Unwanted Attention Quotes

If only Sam could have stayed just like the Dog, she thought. A comforting friend without the complication of romantic interest.There had to be something she could do to completely discourage him, short of throwing up, or making herself totally unattractive. "I'm thirty-five," she said at last.

The exaggerated dopamine sensitivity of the introvert leads one to believe that when in public, introverts, regardless of its validity, often feel to be the center of (unwanted) attention hence rarely craving attention. Extroverts, on the other hand, seem to never get enough attention. So on the flip side it seems as though the introvert is in a sense very external and the extrovert is in a sense very internal - the introvert constantly feels too much 'outerness' while the extrovert doesn't feel enough 'outerness'.

When he finished talking, I said, “Your mother did not deserve the unwanted attentions of a man like my father.” I said, “I did not deserve the unwanted attentions of a man like you. It is often women who pay the price for what men want.

I'm sure you could have. Fending off unwanted male attention is a skill every attractive woman must acquire. But you're also a lady who was reluctant to cause a scene.. (Hammond Cross)

(The tree bend over. Suddenly, a hiss and a meow sounded an instant before two cats darted off across the backyard.) Look, Lanie, it’s Mr. Tomcat come to save me from my celibacy. Oh, help me, Moon Mistress. Whatever am I to do with the attentions of such an unwanted suitor! Help me quick, before he kills me with my allergies. (Grace)

If you were neglected by emotionally immature parents during childhood, you may find yourself willing to put up with unsolicited analysis and unwanted advice from others. This is common among people who are hungry for personal feedback that shows someone is thinking about them. But this kind of “advice” isn’t nourishing attention; rather, it’s motivated by a desire to be in control.

Be honest, Miss Mountbatten.” “I am being honest. Mr. Reynaud has not subjected me to any unwanted attentions, nor taken advantage of me in any way.” Ash looked suspicious, but he didn’t belabor the question. “Regardless. His sexual escapades are merely the tip of the iceberg.” “Oh, I haven’t even acquainted her with the tip,” Chase said merrily. “Not properly.

Matthias,” she murmured in Fjerdan, giving his arm what she hoped was a friendly, siblinglike nudge, “must you glower at everything?” “I’m not glowering.” “We’re Fjerdans in the Ravkan sector. We already stand out. Let’s not give everyone another reason to think you’re about to lay siege to the market. We need to get this task done without drawing unwanted attention. Think of yourself as a spy.” His frown deepened. “Such work is beneath an honest soldier.” “Then pretend to be an actor.” He made a disgusted sound. “Have you ever even been to the theater?” “There are plays every season in Djerholm.” “Let me guess, sober affairs that last several hours and tell epic tales of the heroes of yore.” “They’re actually very entertaining. But I’ve never seen an actor who knows how to properly hold his sword.

A misunderstanding of the Laws of the Universe is at the heart of this conversation as the people of your society wage wars against the things they do not want: war against terror, war against AIDS, war against teenage pregnancy, war against violence, war against cancer—and every one of those things is getting bigger because attention to unwanted creates more unwanted.

That's our cue to depart." "They know something " I pointed out. "I know something too. I know we're going to attract a lot of unwanted attention if they keep screaming. And then we have to make up some ridiculous explanation about how we heard screaming through the vents in our rooms and we followed the sound back to the basement and we found these girls lying on the ground and pretending to be tied up by invisible rope because they're practicing for the regional mime championships." I blinked at her. "Is that explanation more or less believable than we woke up because two girls who are actually evil magicians tripped a magical alarm wired to a door in the basement we aren't supposed to know about " Scout paused for a minute then nodded. "Point made.

With careful searching, with careful attention, you might tip the balance toward opportunity and against obstacle sufficiently so that life is clearly worth living, despite its fragility and suffering. If you truly wanted, perhaps you would receive, if you asked. If you truly sought, perhaps you would find what you seek. If you knocked, truly wanting to enter, perhaps the door would open. But there will be times in your life when it will take everything you have to face what is in front of you, instead of hiding away from a truth so terrible that the only thing worse is the falsehood you long to replace it with. Do not hide unwanted things in the fog.

Breathe out unwanted thoughts with your exhale and re-focus your attention directly on what is important right now, at this moment.

Casey recalled how Gail defended herself in the parking lot of the English & Philosophy Building from the unwanted attentions of a lecherous fellow student, who shall remain nameless. ‘Please leave me alone,’ Ms Godwin warned the offending student, ‘or I shall be forced to wound you with a weapon you can ill afford to be wounded by in a town this small.’ The threat was most mysterious, not to mention writerly, but the oafish lecher was not easily deterred. ‘And what might that weapon be, little lady?’ the lout allegedly asked. ‘Gossip,’ Gail Godwin replied.

Something strange has happened to the idea of privacy in our surreal time. Instead of being cherished, it appears to have become, a valueless quality—actually undesirable. If a thing is not made public, it doesn’t really exist. Your dog, your wedding, your beach, your baby, your dinner, the interesting meme you recently saw—these things need, on a daily basis, to be shared. Where attention has become the thing most hungered for, where the quest for followers and likes is the new gluttony, privacy has become unnecessary, unwanted, even absurd.

Do you wish me to continue my demonstration?" "Of what? You ability to control my physical movements or your unwanted attentions?" She returned his glare as she deliberately wiped her hand across her mouth. His eyes narrowed. "I don't recall you protesting too loudly," he snapped.

stalk2 v. 1 [with obj.] pursue or approach stealthily: a cat stalking a bird. harass or persecute (someone) with unwanted and obsessive attention: for five years she was stalked by a man who would taunt and threaten her.

Eventually, he says, "Their attention is unwanted.

You don’t put your hands on someone who doesn’t want it. Women deserve more than your unwanted attention. You earn their approval.

The other kids have too much energy and I loiter in the hallways, hoping to be left alone. Eyes down in a book or pretending to search in my school bag so as not to draw any unwanted attention to myself.

You gotta lay down the law; being nice or polite is a weakness that only encourages unwanted attention. I’d be less of a bitch if I didn’t have to worry about getting my motives twisted. Sometimes you just have to be rude.

Self-love is not the process of ignoring things, paying attention to fewer flaws or forcing yourself to look away from the parts of you that you perceive as ugly or unwanted. Self-love is the process of expanding your awareness, of seeing those flaws and imperfections alongside the incredible potential of the universe flowing within you, alongside the eternal truth of life flowing within your veins in each second, alongside the flickers of creativity and opportunity present within each moment of your existence. Like this, the imperfections persist, but only as lovable quirks, like a bad doorknob on the front door of a cottage in paradise, like a few thorns on a beautiful rose, like a cloud in a sunset. Like this, what was once unwanted becomes essential, memorable, humbling.

Khalid had come up with that name, Shadia. The big man was her guide into this seedier side of Cairo, where Fatma el-Sha’arawi, special investigator with the Egyptian Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments, and Supernatural Entities, would draw unwanted attention.

Carrying a burnt candle stub will extinguish feelings of love should they arise (Front left pocket.) Soak a mirror in vinegar to deflect unwanted attention (Back pocket.) To change the leanings of the heart, wear a wasp nest on the head (Not this desperate. Yet.)

There is a liminal space created between the powerful person and the person who is the target of unwanted attention, a liminal space between outright yes and outright no. That space is not a compromise—not a maybe-yes or maybe-no—but more of a hovering, a being caught and not knowing where else to go or how to move without making things much worse. So you stay put. You hold the person off as best you can without causing them to retaliate too terribly, and because you know they can retaliate if they want to, that they have the power to do this, that they could decide to ruin you for displeasing them or rejecting them too forcefully. On the outside you continue to exist as though nothing is wrong, you perpetuate everything as though it is normal. You maintain the status quo with the abuser and with everyone around the abuser. Yet inside you are at war, you are shrinking, you are wishing you could die rather than continue much longer as though everything were fine. You become exhausted with the responsibility of making a situation okay that is not at all okay.

