Y All Are Weird Quotes

Everyone says I'm like the girl next door...Y'all must have really weird neighbors

Finders keepers!" Ian shouted, scooping up the overlay and hopping onto a rock outcropping. "You cheater!" Amy was furious. No way was he going to get away with that. She climbed the rock, matching him step for step until she reached the top. There he turned to her, panting for breath. "Not bad for a Cahill," he said, grinning. "You --y-y-you--" The words caught in her throat, the way they always did. He was staring at her, his eyes dancing with laughter, making her so knotted up with anger and hatred that she thought she would explode. "C-c-can't--" But in that moment, something totally weird happened. Maybe it was a flip of his head, a movement in his eyebrow, she couldn't tell. But it was as if someone had suddenly held a painting at a different angle, and what appeared to be a stormy sea transformed into a bright bouquet -- a trick of the eye that proved everything was just a matter of perspective. His eyes were not mocking at all. They were inviting her, asking her to laugh along. Suddenly, her rage billowed up and blew off in wisps, like a cloud. "You're ... a Cahill, too," she replied. "Touche." His eyes didn't move a millimeter from hers. This time she met his gaze. Solidly. This time she didn't feel like apologizing or attacking or running away. She wouldn't have minded if he just stared like that all day.

My mouth fell open. “Did you really just compare me to Olivia Newton-John?” “I just meant like going from, y’know, prim to all sexed up.” “I feel . . . weird.” “You look amazin. Amazin.” He pulled me against him, hands snaking under the glamour cardigan to make the acquaintance of my arse. Chloe gave a warning screech. “Don’t smudge ’im!” He grinned, tilting his head because, in my heels, I was just a little bit taller than he was. “You’re giving me chills, babes.” “Is that so? Are they multiplying?” “Hunjed pahcent.” “You’d better shape up, then.” “You’re like totally the one that I want

People hate these shows, but their hatred smacks of denial. It's all there, all the old American grotesques, the test-tube babies of Whitman and Poe, a great gauntlet of doubtless eyes, big mouths spewing fantastic catchphrase fountains of impenetrable self-justification, muttering dark prayers, calling on God to strike down those who would fuck with their money, their cash, and always knowing, always preaching. Using weird phrases that nobody uses, except everybody uses them now. Constantly talking about 'goals.' Throwing carbonic acid on our castmates because they used our special cup annd then calling our mom to say, in a baby voice, 'People don't get me here.' Walking around half-naked with a butcher knife behind our backs. Telling it like it is, y'all (what-what). And never passive-aggressive, no. Saying it straight to your face. But crying...My God, there have been more tears shed on reality TV than by all the war widows of the world. Are we so raw? It must be so. There are simply too many of them-too many shows and too many people on the shows-for them not to be revealing something endemic. This is us, a people of savage sentimentality, weeping and lifting weights.

For now, the Simple Daily Practice means doing ONE thing every day. Try any one of these things each day: A) Sleep eight hours. B) Eat two meals instead of three. C) No TV. D) No junk food. E) No complaining for one whole day. F) No gossip. G) Return an e-mail from five years ago. H) Express thanks to a friend. I) Watch a funny movie or a stand-up comic. J) Write down a list of ideas. The ideas can be about anything. K) Read a spiritual text. Any one that is inspirational to you. The Bible, The Tao te Ching, anything you want. L) Say to yourself when you wake up, “I’m going to save a life today.” Keep an eye out for that life you can save. M) Take up a hobby. Don’t say you don’t have time. Learn the piano. Take chess lessons. Do stand-up comedy. Write a novel. Do something that takes you out of your current rhythm. N) Write down your entire schedule. The schedule you do every day. Cross out one item and don’t do that anymore. O) Surprise someone. P) Think of ten people you are grateful for. Q) Forgive someone. You don’t have to tell them. Just write it down on a piece of paper and burn the paper. It turns out this has the same effect in terms of releasing oxytocin in the brain as actually forgiving them in person. R) Take the stairs instead of the elevator. S) I’m going to steal this next one from the 1970s pop psychology book Don’t Say Yes When You Want to Say No: when you find yourself thinking of that special someone who is causing you grief, think very quietly, “No.” If you think of him and (or?) her again, think loudly, “No!” Again? Whisper, “No!” Again, say it. Louder. Yell it. Louder. And so on. T) Tell someone every day that you love them. U) Don’t have sex with someone you don’t love. V) Shower. Scrub. Clean the toxins off your body. W) Read a chapter in a biography about someone who is an inspiration to you. X) Make plans to spend time with a friend. Y) If you think, “Everything would be better off if I were dead,” then think, “That’s really cool. Now I can do anything I want and I can postpone this thought for a while, maybe even a few months.” Because what does it matter now? The planet might not even be around in a few months. Who knows what could happen with all these solar flares. You know the ones I’m talking about. Z) Deep breathing. When the vagus nerve is inflamed, your breathing becomes shallower. Your breath becomes quick. It’s fight-or-flight time! You are panicking. Stop it! Breathe deep. Let me tell you something: most people think “yoga” is all those exercises where people are standing upside down and doing weird things. In the Yoga Sutras, written in 300 B.C., there are 196 lines divided into four chapters. In all those lines, ONLY THREE OF THEM refer to physical exercise. It basically reads, “Be able to sit up straight.” That’s it. That’s the only reference in the Yoga Sutras to physical exercise. Claudia always tells me that yogis measure their lives in breaths, not years. Deep breathing is what keeps those breaths going.

