtlety #3: Whether you realize it or not, you are always choosing what to give a fuck about.

I once heard an artist say that when a person has no problems, the mind automatically finds a way to invent some. I think what most people—especially educated, pampered middle-class white people—consider “life problems” are really just side effects of not having anything more important to worry about. It then follows that finding something important and meaningful in your life is perhaps the most productive use of your time and energy. Because if you don’t find that meaningful something, your fucks will be given to meaningless and frivolous causes.

Family members can be most helpful by offering support, understanding, kindness, patience, and encouragement in doing the Four Steps—but not by pampering or indulging the person’s OCD. Reinforcement is essential; every improvement should be recognized. People with OCD need to feel good about themselves, since it’s been a long time since they’ve done so. What they don’t need is angry criticism; they are already critical enough of themselves. Nor should they be pushed too fast to get well; their goal will be reached by taking a lot of small steps, not giant leaps. Sure, there will be times when the partner is tired and out of patience with OCD and needs his or her own time out. That’s okay, too. There should be no guilt feelings about that—in fact, the person with OCD should encourage it.

Scholars once proclaimed that the agricultural revolution was a great leap forward for humanity. They told a tale of progress fuelled by human brain power. Evolution gradually produced ever more intelligent people. Eventually, people were so smart that they were able to decipher nature's secrets, enabling them to tame sheep and cultivate wheat. As soon as this happened, they cheerfully abandoned the gruelling, dangerous and often spartan life of hunter-gatherers, settling down to enjoy the pleasant, satiated life of farmers. That tale is a fantasy. There is no evidence that people became more intelligent with time. Foragers knew the secret of nature long before the Agricultural Revolution, since their survival depended on an intimate knowledge of the animals they hunted and the plants they gathered. Rather than heralding a new era of easy living, the Agricultural Revolution left farmers with lives generally more difficult and less satisfying than those of foragers. Hunter-gatherers spent their time in more stimulating and varied ways, and were less in danger of starvation and disease. The Agricultural Revolution certainly enlarged the sum total of food at the disposal of humankind, but the extra food did not translate into a better diet or more leisure. Rather, it translated into population explosions and pampered elites. The average farmer worked harder than the average forager, and got a worse diet in return. The Agricultural Revolution was history's biggest fraud. (p. 89-90)

Women have always had control of the purse strings and had responsibility for running everything smoothly. Japanese men have been incredibly reliant on the female of the species, no knowing where anything is, not knowing how to dress. Without women they would have to go around naked. There has always been a depth to Japanese women behind the silk screen. There was never that much of an idea of being the protected, pampered species put on a pedestal in the sort of “ladies are gods” culture that predominated in medieval Europe or in Victorian times.