However, attention can be moved away from an unwanted focus, primarily by focusing intently on another target.

But is there such a thing as trauma without shame? Isn’t shame an integral part of what causes an event or series of events to become a trauma?

An endless cycle of resisting, ruminating, and finally giving in to the desire perpetuates the cycle and quite possibly drives many of our unwanted behaviors.

two Christian princesses who were pursued by undesirable pagan lovers—lovers who professed to be unable to live without their beloveds’ beautiful blue eyes. To rid herself of the unwanted attention, Medana supposedly plucked her eyes out and threw them at her suitor’s feet; Triduana was slightly more inventive, and tore hers out with a thorn, then sent them to her suitor on a skewer.

Without energy being invested in resisting the unwanted or dueling with fears, we have more energy and attention available for noticing not only the disturbing, but the wonderful...When we are not fixated on threat and defending ourselves, when we're not exhausted and burned out from chronic stress, we are able to see the daily evidence that we are in the midst of a mind-blowing miracle called Life....Then we will experience breathtaking, heart-rippling moments that counterbalance every trial and tribulation. When we're fully conscious of the universe's artistry and generosity, who needs psychodelics or Prozac?

Unlike when people lived in small communities and could not escape their past behavior, we live in an age of anonymous one-time encounters, and many people have become expert at the art of fast persuasion. Trust, formerly earned through actions, is now purchased with sleight of hand, and sleight of words. I encourage women to explicitly rebuff unwanted approaches, but I know it is difficult to do. Just as rapport-building has a good reputation, explicitness applied by women in this culture has a terrible reputation. A woman who is clear and precise is viewed as cold, or a bitch, or both. A woman is expected, first and foremost, to respond to every communication from a man. And the response is expected to be one of willingness and attentiveness. It is considered attractive if she is a bit uncertain (the opposite of explicit). Women are expected to be warm and open, and in the context of approaches from male strangers, warmth lengthens the encounter, raises his expectations, increases his investment, and, at best, wastes time. At

C’mon,” said Harry, and he led Hermione and Mrs. Cattermole to the door. When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon there were cries of shock from the people waiting outside. Harry looked around; the dementors were falling back on both sides of them, melding into the darkness, scattering before the silver creatures. “It’s been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families,” Harry told the waiting Muggle-borns, who were dazzled by the light of the Patronuses and still cowering slightly. “Go abroad if you can. Just get well away from the Ministry. That’s the--er--new official position. Now, if you’ll just follow the Patronuses, you’ll be able to leave from the Atrium.” They managed to get up the stone steps without being intercepted, but as they approached the lifts Harry started to have misgivings. If they emerged into the Atrium with a silver stag, an otter soaring alongside it, and twenty or so people, half of them accused Muggle-borns, he could not help feeling that they would attract unwanted attention.

Usually when her mom gave her warnings like this, Elena would just give her a thumbs up. Like, No prob, Bob. Because it really wasn’t a problem. Avoid men? Done! This had literally never been an issue for her. When other girls complained about how to deal with unwanted male attention, Elena wouldn’t feel jealous exactly, but she would feel curious—how does one go about attracting such attention? And is it impossible to attract just some of it? Just a small, manageable amount? Or was attention from boys all or nothing, like a tap that, once you’d found it, you could never turn off?

I am a survivor, but I also am, and always will be, a victim. I can't speak for others who share this dual identity, but I can say for myself that, while I wish to be the proud person who exclusively occupies the title of survivor, I still claim the territory of the shivering, cowering victim.

Human infants are born with no capability whatsoever to hide or suppress any feeling, be it hunger, fear, discomfort or pain. Healthy newborns are skilled at communicating anger and have a superbly articulate talent for saying no, as anyone can attest who has witnessed the rage of a frustrated infant or who has ever tried to feed some unwanted substance to a baby. She shouts out her responses to the world, loud and clear. Given the survival value of emotional expression, nature would not have us give up that capacity unless the suppression of emotion was demanded by the environment. When we forget how to say no, we surrender self-esteem.

There’s nothing outside of you that’s stopping you from living your dream life now. If you’re ready to own your power as a Divine Creator, consciously choose to focus your attention on what excites you and what you genuinely want. Don’t try to get out of an unwanted frequency by thinking about things in that same frequency

In retrospect, it is evident that highlighting abortion rather than reproductive rights as a whole reflected the class biases of the women who were at the forefront of the movement. While the issue of abortion was and remains relevant to all women, there were other reproductive issues that were just as vital which needed attention and might have served to galvanize masses. These issues ranged from basic sex education, prenatal care, preventive health care that would help females understand how their bodies worked, to forced sterilization, unnecessary cesareans and/or hysterectomies, and the medical complications left in their wake. Of all these issues individual white women with class privilege identified most intimately with the pain of unwanted pregnancy. And they highlighted the abortion issue. They were not by any means the only group in need of access to safe, legal abortions. As already stated, they were far more likely to have the means the to acquire an abortion than poor and working-class women. In those days poor women, black women included, often sought illegal abortions. The right to have an abortion was not a white-women-only issue; it was simply not the only or even most important reproductive concern for masses of American women.

The skin sheds so finely we don't even notice it, but it's always renewing itself. You know what this means?" I asked and looked up to smile encouragingly at her face. "Wh-what?" she breathed. I had her complete attention. "It means that in a month or two, all your skin will have never known an unwanted touch. The skin that remembers the mansion will be completely gone," I answered, hoping it would help remind her that she'd always be her own person. Unowned. "These hands will only have touched what you chose to touch." ~Keyon from The Dragon Knight and the Coveted.

As soon as Devon left his room, he was overwhelmed by a surplus of unwanted attention. Not one but two footmen accompanied him down the stairs, eagerly pointing out dangers such as the edge of a particular step that wasn’t quite smooth, or a section of the curved balustrade that might be slippery from a recent polishing. After negotiating the apparent perils of the staircase, Devon continued through the main hall and was obligated to stop along the way as a row of housemaids curtsied and uttered a chorus of “Happy Christmas” and “God bless you, milord,” and offered abundant wishes for his good health. Abashed by the role he seemed to have been cast in, Devon smiled and thanked them. He made his painstaking way to the dining room, which was filled with lavish arrangements of Christmas flowers, and hung with evergreen garlands twined with gold ribbon. Kathleen, West and the twins were all seated, laughing and chatting with relaxed good humor. “We knew you were approaching,” Pandora said to Devon, “from all the happy voices we could hear in the entrance hall.” “He’s not accustomed to people exclaiming happily when he arrives,” West said gravely. “Usually they do it when he leaves.

All around the country, at universities far and wide, at workplaces of all sizes and types, at companies that boast of doing good and making the world a better place, there are file cabinets full of the bloody tongues of women. Some are young and tender, others more weathered and battered, but all of them taken from us by people in business-casual attire, in suits and sensible skirts, walking up to us as though what they are about to do is perfectly legitimate, perfectly reasonable, even as they take the long, curving knives from behind their backs, raising them up to strike our faces and our necks. Acting as though this is just business as usual while they disfigure us, and we stand there, letting them, because this seems like our only option.