I’m not so comfortable with politicians. Meeting them always just feels weird and a bit creepy, no matter who it is. For example, I met Tony Blair during The Osbournes period at this thing called the Pride of Britain Awards. He was all right, I suppose; very charming. But I couldn’t get over the fact that our young soldiers were dying out in the Middle East and he could still find the time to hang around with pop stars. Then he came over to me and said, ‘I was in a rock’n’roll band once, y’know?’ I said, ‘So I believe, Prime Minister.’ ‘But I could never work out the chords to “Iron Man”.’ I wanted to say, ‘F**k me, Tony, that’s a staggering piece of information, that is. I mean, you’re at war with Afghanistan, people are getting blown up all over the place, so who honestly gives a f**k that you could never work out the chords to “Iron Man”?’ But they’re all the same, so there’s no point getting wound up about it.

I tend to interpret that whole 'everyone's wife is a Mossad agent' thing in a more sort of metaphorical way--that people you're intimate with might be, like, 'double agents,' y'know? It's a weird kind of paranoia you get about people you love--that they might turn out to be completely different from who you think they are, that it's all been some sort of diabolically patient plot against you. I think that's a pretty normal fear you have in any serious relationship. And that's why it's such a popular part of the epic, because so many people can relate to that fear. But personally, I don't really worry about it too much.

reputation for being weird.” “Weird? What do you mean, weird?” “Like… the weather is always different there. It could be sunny everywhere else but when you get there, it’s grey and misty—or it’s raining all over the Cotswolds but completely dry in Tillyhenge… And if you’re driving, the GPS can’t find it, no matter how you give the directions. In fact, it doesn’t even show

Exactly,” Ro said. “For the record, I’m totally on Team Not-the-Daddy.” “You are?” Keefe asked. “Yup! I’ve seen the dude, remember? I mean, personally I think all of you elves are scrawny and weird-looking—but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to tell which ones of you are technically ‘prettier’ by your elf-y standards. And Councillor Pointy Ears? Meh. No way his daughter could be our little blond hottie right here.

Niko, everything I'm about to say to this guy is a complete and total lie, and I love you and will marry you and adopt a hundred three-eyed ravens or whatever it is your weird ass wants instead of kids," she mutters. "I know," Niko says back. "Did you just propose to me?" "Oh shit, I guess I did?" Myla opens the door and shoves Gabe through it. "I'm so mad at you," Niko says. "I already have a ring at home." "Oh my God, seriously?" says Jane. "Mazel," Wes chimes in. "Y'all," August says.

That was weird.” David grunted. “Of course,” said Mal. “It’s always weird when unresolved sexual tension boils over like that. Still, gives me something to report back to Anne tonight. We’ll have a good gossip about y’all then give making a baby another turn or two. Maybe even three if my wife is lucky. And that girl was born lucky.” Jimmy’s lips flattened. “I think it’s great that you’re planning on starting a family. But I can honestly live without the daily updates regarding your sex life, man.” “But you don’t have to, Jimbo. That’s the beauty of it, I’m more than happy to share.

We’re the Backstagers. To them we’re out of sight and out of mind. Set pieces show up on stage, props end up on their right spots, the curtains open, the lights come on… …in their heads it’s just simple stuff. And they don’t want to know any different. They don’t want to know how weird and dangerous it is back here. There’s a magic to the stage. Everyone who’s ever been on one knows that…but backstage…that’s where the real stuff is. The raw stuff that nobody ever thinks about. Or thanks you for. …or really ever appreciates. …they just don’t get us, y’know? It’s our job to bring all of that magic to life. The backstage is full of secrets and weirdness, but it’s also the only place where we’ve ever felt at home.

