Burnett fidgeted. She had never seen Burnett like this. He looked like a kid who needed to go to the bathroom.
I'm the Cool One," she told herself. "Somebody give me some tequila because I'll totally drink it. And there's no way you're going to find me later having a panic attack in your parents' bathroom. Who wants to French-kiss?
Sometimes, all it takes to save people from a terrible fate is one person willing to do something about it. Even if that "something" is a fake bathroom break.
My understanding of Twitter was that it was a bunch of famous people telling you when they're going to the bathroom. And, that was not something I wanted to be part of.
The knives in my apartment are only sharp enough to open envelopes with. Cutting a slice of coarse bread is on the borderline of their ability. I don't need anything sharper. Otherwise, on bad days, it might easily occur to me that I could always go stand in the bathroom in front of the mirror and slit my throat. On such occasions it's nice to have the added security of needing to go downstairs and borrow a decent knife from a neighbor.
They gave 12 monkeys a typewriter for a week, and after a week, they only used it as a bathroom.
The umpire... is like the geyser in the bathroom; we cannot do without it, yet we notice it only when it is out of order.
Hollywood is a coke town, but weed is so much better. And Molly, too; those are happy drugs - social drugs. They make you want to be with friends. You're out in the open. You're not in a bathroom.
I tried the Scarsdale diet and the Stillman water diet (you remember that one, where you run weight off trying to get to the bathroom).
The first time I felt I was famous was when I went to the movies with my mom. I had gone to the loo, and someone in the bathroom said in a very loud voice, Girl in stall No. 1 were you in Mystic Pizza? I paused and I said, yeah that was me.
After 7 years of marriage, I am sure of 2 things: First, never wallpaper together and second, you'll need 2 bathrooms . . . both for her. The rest is a mystery, but a mystery I love to be involved in.
If you get up at three in the morning to go to the bathroom, man, why you have to turn on that little light? Put the torch there on the nightstand.
& this girl right here? Who knows what she knows? So I'm going through her phone when she go to the bathroom and her purse right there, I don't trust these hoes at all.
Write in the kitchen, lock yourself up in the bathroom. Write on the bus or the welfare line, on the job or during meals.
The writing process is sort of like when you've got no electricity and you've gotten up in the middle of the night to find the bathroom, feeling your way along in the dark. I can't hardly tell you what I do because I really don't know.
I rather like the idea of having all my hours to myself: eating a Fudge Sundae, watching a movie, sleeping on my couch, singing in the bathroom, studying the woods, kidding around with a girl, playing cards lazily - all kinds of stuff that American brands 'shiftless.'
She said, "'Ye can we get married at the mall?" I said, "Look, you need to crawl 'fore you ball Come and meet me in the bathroom stall And show me why you deserve to have it all."
We were never organized readers who would see a book through to its end in any sory of logical order. We weave in and out of words like tourists on a hop-on, hop-off bus tour. Put a book down in the kitchen to go to the bathroom and you might return to find it gone, replaced by another of equal interest. We are indiscriminate.
When I was eight years old, I got a dummy for Christmas and started teaching myself. I got books and records and sat in front of the bathroom mirror, practising. I did my first show in the third grade and just kept going; there was no reason to quit.
A bathroom should be sterile and beautiful and functional. It should exude Japanese-style purity.
When I was a kid, I had THE biggest crush on Helen Reddy. I mean like for REAL crush - like 'spend some time in the bathroom thinking about her' crush. I blme Pete's Dragon. There she was - flushed, singing, clas in a tight wet plaid shirt. Judas Priest she was fabulous.
I dunno when I started writing really. I was, like, filling out applications and stuff real early. Last name first, first name last, sex. 'occasionally' , stuff like that. Then I was writing letters, filling out forms, writing on bathroom walls.
Poems come from ordinary experiences and objects, I think. Out of memory - a dress I lent my daughter on her way back to college; a newspaper photograph of war; a breast self-exam; the tooth fairy; Calvinist parents who beat up their children; a gesture of love; seeing oneself naked over age 50 in a set of bright hotel bathroom mirrors.
I never meant to be a sexual object for anyone but my husband. I never thought a picture of my body would be tacked up in men’s bathrooms. I hate men looking at me and thinking what they think. And I know what they think. They write and tell me.
True love is hard to find, sometimes you think you have true love and then you catch the early flight home from San Diego and a couple of nude people jump out of your bathroom blindfolded like a goddamn magic show ready to double team your girlfriend
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