56. There are, however, many stories of women—particularly saints—blinding themselves in order to maintain their chastity, to prove that they “only have eyes” for God or Christ. Consider, for example, the legend of Saint Lucy, patron saint of the blind, whose name means “clear, radiant, understandable. What seems clear enough: in 304 ad Lucy was tortured and put to death by the Roman emperor Diocletian, and thus martyred for her Christianity. What is unclear: why, exactly, she runs around Gothic and Renaissance paintings holding a golden dish with her blue eyes staring weirdly out from it. Some say her eyes were tortured out of her head in her martyrdom; some say she gouged them out herself after being sentenced by the pagan emperor to be defiled in a brothel. Even more unclear are the twinned legends of Saint Medana (of Ireland) and Saint Triduana (of Scotland), two Christian princesses who were pursued by undesirable pagan lovers—lovers who professed to be unable to live without their beloveds’ beautiful blue eyes. To rid herself of the unwanted attention, Medana supposedly plucked her eyes out and threw them at her suitor’s feet; Triduana was slightly more inventive, and tore here out with a thorn, then sent them to her suitor on a skewer. 57. In religious accounts, these women are announcing, via their amputations, their fidelity to God. But other accounts wonder whether they were in fact punishing themselves, as they knew that they had looked upon men with lust, and felt the need to employ extreme measures to avert any further temptation.

Groupies and hangers-on somehow fancy themselves entitled to the narcissist’s favour and largesse, his time, attention, and other resources. They convince themselves that they are exempt from the narcissist’s rage and wrath and immune to his vagaries andabuse . This self-imputed and self-conferred status irritates the narcissist no end as it challenges and encroaches on his standing as the only source of preferential treatment and the sole decision-maker when it comes to the allocation of his precious and cosmically significant wherewithal. The narcissist is the guru at the centre of a cult. Like other gurus, he demands complete obedience from his flock: his spouse, his offspring, other family  members, friends, and colleagues. He feels entitled to adulation and special treatment by his followers. He punishes the wayward and the straying lambs. He enforces discipline, adherence to his teachings, and common goals. The less accomplished he is in reality – the more stringent his mastery and the more pervasive the brainwashing. Cult leaders are narcissists who failed in their mission to "be someone", to become famous, and to impress the world with their uniqueness, talents, traits, and skills. Such disgruntled narcissists withdraw into a "zone of comfort" (known as the "Pathological Narcissistic Space") that assumes the hallmarks of a cult. The – often involuntary – members of the narcissist's mini-cult inhabit a twilight zone of his own construction. He imposes on them an exclusionary or inclusionary shared psychosis, replete with persecutory delusions, "enemies", mythical-grandiose narratives, and apocalyptic scenarios if he is flouted. Exclusionary shared psychosis involves the physical and emotional isolation of the narcissist and his “flock” (spouse, children, fans, friends) from the outside world in order to better shield them from imminent threats and hostile intentions. Inclusionary shared psychosis revolves around attempts to spread the narcissist’s message in a missionary fashion among friends, colleagues, co-workers, fans, churchgoers, and anyone else who comes across the mini-cult. The narcissist's control is based on ambiguity, unpredictability, fuzziness, and ambientabuse . His ever-shifting whims exclusively define right versus wrong, desirable and unwanted, what is to be pursued and what to be avoided. He alone determines the rights and obligations of his disciples and alters them at will.

mental actions in the list are completely involuntary. You cannot refrain from understanding simple sentences in your own language or from orienting to a loud unexpected sound, nor can you prevent yourself from knowing that 2 + 2 = 4 or from thinking of Paris when the capital of France is mentioned. Other activities, such as chewing, are susceptible to voluntary control but normally run on automatic pilot. The control of attention is shared by the two systems. Orienting to a loud sound is normally an involuntary operation of System 1, which immediately mobilizes the voluntary attention of System 2. You may be able to resist turning toward the source of a loud and offensive comment at a crowded party, but even if your head does not move, your attention is initially directed to it, at least for a while. However, attention can be moved away from an unwanted

We spend most of our conscious waking day with our attention on the external environment and functioning in Beta [brain wave state]. [...] [Fast Beta-wave states are the realm of the conscious mind]. Slow brain-wave states are the realm of the subconscious. [...] [For example, slower] Alpha waves are created in the creative, imaginative state. [...] [When your brain is in high Beta it] isn’t in creative mode [nor meditative, nor inspiration mode, nor receptive more]; it’s fixated on survival. [...] The brain in high Beta can’t easily shift gears into the imaginary realm of Alpha [or deeper into the subconscious]. [...] If you’re constantly analyzing (I call this “being in analytical mind”), you are in Beta and you’re not able to enter into the subconscious mind. [...] [Meditation slows down the brain waves and takes you out of Beta state]. Meditation Takes Us from Beta into Alpha and Theta Brain-Wave States. [...] Meditation Takes Us Beyond Analytical Mind and into the Subconscious. [...]. [It] opens the door between the conscious and subconscious minds. We meditate to enter the operating system of the subconscious, where all of those unwanted habits and behaviors reside, and change them to more productive modes to support us in our lives.

A week is a long time to go without bedding someone?” Marcus interrupted, one brow arching. “Are you going to claim that it’s not?” “St. Vincent, if a man has time to bed a woman more than once a week, he clearly doesn’t have enough to do. There are any number of responsibilities that should keep you sufficiently occupied in lieu of…” Marcus paused, considering the exact phrase he wanted. “Sexual congress.” A pronounced silence greeted his words. Glancing at Shaw, Marcus noticed his brother-in-law’s sudden preoccupation with knocking just the right amount of ash from his cigar into a crystal dish, and he frowned. “You’re a busy man, Shaw, with business concerns on two continents. Obviously you agree with my statement.” Shaw smiled slightly. “My lord, since my ‘sexual congress’ is limited exclusively to my wife, who happens to be your sister, I believe I’ll have the good sense to keep my mouth shut.” St. Vincent smiled lazily. “It’s a shame for a thing like good sense to get in the way of an interesting conversation.” His gaze switched to Simon Hunt, who wore a slight frown. “Hunt, you may as well render your opinion. How often should a man make love to a woman? Is more than once a week a case for unpardonable gluttony?” Hunt threw Marcus a vaguely apologetic glance. “Much as I hesitate to agree with St. Vincent…” Marcus scowled as he insisted, “It is a well-known fact that sexual over-indulgence is bad for the health, just as with excessive eating and drinking—” “You’ve just described my perfect evening, Westcliff,” St. Vincent murmured with a grin, and returned his attention to Hunt. “How often do you and your wife—” “The goings-on in my bedroom are not open for discussion,” Hunt said firmly. “But you lie with her more than once a week?” St. Vincent pressed. “Hell, yes,” Hunt muttered. “And well you should, with a woman as beautiful as Mrs. Hunt,” St. Vincent said smoothly, and laughed at the warning glance that Hunt flashed him. “Oh, don’t glower—your wife is the last woman on earth whom I would have any designs on. I have no desire to be pummeled to a fare-thee-well beneath the weight of your ham-sized fists. And happily married women have never held any appeal for me—not when unhappily married ones are so much easier.” He looked back at Marcus. “It seems that you are alone in your opinion, Westcliff. The values of hard work and self-discipline are no match for a warm female body in one’s bed.” Marcus frowned. “There are more important things.” “Such as?” St. Vincent inquired with the exaggerated patience of a rebellious lad being subjected to an unwanted lecture from his decrepit grandfather. “I suppose you’ll say something like ‘social progress’? Tell me, Westcliff…” His gaze turned sly. “If the devil proposed a bargain to you that all the starving orphans in England would be well-fed from now on, but in return you would never be able to lie with a woman again, which would you choose? The orphans, or your own gratification?” “I never answer hypothetical questions.” St. Vincent laughed. “As I thought. Bad luck for the orphans, it seems.