Cultural artifacts like clothing, music, or speech are aspects of indigenous culture that are generally not considered by teachers to be related to education, but are one of the first things a teacher identifies when interacting with neoindigenous students. The wrong clothing or speech will get neoindigenous students labeled as unwilling to learn and directly impact their academic lives much in the way that it affects the indigenous. For example, if one were to ask the average person in the United States, Australia, or New Zealand to describe the indigenous peoples in their respective countries, the responses would probably be very similar, and include exoticized references to scanty clothing, “odd” living arrangements, “strange” speech, “weird” customs, and “primitive” art and music.

Try any one of these things each day: A) Sleep eight hours. B) Eat two meals instead of three. C) No TV. D) No junk food. E) No complaining for one whole day. F) No gossip. G) Return an e-mail from five years ago. H) Express thanks to a friend. I) Watch a funny movie or a stand-up comic. J) Write down a list of ideas. The ideas can be about anything. K) Read a spiritual text. Any one that is inspirational to you. The Bible, The Tao te Ching, anything you want. L) Say to yourself when you wake up, “I’m going to save a life today.” Keep an eye out for that life you can save. M) Take up a hobby. Don’t say you don’t have time. Learn the piano. Take chess lessons. Do stand-up comedy. Write a novel. Do something that takes you out of your current rhythm. N) Write down your entire schedule. The schedule you do every day. Cross out one item and don’t do that anymore. O) Surprise someone. P) Think of ten people you are grateful for. Q) Forgive someone. You don’t have to tell them. Just write it down on a piece of paper and burn the paper. It turns out this has the same effect in terms of releasing oxytocin in the brain as actually forgiving them in person. R) Take the stairs instead of the elevator. S) I’m going to steal this next one from the 1970s pop psychology book Don’t Say Yes When You Want to Say No: when you find yourself thinking of that special someone who is causing you grief, think very quietly, “No.” If you think of him and (or?) her again, think loudly, “No!” Again? Whisper, “No!” Again, say it. Louder. Yell it. Louder. And so on. T) Tell someone every day that you love them. U) Don’t have sex with someone you don’t love. V) Shower. Scrub. Clean the toxins off your body. W) Read a chapter in a biography about someone who is an inspiration to you. X) Make plans to spend time with a friend. Y) If you think, “Everything would be better off if I were dead,” then think, “That’s really cool. Now I can do anything I want and I can postpone this thought for a while, maybe even a few months.” Because what does it matter now? The planet might not even be around in a few months. Who knows what could happen with all these solar flares. You know the ones I’m talking about. Z) Deep breathing. When the vagus nerve is inflamed, your breathing becomes shallower. Your breath becomes quick. It’s fight-or-flight time! You are panicking. Stop it! Breathe deep. Let me tell you something: most people think “yoga” is all those exercises where people are standing upside down and doing weird things. In the Yoga Sutras, written in 300 B.C., there are 196 lines divided into four chapters. In all those lines, ONLY THREE OF THEM refer to physical exercise. It basically reads, “Be able to sit up straight.” That’s it. That’s the only reference in the Yoga Sutras to physical exercise. Claudia always tells me that yogis measure their lives in breaths, not years. Deep breathing is what keeps those breaths going.

And that’s exactly why your ass is pregnant now. You know my mama heard you and Jah in the bedroom before too? She told me that a few weeks ago, but I kept forgetting to tell you,” Shaniqua said laughing. I stopped laughing and my face turned beet red with embarrassment. “Oh my God. That is so fuckin’ embarrassing. When was this? And what did she say?” I asked her, popping off question after question. I hope Mrs. Carter wasn’t mad at me and felt some type of way about me having sex with her son at her house. “Tonia, chill! She wasn’t mad or nothing. In fact, she thought it was funny as hell. She said something about how you were over there one day so that she could teach you how to make a red velvet cake, since that’s Jah’s favorite. I guess he came over, and all of a sudden she said she heard these weird ass noises coming from the bedroom, and that’s when she realized what the hell y’all were in there doing. You got to hear her impersonate you though because the shit was too funny,” Shaniqua said. I guess I had to laugh at it too when I thought about it. I remember that day verbatim and now I understood why Mrs. Carter gave me and Jah the side eye when we had come back inside the kitchen.

