Peachy Keen Quotes

I walked towards her. Jean-Claude grabbed my arm. "Do not harm her, Anita. She is under our protection." "I swear to you that I will not lay a finger on her tonight. I just want to tell her something." He released my arm, slowly, like he wasn't sure it was a good idea. I stepped next to Monica, until our bodies almost touched. I whispered into her face, "If anything happens to Catherine, I will see you dead." She smirked at me, confident in her protectors. "They will bring me back as one of them." I felt my head shake, a little to the right, a little to the left, a slow precise movement. "I will cut out your heart." I was still smiling, I couldn'tseem to stop. "Then I will burn it and scatter the ashes in the river. Do you understand me?" She swallowed audibly. Her health-club tan looked a little green. She nodded, staring at me like I was the bogey man. I think she believed I'd do it. Peachy keen. I hate to waste a really good threat

Everybody leads you to think that hospice is this really great thing, that once you accept it, life just smooths out and everything is peachy keen. What a load of crap!

and confused if someone does not appreciate their niceness. Others often sense this and avoid giving them feedback not only, effectively blocking the nice person’s emotional growth, but preventing risks from being taken. You never know with a nice person if the relationship would survive a conflict or angry confrontation. This greatly limits the depths of intimacy. And would you really trust a nice person to back you up if confrontation were needed? 3. With nice people you never know where you really stand. The nice person allows others to accidentally oppress him. The “nice” person might be resenting you just for talking to him, because really he is needing to pee. But instead of saying so he stands there nodding and smiling, with legs tightly crossed, pretending to listen. 4. Often people in relationship with nice people turn their irritation toward themselves, because they are puzzled as to how they could be so upset with someone so nice. In intimate relationships this leads to guilt, self-hate and depression. 5. Nice people frequently keep all their anger inside until they find a safe place to dump it. This might be by screaming at a child, blowing up a federal building, or hitting a helpless, dependent mate. (Timothy McVeigh, executed for the Oklahoma City bombing, was described by acquaintances as a very, very nice guy, one who would give you the shirt off his back.) Success in keeping the anger in will often manifest as psychosomatic illnesses, including arthritis, ulcers, back problems, and heart disease. Proper Peachy Parents In my work as a psychotherapist, I have found that those who had peachy keen “Nice Parents” or proper “Rigidly Religious Parents” (as opposed to spiritual parents), are often the most stuck in chronic, lowgrade depression. They have a difficult time accessing or expressing any negative feelings towards their parents. They sometimes say to me “After all my parents did for me, seldom saying a harsh word to me, I would feel terribly guilty complaining. Besides, it would break their hearts.” Psychologist Rollo May suggested that it is less crazy-making to a child to cope with overt withdrawal or harshness than to try to understand the facade of the always-nice parent. When everyone agrees that your parents are so nice and giving, and you still feel dissatisfied, then a child may conclude that there must be something wrong with his or her ability to receive love. -§ Emotionally starving children are easier to control, well fed children don’t need to be. -§ I remember a family of fundamentalists who came to my office to help little Matthew with his anger problem. The parents wanted me to teach little Matthew how to “express his anger nicely.” Now if that is not a formula making someone crazy I do not know what would be. Another woman told me that after her stinking drunk husband tore the house up after a Christmas party, breaking most of the dishes in the kitchen, she meekly told him, “Dear, I think you need a breath mint.” Many families I work with go through great anxiety around the holidays because they are going to be forced to be with each other and are scared of resuming their covert war. They are scared that they might not keep the nice garbage can lid on, and all the rotting resentments and hopeless hurts will be exposed. In the words to the following song, artist David Wilcox explains to his parents why he will not be coming home this Thanksgiving: Covert War by David Wilcox

Do not harm her, Anita. She is under our protection.” “I swear to you that I will not lay a finger on her tonight. I just want to tell her something.” He released my arm, slowly, like he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I stepped next to Monica, until our bodies almost touched. I whispered into her face, “If anything happens to Catherine, I will see you dead.” She smirked at me, confident in her protectors. “They will bring me back as one of them.” I felt my head shake, a little to the right, a little to the left, a slow precise movement. “I will cut out your heart.” I was still smiling, I couldn’t seem to stop. “Then I will burn it and scatter the ashes in the river. Do you understand me?” She swallowed audibly. Her health-club tan looked a little green. She nodded, staring at me like I was the bogey man. I think she believed I’d do it. Peachy keen. I hate to waste a really good threat.

Frankie was blessed enough to know a wealth of good men. She hadn't dated one yet, because she was related to most of them, and there were laws against that sort of thing.

This was part of the problem with having a customer service job. Even when the customers were enormous shit heels, you weren't allowed to slap them.

We expect a certain amount of stupidity from our young people. We let them tire themselves out like overgrown toddlers, because self-preservation usually stops them before they go too far.

Mama always said that if you can't say anything nice, it's best to just smile until the murderous urges go away.

You can't fire up the crematory to solve personal problems, sweetheart.

After a lifetime of contorting myself to fit into boxes never meant for the likes of me—it’s true. I got tired of feeling ashamed all the time. It is wildly subversive to say that I no longer feel ashamed—not in body, soul, beliefs, or movement through the world, not for who, what, or how I am. I do not hold an apology for the ways, hows, and whos of my work, my desire, and my love. There is an ownership of power in this simple fact that refuses to fit into words. But if you see me, you’ll know it. Sovereignty. That’s what I call it. Somehow, through all the twists and turns and fuckery of this life, I became a woman who is sovereign unto herself. Does this mean I’ve beaten all my demons and that I don’t give a fuck, and that everything is peachy keen all the time? Oh, hell no. Not even close. I am a woman who will forever be grappling with herself—pushing and growing and expanding and contracting, learning and unlearning, and tripping over the same lessons 50 times or more on the way to integration. It gets messy in this brain, heart, and body of mine. That’s just how I’m made. But the fact remains that no person, relationship, religion, belief system, or organization holds me to any agreement that negates my contract with myself. Fact: Your shame serves nobody. In fact, where there is shame, there is no pleasure. It is your pleasure that the universe spirals eternally toward. There comes a time in human evolution when a woman gets tired of asking permission to live, breathe, be, and love in the most honest and true way. When she stops looking outside of herself, she writes her own permission slip and doesn’t look back. A time when she is ready to own her story. Remove the masks. Shed the shame. Speak and write and live as a human sovereign unto herself. Are you ready to be subversive? How about revolutionary? Is this finally your time?

Sometimes I meet someone, he rubs me the wrong way. Your mother meets the same person, she thinks he’s peachy keen.

PEACHY KEEN Makes 1 serving 1 cup water ½ cup quick-cooking oats 1 tablespoon flaked almonds ½ cup peaches or nectarines, sliced Dash cinnamon (optional) • Bring the water to a boil. Stir in the oats and cook until soft, about 3 minutes. When the oats are finished, top with almonds and fruit slices. > 220 calories, 7 g fat, 6 g fiber, 8 g protein

So you were talking about murdering Wrath?” Montrag sputtered, Earl Grey dappling the front of his bloodred smoking jacket and hitting Daddy’s peachy-keen rug.

Ignore her. She’s two Peaches in,” Margot told him, bemused.

bald-faced

all hat, no cattle’?” she asked. “Same concept applies to boat purchases.