Honoring Transmutation Thank you for helping me see my broken pieces as beautiful and worthy. Thank you for helping me lay into the earth what has become oppressive on my soul, and for helping me see the importance in my courage to feel. Scrub my body, heart, and mind of their accumulated stresses and unaddressed anguish. Let me stop the abuses and misfortunes from telling my future. Help me author my personal story of strength and perseverance while ripening me for rebirth. Let me strip off unwanted debris with my hands and behold how feasible it is for me to move my own energy. Help me see my offerings like fallen leaves that nourish the bustling, hungry communities of unseen beneficials living below the surface. Let the intensity of the weight I’ve been carrying feed the soil of my spirit. Help me plant the seeds of tomorrow’s wellness and water them with my tears. Let every creaking wail of sorrow be an investment in the freedom of tomorrow. When my griefs begin to release, let me feel the lightening of my heart like a dandelion setting free its seed-wishes. Let these composted traumas and hopes for the future quell my desire for an endless summer. Cover them gently in preparation for nature’s season of reflection and restoration. Open me to recurrent occasions of self-cleaning for giving my spirit, body, and mind the precious attention it is asking for. Make me an enthusiastic gardener for my well-being. Fill me with willingness to allow downtime when I have done what I can do for now. I trust you to finish the job in my dreams while I rest.

Everywhere along the line there were people involved. Farmers who planted and monitored and cared for and pruned and fertilized their trees. Pickers who walked among the rows of plants, in the mountains’ thin air, taking the cherries, only the red cherries, placing them one by one in their buckets and baskets. Workers who processed the cherries, most of that work done by hand, too, fingers removing the sticky mucilage from each bean. There were the humans who dried the beans. Who turned them on the drying beds to make sure they dried evenly. Then those who sorted the dried beans, the good beans from the bad. Then the humans who bagged these sorted beans. Bagged them in bags that kept them fresh, bags that retained the flavor without adding unwanted tastes and aromas. The humans who tossed the bagged beans on trucks. The humans who took the bags off the trucks and put them into containers and onto ships. The humans who took the beans from the ships and put them on different trucks. The humans who took the bags from the trucks and brought them into the roasteries in Tokyo and Chicago and Trieste. The humans who roasted each batch. The humans who packed smaller batches into smaller bags for purchase by those who might want to grind and brew at home. Or the humans who did the grinding at the coffee shop and then painstakingly brewed and poured the coffee or espresso or cappuccino. Any given cup of coffee, then, might have been touched by twenty hands, from farm to cup, yet these cups only cost two or three dollars. Even a four-dollar cup was miraculous, given how many people were involved, and how much individual human attention and expertise was lavished on the beans dissolved in that four-dollar cup. So much human attention and expertise, in fact, that even at four dollars a cup, chances were some person—or many people, or hundreds of people—along the line were being taken, underpaid, exploited.

However effective trolling rhetoric might be, particularly when dealing with unwanted trolling attention, the act of trolling is heavy with ideological baggage. No matter what purpose the act is meant to serve, it is and will always be predicated on some degree of antagonism. Ryan Milner argues that there is an important distinction between antagonism that facilitates robust dialogue—as was the outcome of SAFE’s proposed book burning party—and antagonism that silences, marginalizes, and denigrates.

The Chinese have a saying about unwanted attention: “Man should fear fame like pigs fear getting fat.

Guardian archangels are fond of staying in the background and out of sight in the temporal world, until they are needed to protect their ward. Unlike Uriel’s cocksure flamboyance, Mikael preferred quiet understatement. He was the prince of Israel, a most holy calling. It was all the more reason for him to downplay his presence. He did not want to draw attention where it was unwanted. The Canaanites and their gods were already in perpetual war with the Israelites, seeking to exterminate them all and drive them into the sea. The Philistines were the strongest of these threats. But the most dangerous hazard was the most intimate one. Because the evil spirit of Nimrod had sunk his claws into Saul’s soul, Mikael had been distracted and stretched thin, following David in his months of fleeing from Saul’s pursuit. Mikael’s attention was divided between his watchfulness over the Chosen Seed David, and his chosen people Israel, led by a king trying to kill David.

That’s so wonderful.” Then she stepped back and turned her attention to Duncan. “You’d better treat my baby sister like the treasure that she is.” “Aye. I plan to.” “And on that note,” Elizabeth said, “it’s time to put things to rights around here. Aidan and Roarke, if you wouldn’t mind loading Neil onto the elevator, I’ll ride down with you. I’d rather not haul him out through the lobby.” She pulled a cell phone out of a small evening bag. “I’ll arrange for members of our pack to meet us at ground level.” Roarke nodded. “We can do that. Come on, Aidan. Let’s dispose of this unwanted garbage.” He walked over to Neil, who had begun to stir. “He won’t be happy when he comes to, so we need him out of here before

You’re smart. Don’t sell yourself short by thinking all you are is pretty to look at. What about this new person you plan to become? Is she going to starve herself and work out to the point of exhaustion so she can have a beautiful body too? Because if she is, then she’s going to have the same problems with unwanted attention as the person you are now does.

Since consumer tech is a $964 billion market globally, Google owns less than 0.24% of it—a far cry from relevance, let alone monopoly. Framing itself as just another tech company allows Google to escape all sorts of unwanted attention.

JANUARY IN PY7 This can be a difficult month of adjustment for those who have become addicted to continual progress. But we all must learn to accept the things we cannot change, and this is an irrevocable year of consolidation. If it be in disagreement with your wants, then examine them and act wisely, or this could become a year of significant loss for you. FEBRUARY IN PY7 If you have not yet succeeded in accepting the need to focus on stabilising this year, then quiet your mind and body, turn inward and rely on your intuition for guidance. Take time to embrace periods of silence and meditate whenever possible. Be especially attentive to stabilising your love life. MARCH IN PY7 Your level of personal understanding is strengthened during this month when the mind number 3 prevails. Things become clearer and your life becomes more readily understood, unless you refuse to accept the inevitable and choose instead to play the role of the victim. APRIL IN PY7 Those who have refused to slow down and consolidate can expect this to be a month of material sacrifice – financially and, perhaps, in health. How else will the universe teach you? Ideally, it is a month for practical organising and for discarding unwanted aspects of life. MAY IN PY7 Focus on stabilising your love life this month, not only with your partner but also with your children and or close family. Be more free with them in your personal expression – let them see how loving you really are. JUNE IN PY7 When one door closes, look for the one (or maybe two) that opens. But don’t rush in (leave that to the fools). Develop creative patience, take your time and consider all aspects before making your move, for the best might be somewhat camouflaged yet worthy of investigation.

Lazesoft Recover home addition: In this inter connected world of information and communication technology.  It is a must that we need to use different email address and passwords associated to those accounts separately. We give a lot of time and attention to manage them all. Because they are the easiest way to communication these days. Nowadays its very common that most of us do have more than one email address in order to use them indifferent purposes. You cannot use the same password so that all the accounts might not get hacked at the same time. That’s an important and not easy task to handle for many of us. In case of it comes to computers with Windows 8 operating system, we have to use different user accounts like Administrator account, guest account, and so on. So, here is also a race for memorizing the passwords associated to all those accounts. Occasionally, we face the problem accessing into our own personal user account and we cannot afford reinstalling the operating system in fear of losing all of our valuable data stored on behalf of that account. If you still can remember the Administrator account’s password then you have the option to reset the other accounts password through the Administrator account. But if the case is not the one we are expecting, I mean you have forgotten the administrative account’s password, and then the Lazesoft Recover home addition software is there to help you get rid of this unwanted problem. Here I am telling you step by step how to do that: Step 1: Download and burn the CD into your USB flash drive or thumb drive from   another computer. Step 2: Insert the flash drive into the target computer and restart the computer. Step 3: up on restart you will see a dialogue box in DOS window. From there, select Mini windows XP and press Enter key. Step 4: After the live CD boots into windows XP, then open the DB CD menu desktop item. Then go into programs menu bar, then select password and keys and then click on windows log on. After that click on NTPW edit. Step 5: you will see a new dialogue box from there you need to locate the path of SAM file. The SAM file will show all the user account available into the computer and from there you need to the account of which you want to reset the password. Step 6: Once you clicked on the account name a dialogue window will open up saying set your password. You can do two things there, a) you can leave the fields blank, therefore the windows will load directly or b) you can set a new password for the account. And then click on the save changes button. Step 7: exit the program and reboot the system removing the USB flash drive. And the windows will boot directly to the windows desktop. Windows password rescuer advance: The password rescuer advance is also a similar type of software for recovering you windows password. It also requires using a USB flash drive. At first you need to purchase and download the software from the internet page