the next stop, this really annoying girl in my class named Andrea who thinks she knows everything got on the bus with curly brown hair. Well, the bus didn’t have curly brown hair. Andrea did. “Bingle boo, Andrea!” said Mrs. Kormel. “Bingle boo,” Andrea said. “I’ll go limpus kidoodle now.” What a brownnoser! Andrea plopped her dumb self down in the seat right in front of me, like always. “Good morning, Arlo,” she said. I hate her. Andrea’s mother found out that A.J. stands for Arlo Jervis, so Andrea went and told everybody. It was the worst day of my life. I thought I was gonna die. I wanted to switch schools or move to Antarctica and go live with the penguins, but my mom wouldn’t let me. Penguins are cool. “Are you boys ready for the big spelling test this afternoon?” Andrea asked. Oh no. I forgot all about the big dumb spelling test! How can I be expected to remember stuff over the weekend? Weekends are for having fun, not for studying for tests. I hate spelling. “Do you know how to spell ‘spelling,’ A.J.?” asked Andrea. “Sure,” I said. “I-H-A-T-E-Y-O-U.” Michael and Ryan laughed.

You know that jerk that drives up the shoulder on the freeway, passing perhaps miles of cars stuck patiently in traffic, just knowing someone up there, eventually, will let him in? It’s the same thing! Someone always accommodates the pushy, petulant jerk! Someone always lets that guy with the silver Porsche Boxster in and the rest of us, stuck behind the guy letting him in, have to suffer. It’s the same with people all over. It only takes one sucker. One push-over to mess it up for the rest of us.

But there is a third fish thought, which this sunfish's expression relays perfectly: Y'all humans are weird.

I love you so much, angel,” I whispered. “If anyone ever hurts you, I’ll kill them.” And I meant it. At this point it seems important to note that I am not a violent person. True story: I capture flies under plastic cups and relocate them into the wild. So, I quite literally wouldn’t hurt a fly. My soul belongs in an overstuffed teddy bear, but something inside me had changed. I wasn’t just a momma bear; I was a momma grizzly. An Ursus arctos horribilis, y’all. Accent on the horribilis. From the moment you become a parent, your heart moves outside of your body. There is nothing you wouldn’t do, no line you wouldn’t cross, to protect the child that you love. As I held my son and felt that grizzly roar within, I was forced to reckon with the possibility that I had never loved anyone like this before. That before I became a parent, my life was a little bit selfish. Not that I was a jerk or anything. It was simply this: Every decision, until I had children, was made in the interest of me. I was out in the world, living free and wild, taking consequences as they came. But when a child is born, so is a mother. And in her, a grizzly awakens. Her love is maternal, instinctive, and deep. And when necessary, even dangerous. There are certain movies you watch as a kid which inspire you to do stupid

Y’all—I can’t remember. Is blow job one word or two? Blowjobs. Blow jobs. Both look weird. Fuuuuck, why am I still thinking about blow jobs?

Exactly,” Ro said. “For the record, I’m totally on Team Not-the-Daddy.” “You are?” Keefe asked. “Yup! I’ve seen the dude, remember? I mean, personally I think all of you elves are scrawny and weird-looking—but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to tell which ones of you are technically ‘prettier’ by your elf-y standards. And Councillor Pointy Ears? Meh. No way his daughter could be our little blond hottie right here.” “Unless she gets that from her mom,” Keefe reminded Ro, and part of Sophie’s brain wanted to wonder if that meant Keefe was agreeing with Ro’s “blond hottie” assessment—but that was definitely not something she needed to be thinking about at the moment. Or ever.

Y'know, suddenly I'm in the mood for salmon roe." "Huh? W-where did that come from?" "C'mon, ain't they similar?" "Not in the least! Sheesh! Do you not have any appreciation for the beauty of the scenery around us? 'Bread is better than the song of birds,' indeed. Goodness gracious." "Hey! That's not what I meant. I do think the scenery is pretty. It's just that noshing on these salmon-skin crisps made me think of it, that's all." "Oh goodness. The strange places your mind goes. *giggle*" That's weird. Before, all it took was the mere mention of Yukihira's name or a glimpse of his face to utterly ruin my mood. Realizing that he's the son of Chef Saiba, the one man I admire most, felt as if the precious memories of my youth were suddenly tarnished. Yet here I am, sitting and chatting with him in this small cabin... And honestly... ... it isn't all that bad.