In 2010, a man witnessed a purse snatching outside of a local Wal-mart, and he immediately called the police. Before calling the police, he began to follow the thief, in the snow plow that he was driving at the time.   The thief began to get suspicious of the snow plow following him, and soon called the police saying that someone was stalking him. He even went so far as to mention witnessing a purse snatching, worried that was the reason the snow plow was following him, and hoping he could avoid any unwanted attention.   The police soon caught up with both of them, and the thief attempted to say that the purse snatcher was someone else, and that he was falsely accused. It did not help his case when authorities found that he still had the items he had stolen on hand with him, when they searched all of his belongings.

bold front she portrayed, this Earth woman had concerns he might not have considered. For all she knew, the Challenge had begun the moment she’d traveled through time. At the moment, he had absolutely no idea what she was thinking. FINALLY, KAHN decreased the stimulation in Tessa’s suit. After several minutes of diminished intensity, she’d recovered enough to concentrate better on his words, but focusing wasn’t easy. Kahn folded his arms over his chest. “We have less than a month to train you for the Challenge. Our goal is for you to operate your suit and our machinery at the highest proficiency possible. Watch and do not be alarmed.” Tessa blinked as the man went from seductive to businesslike. She’d thought he would accept her invitation for him to touch her without hesitation—but he wanted to talk about machinery. Kahn had picked a hell of a time to change the subject, and her elevated hormones were going nuts. She fought those hormones by telling herself that her body had simply responded to the unwanted stimulation in a natural manner. She drew in deep breaths through her nose and forced air from her mouth in an attempt to clear her head. Kahn opened a wall panel and again showed her the communications screen. “Beside the screen is a musical library and a holovision system for entertainment.” “Okay.” She forced herself to listen even while her nerves endings demanded attention. At least her suit had stopped the nonsense, but she still tingled from the after effects. And she couldn’t help noticing Kahn’s muscular body in a way she hadn’t before Dora’s suggestion. No longer could she assess his musculature only as that of an opponent. Now she saw his muscles as pleasing to the eye, his flesh satisfying to her touch, his lips gratifying her desire to be kissed. A startling idea popped into her mind, unbidden

As we discussed earlier, our attachment alarm system gets switched on by a sense of deprivation: we cannot gain emotional access to our loved one and so are deprived of needed attention, care, and soothing—the soothing that Harry Harlow called “contact comfort.” The second switch is a sense of desertion. This sense may emerge from feeling emotionally abandoned (“There is no answer when I call, no response. I am in need and alone”) or rejected (“I feel unwanted or criticized. I am not valued. I never come first”). Our brain responds to deprivation and desertion with intimations of helplessness.

Framing itself as just another tech company allows Google to escape all sorts of unwanted attention.

The others retreated in the same way he did from a hissing serpent: Slow, steady, and as fast as possible without drawing unwanted attention.

You know there's a history of unbalanced power, lack of safety and consent, that makes it different when it happens to a woman, right?" "I do know that, even though it's not that simple. I hope you're not planning to accuse me of encouraging them and asking for it." "You were, as a matter of fact, encouraging it greatly." Before he could argue, she raised a hand to stop him. "It was still inappropriate, the way my team behaved. I apologize and will reprimand them." "There's no need for that." "I know. But I will anyway. But the next time you pretend to know what it feels like to be violated by the unwelcome attention of the opposite sex, I want you to know that if as a result of it there was any chance that you could get hurt in any way, you should absolutely feel free to put an end to it by letting them know that you aren't interested and that it makes you uncomfortable.

For the peacock female sexual cannibalism makes total adaptationist sense. It’s a win-win: a means of weeding out the weak suitors, so they stop bothering her with a display that could attract the attention of unwanted predators. And she gets a free meal in the process.

The opposite of a criminal is an Oedipal mother, which is its own type of criminal. The Oedipal mother (and fathers can play this role too, but it’s comparatively rare) says to her child, “I only live for you.” She does everything for her children. She ties their shoes, and cuts up their food, and lets them crawl into bed with her and her partner far too often. That’s a good and conflict-avoidant method for avoiding unwanted sexual attention, as well. The Oedipal mother makes a pact with herself, her children, and the devil himself. The deal is this: “Above all, never leave me. In return, I will do everything for you. As you age without maturing, you will become worthless and bitter, but you will never have to take any responsibility, and everything you do that’s wrong will always be someone else’s fault.” The children can accept or reject this—and they have some choice in the matter. The Oedipal mother is the witch in the story of Hansel and Gretel. The two children in that fairy tale have a new step-mother. She orders her husband to abandon his children in the forest, as there is a famine and she thinks they eat too much. He obeys his wife, takes his children deep into the woods and leaves them to their fate. Wandering, starving and lonely, they come across a miracle. A house. And not just any house. A candy house. A gingerbread house. A person who had not been rendered too caring, empathic, sympathetic and cooperative might be skeptical, and ask, “Is this too good to be true?” But the children are too young, and too desperate.

Often this set of strategies is delivered in the guise of so-called populism (or nationalism, or patriotism, or nativism, etc.), in which blame for present conditions is placed on the most vulnerable segments of populations (immigrants, non-dominant communities, the old, the young, the differently abled, “deviants” from sexual or other norms), who are then relentlessly scapegoated for the sake of the “virtuous” and deserving elements of society. This has (at least) the twofold effect of vesting additional power in the hands of authoritarian “populists” who will protect the worthy from the unworthy, and of diverting attention and blame away from those in the society who really make the decisions that produce the unwanted consequences.

Unlike when people lived in small communities and could not escape their past behavior, we live in an age of anonymous one-time encounters, and many people have become expert at the art of fast persuasion. Trust, formerly earned through actions, is now purchased with sleight of hand, and sleight of words. I encourage women to explicitly rebuff unwanted approaches, but I know it is difficult to do. Just as rapport-building has a good reputation, explicitness applied by women in this culture has a terrible reputation. A woman who is clear and precise is viewed as cold, or a bitch, or both. A woman is expected, first and foremost, to respond to every communication from a man. And the response is expected to be one of willingness and attentiveness. It is considered attractive if she is a bit uncertain (the opposite of explicit). Women are expected to be warm and open, and in the context of approaches from male strangers, warmth lengthens the encounter, raises his expectations, increases his investment, and, at best, wastes time. At worst, it serves the man who has sinister intent by providing much of the information he will need to evaluate and then control his prospective victim.

Nowhere in Matthew's league, their writing was execrable even if the sentiments were heartfelt. They were students at Middle Temple, and until she discovered they were all from wealthy families, Rosamund oft wonder how they would ever pass their studies if they continued to haunt the Phoenix instead of attending classes. "They've decided you're the only object worth studying, señora," said Filip one day. "They would be experts in all things Rosamund." "Better they spend time on other projects," she muttered, stealing a glance in their direction. "Something laudable upon which to bestow their inheritances." "They're noblemen's sons," Filip replied. "They've no need of those things ordinary people require to elevate or enlighten them. You're the sun around which they orbit." "Then they'd best beware lest they get burned.

I’ve learned to see more of the beauty in the natural world as well and to pay more attention to the wonder all around. Each spring I spend hours planting hundreds of flowers. I’m a novice for sure, but something about the planting, pruning, and watering of a garden brings life, and each year I learn new methods for cultivating the beauty in nature. Gardening has taught me lessons about growing in the midst of pain. Healing isn’t as easy as replacing old ground with new territory. We have to work with what we have, and some roots and structures are not going anywhere, so we learn to grow beauty around them. Recovery is like that. It’s not a strict replacement of parts—a new piece in place of the broken piece. It’s more like taking a feature that by itself is ugly and unwanted but is repurposed when placed within a larger context of beauty.

its more famous neighbor in Lexington, the Virginia Military Institute (150). The outbreak of the Civil War nearly blotted Washington College from view, first by diverting students to Confederate military service (in the 4th, 25th, 52nd, and 58th Virginia Infantry and 14th Virginia Cavalry), and then by attracting the unwanted attention of marauding Union forces under David Hunter in 1864. “Hunters Army” ensured that “all closed doors were broken down” and “Window Glass & Sash were smashed to pieces,” so that the trustees were “compelled to report the buildings in a very dilapidated condition.” By that summer’s end, Washington College barely had a

Ultimately, group chat is simply another communication channel, not so dissimilar from email or text messages. When used appropriately, it can have myriad benefits, but when abused or used incorrectly, it can lead to a flood of unwanted external triggers. The secret lies in the answer to our critical question: Are these triggers serving me, or am I serving them? We should use group chat where it helps us gain traction and weed out the external triggers that lead to distraction.

REMEMBER THIS •​An effort pact prevents distraction by making unwanted behaviors more difficult to do. •​In the age of the personal computer, social pressure to stay on task has largely disappeared. No one can see what you’re working on, so it’s easier to slack off. Working next to a colleague or friend for a set period of time can be a highly effective effort pact. •​You can use tech to stay off tech. Apps like SelfControl, Forest, and Focusmate can help you make effort pacts.

REMEMBER THIS •​Teach your children to swim before they dive in. Like swimming in a pool, children should not be allowed to partake in certain risky behaviors before they are ready. •​Test for tech readiness. A good measure of a child’s readiness is the ability to manage distraction by using the settings on the device to turn off external triggers. •​Kids need sleep. There is little justification for having a television or other potential distractions in a kid’s room overnight. Make sure nothing gets in the way of them getting good rest. •​Don’t be the unwanted external trigger. Respect their time and don’t interrupt them when they have scheduled time to focus on something, be that work or play.

In the face of rising resistance, elites have been able to exploit present discontent in order to pit elements of society against each other. We also take up this side of the question in chapter six. Often this set of strategies is delivered in the guise of so-called populism (or nationalism, or patriotism, or nativism, etc.), in which blame for present conditions is placed on the most vulnerable segments of populations (immigrants, non-dominant communities, the old, the young, the differently abled, “deviants” from sexual or other norms), who are then relentlessly scapegoated for the sake of the “virtuous” and deserving elements of society. This has (at least) the twofold effect of vesting additional power in the hands of authoritarian “populists” who will protect the worthy from the unworthy, and of diverting attention and blame away from those in the society who really make the decisions that produce the unwanted consequences.

Grief makes you believe you are special, its one and only; like it is not careening around destroying millions of lives every day and is devoting all its unwanted attention on you.

I heard Lucien first. 'Back off.' A low female laugh. Everything in me went still and cold at that sound. I'd heard it once before- in Rhysand's memory. Keep going. They were distracted, horrible as it was. Keep going, keep going, keep going. 'I thought you'd seek me out after the Rite,' Ianthe purred. They couldn't be more than thirty feet through the trees. Far enough away not to hear my presence, if I was quiet enough. 'I was obligated to perform the Rite,' Lucien snapped. 'That night wasn't the product of desire, believe me.' 'We had fun, you and I.' 'I'm a mated male now.' Every second was the ringing of my death knell. I'd primed everything to fall; I'd long since stopped feeling any guilt or doubt about my plan. Not with Alis now safely away. And yet- and yet- 'You don't act that way with Feyre.' A silk-wrapped threat. 'You're mistaken.' 'Am I?' Twigs and leaves crunched, as if she was circling him. 'You put your hands all over her.' I had done my job too well, provoked her jealousy too much with every instance I'd found ways to get Lucien to touch me in her presence, in Tamlin's presence. 'Do not touch me,' he growled. And then I was moving. I masked the sound of my footfalls, silent as a panther as I stalked to the little clearing where they stood. Where Lucien stood, back against a tree- twin bands of blue stone shackled around his wrists. I'd seen them before. On Rhys, to immobilise his power. Stone hewn from Hybern's rotted land, capable of nullifying magic. And in this case... holding Lucien against that tree as Ianthe surveyed him like a snake before a meal. She slid a hand over the broad panes of his chest, his stomach. And Lucien's eyes shot to me as I stepped between the trees, fear and humiliation reddening his golden skin. 'That's enough,' I said. Ianthe whipped her head to me. Her smile was innocent, simpering. But I saw her note the pack, Tamlin's bandolier. Dismiss them. 'We were in the middle of a game. Weren't we, Lucien?' He didn't answer. And the sight of those shackles on him, however she'd trapped him, the sight of her hand still on his stomach- 'We'll return to the camp when we're done,' she said, turning to him again. Her hand slid lower, not for his own pleasure, but simply to throw it in my face that she could-

Self-harm OCD can come at you from multiple angles at the same time. It says that you will hurt yourself when you don't want to. But thinking about hurting yourself all day is likely to make you unhappy. It doesn't have to if you can view thoughts as meaningless objects of attention, but we're not born naturally adept at this. We're born to seek out threats to ourselves and eliminate them, perhaps even if the so-called threats are just our thoughts. Never forget how brave you are for living with OCD and trying to cope with someone in your head that keeps threatening to kill you. This means that to be self-compassionate about self-harm obsessions, you have to start by understanding that this really just is hard. You may think of yourself as weak or foolish for worrying about your intrusive harm thoughts. Or maybe you think you're crazy or going to lose it. The truth is the opposite. You're not crazy. By recognizing how much of you there is to love, you simultaneously create an environment where your OCD is just OCD, your thoughts are just thoughts, and your ability to overcome your challenges is without limits. Interacting compassionately with your mind means talking to yourself as you would to a good friend. Teasing is allowed as long as it isn't mean-spirited. If you can use humor to relate to the darkest of thoughts, you can help yourself through the darkest of times.

Walking around the Quarter with its horses and buggies, cobblestone streets, and kerosene lamps felt like stepping back in time, all the way back to the time when Louise was a small child living in Fayetteville. I imagined her in a linen jumper with a white collar, skipping along the cobblestones, avoiding the cracks that would break her mother's back. It was quiet outside as well as sweltering August temperatures kept tourists off the streets and residents inside their homes. The blocks felt private and sensual as Gabriel and I held hands and walked under the lush vegetation spilling from the baskets that hung off the balconies of the houses on St. Philip. I could smell the sweet olive and the jasmine and I had the pleasant sensation of knowing that they were coming from outside of my body. New Orleans was my equal in scent, and as long as it was night and the air was a degree or two cooler than in the daytime I was sure I could walk around freely without attracting any unwanted attention.

She curls tightly to me kissing me on the lips and cheeks, her body skin to skin to mine, she’s kind of- like- a hyper puppy… you know- wet nose, big sad eyes, giving you lots of unwanted wet kisses, and can’t sit in one place for too long. Now she is pulling on my necklace, the one I am always wearing has my dad’s wedding ring hanging from it-a thin silver chain and the gold band hanging from it, a gift dad gives me- saying- ‘He loves me more than mom, that I am the love of his life.’ Yet sis tugs gently to get my full attention. I ask here- ‘Why are you not wearing your undies?’ And she baby- talks without missing a beat- ‘Be- because you don’t at night so-o why should I’s.’ I knew not too long from now she would be running around the house stark-naked like always, saying it’s because I sleep this way. I am sure mom will say I am a bad role model, but yet there are far worse things she has done, things that mom and dad never need to know about, things that I can even remember right now. If she wants to be in my bad nude, will- I guess that’s okay…? She is just trying to be like me, and that’s sweet. I have saved her butt many times when she has done bad things. I have been like a mom to her, ever since she was born if I wanted to be or not. And she has been there for me when I was a nobody. Yeah, she’s the best pain in the butt a girl can have. ‘Mommy says you have to get up soon, her hand covering her eyes as she walks my room and sees both of us.’ Her breath smells like toothpaste, as she kisses us good morning, and she stumbles over all the stuff lying on the floor and it’s not until I push sis off me that I realize how badly I’m shaking. Mom, she has one of those green face masks sped up, which is some scary-looking crap, pulls she has curlers in her hair. Yet that’s not what’s got me traumatized. ‘It’s Friday,’ I say confused. I thought we were going to the rusty anchor today? Mom said- ‘I thought you didn’t like doing that Karly that you’re too grown up to be with your mommy and Daddy and sissy… always- yes we are all going this upcoming weekend, glad to see you want to go.’ I said- ‘Oh- okay?’ Mom- ‘Karly are you feeling, okay? Are you not your usual descent and moody self? Me- ‘Yah I am a fine mom.’ I have no idea how I got home last night, or what I did or didn’t do. It’s like it never happened, yet I think it did… didn’t it? Maybe I drink too much? Mom said- ‘Um-hum- come on you two bare cuddle bugs it’s getting late.’ Then- I remember getting in the car, with the girls and the fighting it was all coming back to me, as I see my sis run into her room, leaving her nighty behind on my bed. I knew that something looked different about her when I looked her over, I am starting to remember what Ray did to her last night. Yet she seems to be taking it so well- so strange. I have no idea what happened to Jenny or Maddie or Liv, and just thinking about it makes me awful sick, pissed, and yet so worried. I put my feet on the ground, first on my fuzzy shaggy throw rug, and then I step forward feeling the hard would under my feet. The cold wood reminds me. When I was younger, I would lie on the floor all summer wishing I have some friends to spend my time with. Back then my only friend was my sis and my horse, I’m curious to do the same thing now, and reflect a bit on what the heck is going on- and also on how things have changed, I know my sis will be another half hour getting ready. And with me, all I have to do is jump in my outfit laying there on the floor. My skin feels so cold yet, yet on the inside, I feel scorching. Like- photos on Instagram, all these snapshots start scrolling, row after row in my mind. Seeing bits and pieces of what went down last night. My, I- phone starts vibrating on top of my bed until it falls off the edge hitting me square in the face making me jump two feet in the air. I reach for it and slide my finger over the cracked screen.

Make no waves, Annie had said. Keep bold opinions in check or you may invite unwanted concern and attention.

At its core masking is a compulsion to try and imitate neurotypical behaviour to avoid unwanted attention or engagement, rejection and judgement (and so avoid the heightened feelings that go along with all of that).

They Respect Your Boundaries Emotionally mature people are innately courteous because they naturally honor boundaries. They’re looking for connection and closeness, not intrusion. For emotionally immature people, on the other hand, getting close to someone often leads to taking the person for granted. They seem to think closeness means manners don’t matter. Emotionally mature people will respect your individuality. They never assume that if you love them, you’ll want the same things they do. Instead, they take your feelings and boundaries into account in any interaction. This may sound like a lot of work, but it isn’t; emotionally mature people automatically tune in to how others are feeling. Real empathy makes consideration of other people second nature. An important gesture of courtesy and good boundaries in relationships is not to tell partners or friends what they should feel or think. Another is respecting that others have the final say on what their motivations are. In contrast, immature people who are looking for control or enmeshment may “psychoanalyze” you to their own advantage, telling you what you really meant or how you need to change your thinking. This is a sign that they disrespect your boundaries. Emotionally mature people may tell you how they feel about what you did, but they don’t pretend to know you better than you know yourself. If you were neglected by emotionally immature parents during childhood, you may find yourself willing to put up with unsolicited analysis and unwanted advice from others. This is common among people who are hungry for personal feedback that shows someone is thinking about them. But this kind of “advice” isn’t nourishing attention; rather, it’s motivated by a desire to be in control.

No army,” Ishqa said. “I propose that we send only two representatives from each the House of Obsidian and the House of Wayward Winds. The fewer there are, the more easily we can gather information without attracting unwanted attention.” “And in the meantime,” Iajqa said, stepping forward, “We will build and train a joint army here, preparing ourselves for whatever is to come. A universal Fey force, representing the best of the houses of Obsidian and Wayward Winds together, united, in the strongest and most finely-honed power in the world.

What a pity that so many of us girls and women have our peripheral vision taken away simply because of unwanted attention.

You will never again feel like a victim, in the past or future, cowering from the idea of unwanted things pouncing into your life experience. You will finally understand the absolute creative control that you have of your own life experience. And then, you will be able to turn your attention to your own creative power, and you will experience the absolute bliss of watching all manner of things converging to assist you in the creation of your own specific desires. Everyone has this potential . . . and some are realizing it.

Throughout the weekend Eric systematically attempted to cut through the bond between my sister and me, trying to make her jealous as he paid me unwanted attention. He had been used to having Pattie to himself, in his world, while I was desperately seeking her in mine.

Art is a gift that never stops giving. It’s un-wanting even though it commands attention, and it’s one of two things that I know to be truly altruistic. The other is nature.

Maybe infatuated isn't the right word, because I'm on the verge of becoming a criminal to ward an unwanted attention off her.

Being a good owner involves accepting that dogs come with some limitations and respecting those limitations, so that we don’t place dogs in situations where they are likely to fail. Avoiding Pitfalls and Staying on Track Remember to look at the entire dog, not just one body part or a single vocalization, and to also look at the situation to get an accurate read of the dog’s emotional state. Dogs understand some words, but they can’t understand a full conversation. Gestures and body language are clearer ways to communicate with dogs. Clear communication takes attention and effort, but is well worth it! Not every dog can succeed in every situation. Watch your dog for signs of anxiety or aggression and change the circumstances so that the dog doesn’t get overwhelmed. If something seems like it’s about to happen, step in. Either remove the dog from the situation or change what’s happening. What Did We Say? Sometimes our dogs must feel the way you would if you were dropped into a place where you don’t speak the language and no one speaks English. Dogs primarily use nonverbal communication. Learn to read dog body language. Listen with your eyes as well as your ears. Using visual cues and training techniques based on positive reinforcement will help you be more successful in communicating with your dog. Not every dog can do every task or succeed in every situation. Pay attention to your dog and make smart choices.

A free child might have asked: Why do our parents go on having children, when they can't even feed them, keep them warm or pay them any attention, when they can't even remember their names? But a mistreated child cannot ask such questions. He believes what he has been taught to believe: that God wanted these children. Is God, then, responsible for all the unwanted, mistreated, and neglected children in the world? Does he enjoy watching millions of children starve or freeze to death? As we all know, God's wishes are not open to query. One simply has to obey them, however absurd they may seem. Many devout believers assume that behind such wishes, there must be hidden meaning to which we have no access.

She was always fearful the profusion of flowers decorating her front porch might irritate her neighbors and draw unwanted attention. Bright, fragrant petunias cascaded down like waterfalls from huge hanging baskets attached to the porch railing. Massive planters held ferns the size of ceiling fan blades; the ferns stood sentry over mounds of multicolored impatiens in such abundance they resembled the vibrant blur of a Monet landscape.

The Turner girl and her unwanted baby. For days, we could think of nothing else, and although we'd promised to keep the secret amongst ourselves, the truth trickled out anyway. Later, we would blame each other even though we never determined who'd been the first one to run her mouth. Was it Betty, who'd loved the attention so much when she shared the story that she hadn't been able to stop herself from giving a repeat performance to someone else? Or Hattie, maybe, who had shared a ride home with Sister Willis, a woman who couldn't, as we all knew, hold water? Or maybe someone had just overheard us at bingo and the story had spawned from there.

The black wrought iron fence caught my attention. There are supernatural teachings that state that wrought iron is reputed to hold spirits inside the area where the fence is built. Ghosts need energy to manifest, and iron, as a conductor of electricity, will ground the ghost when it comes into contact with the iron. Wrought iron fences around cemeteries were used in this capacity: they worked as a barrier to keep unwanted spirits beyond the fence and also to contain spirits that reside inside the fenced area.

Another problem can arise if the object of a special interest is socially unacceptable. When my husband read my list of special interests, he jokingly added himself to it. He was being funny, but sometimes Aspies do take on another person as a special interest. If that person is a celebrity, the Aspie can safely spend hours learning about and admiring that person from afar. But if the person is someone in the Aspie’s life, the special interest may be expressed as unwanted attention, harassment, or stalking.

The knowledge that even the most effective bullying policies of schools failed to protect a student, whose difference attracted unwanted attention and scarring comments, influenced Neha’s decision to support John’s choice.

believe lesbian feminists, the angriest of the angry, initially saw unwanted sexual attention by men with greater clarity than their heterosexual sisters and were less of a mind to be persuaded that it was vaguely complimentary or basically trivial. And black women, emerging from a history of slavery, segregation, job discrimination, and sexual abuse, were fighting mad. Doors were beginning to open for them, and then, bam, the same old story, opportunity turning to ashes. The success of race discrimination complaints during this time may have encouraged women of color to pursue their rights in cases of sexual harassment.

the reason for his arrival. “If it isn’t, then…” Before he could finish, the older man, who went by the name Ferran Basara, began to speak. “It is ready, as I promised your superior.” Ferran raised the briefcase from his desk. “Now you must keep your end of the bargain.” “Your family’s safety will depend upon the successful deployment of your device. Then and only then will you know peace, my friend.” Ferran shed his gaze from the man. “I doubt that it will bring me peace. Please—you must go now, before you draw unwanted attention.” “Of course.” The man turned and proceeded to exit the shop where Ferran’s daughter remained standing behind the front counter. Her eyes followed him, but he didn’t give her a second look and pushed his way through the door. At his departure, Izzah, Izzy to her friends, walked toward her father. Her petite frame stood firm inside the opened door. “Who was that?” She placed her

Dear Lord, you are a vampire,” Eva gasped, then covered her mouth to keep the wayward thing from spouting any other unwanted revelations. Connall stiffened, his eyes shooting to her face. He had the oddest expression on his face, she noted. He looked . . . scared? Nay, apprehensive was a better description, and Eva had to wonder why he was looking so apprehensive when he was the soulless— Nay, not soulless, she reminded herself, recalling their conversation from the night before. He was not dead, nor soulless, he had assured her and he did not kill those he bit. Connall had described himself as just different and while Eva thought that was something of an understatement, she reassured herself with that information, now. He was just different, still her husband, the kind, sweet, gentle man who had treated her as if she had value, and shown her such consideration, as well as taught her passion. Nothing else had changed, she reminded herself as her head began to spin. He was the clan chief of the MacAdie, and her husband. And really, as flaws went, vampirism was much more pleasant to deal with than his being a wife beater or some such thing. Wasn’t it? “Dear Lord,” Eva breathed, shaking her head at her own thoughts, then she glanced to Connall again. He was uncharacteristically silent, his attention focused on her with an intensity that made her nervous. Her husband hadn’t said a word since she’d blurted that he was a vampire and it was making her uncomfortable enough to start searching her mind for a way to make him leave. “If you have things to do, you need not trouble yourself to wait here for me to finish eating. I can manage well enough on my own,” she murmured at last, though the food was all gone. “Tis no trouble to be with ye,” he said with a frown and there was sudden anger on his face. “Yer no a burden to me, Eva, ye ne’er ha’e been and ne’er will be. Dear God, ye saved me life this morn, woman, no once, but twice. Ha’e ye no realized yer worth yet?” “I—” Eva shook her head helplessly, confused by the tears suddenly pooling in her eyes. His vehemence was as surprising to her as the words themselves. She had saved his life that morning. She’d driven the intruder off with the log, then . . . well all right, the feeding bit wasn’t that impressive. Anyone would have done in that instance, but she had fended off the intruder. “Ye’ve courage and beauty and intelligence and are a worthy wife. E’en a king would ha’e pride in claimin’ ye to wife. I have felt nothing but pride in claimin’ ye meself.” “Despite my bein’ accident prone?” she teased with a wry twist of the lips. “Yer accidents are a result o’ tryin’ too hard to earn a place here,” he said quietly. “But ’tis only because you doonae realize ye already ha’e a place here. Yer the Lady MacAdie. My wife.” Eva swallowed, her gaze dropping from his at those words. They made her heart ache for some reason. “Why do ye look away? Do ye hate me now?” Eva glanced back up with surprise. “What?” “Now that ye know what I am?” he explained. “Will ye be wantin’ an annulment? Beggin’ to be set free? Wid ye rather a mortal man to husband? Should I take ye back to Caxton?” Eva stared at him in horror, fear clutching at her heart at the very idea of what he suggested.

Keeping in mind that jumping is usually an attempt to get attention, the solution to most jumping problems is to ignore the behavior. Do not speak to the dog or look at him or touch him. Turn your back. If he jumps on your back, leave the room. The behavior will eventually be extinguished.

How are you going to get in?” Stokes asked anxiously. “I shall try the windows first, I think,” Radcliffe said with a frown as he straightened out his skirts. “I fear using the front door would be too much of a risk.” “Aye,” Stokes said, then, “My lord, you…er…your purpose may be better served did you try to…er…keep your face turned away from anyone you encounter.” “Aye,” Elizabeth agreed encouragingly. “And mayhap if you tried not to look quite so tall, you might be able to avoid some unwanted attention.” “And if anyone does approach and question you, you might merely cover your face with a handkerchief and titer.” Radcliffe blinked at that suggestion from Bessie. “I do not have a handkerchief.” “Oh!” Whipping one from her sleeve, Beth handed it to him as he got out of the carriage. “Good luck, my lord. I know you will save her.

But the wider ramifications only begin there: Even Western men who accompany their Western wives to Egypt can find themselves fuming at the unwanted attention directed her way, and not just in Luxor. Egyptians from all over the country, after all, travel to work in the tourist resorts, and the reputation of older foreign females has hit rock bottom throughout the country. Altercations are commonplace. Sometimes, the consequences can be deadly.

Campfires. I'm convinced they're a gift from heaven, a fingerprint of God. I can sit around them for hours at a time, whether alone or with a group. They crackle, they hiss, they pop. Sometimes they rage. They are relaxing and tranquilizing, and simultaneously wild and soul stirring. They provide heat and light on cool nights. They burn away unwanted debris and garbage. They are alive, constantly drawing my attention, and the gaze of anybody else nearby, to the bright flame that tramples the darkness.

The Most High God can access our thoughts and give us a word or instruction as to what we should do. These are what I would call checks, and we have to train ourselves to recognize His voice, and when we hear it to pay attention to it. * The fallen one cannot read our minds but he can hear our conversation and he watches us, so based on that, he can suggest “unwanted” thoughts, as Russ Dizdar calls them, which originate from the fallen one. Having said that, we must learn to recognize whose thoughts are occupying our minds.