More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Then I tried to sit up. Similar to the coherent-thought problem, this was easier said than done. While I normally weighed around 125 … ish, for some unexplainable reason, between the hours of partially awake and fully awake, I weighed a solid 470.
Maybe if I hovered over the pot, it would develop an inferiority complex and brew faster just to prove it could.
“Isn’t that a bit like the pot calling the kettle African-American?”
He stood about forty yards away, a spotlight casting an eerie glow around him as he gave me the evil eye. He’s not even Italian. I’m not sure that’s legal.
“You called me at four thirty-four,” I said, swiping at his hand. “I hate four thirty-four. I think four thirty-four should be banned and replaced with something more reasonable, like, say, nine twelve.”
He was also easy on the retinas. He had short black hair, wide shoulders, skin like Mayan chocolate, and smoky gray eyes that could capture a girl’s soul if she stared into them long enough. Thank God I had the attention span of a gnat.
And as for you,” he said, pointing a finger out of the bag, “aren’t you supposed to be here for us? To aid us in our time of need? Isn’t that what you do?” “Not if I can help it.” “Well, I have two words for you: compassion fatigue,” he said, his voice accusatory.
“Nobody appreciates my inability to appreciate their situation.
Never knock on death’s door. Ring the doorbell then run. He totally hates that. —T-SHIRT
“Slow down,” Uncle Bob said as I panted into the bag. “If you hyperventilate and pass out, I’m not catching you. I injured my shoulder playing golf the other day.” My family was so caring.
She was one of those women too big for the one-size-fits-all category, and resented the commie makers of such clothing wear. I once had to talk her out of bombing a one-size-fits-all manufacturing company. Other than that, she was pretty down to earth.
My stepmother was never big on the whole nurturing thing. I think she used up all the good stuff on my older sister, and by the time she got to me, she was fresh out of nurture. She did, however, give me one pertinent bit of 411. She was the one who informed me that I had the attention span of a gnat; only, she said I had the attention span of a gnat with selective listening. At least I think that’s what she said. I wasn’t listening. Oh, and she told me that men want only one thing.
Gemma was always an A student. I was more of a B-all-you-can-be kind of gal. When Gemma was into science, I was into skipping. When Gemma was into foreign languages, I was into the hot Italian guy down the street.
surprisingly, the military is chock-full of men in uniform. Truly, its cup runneth over. Hoo-yah!
I once signed up for an anger management class, but the instructor pissed me off.
“But you’re psychic, right?” “Dude,” I said, leaning over the desk, “I’m about as psychic as a carrot.”
I’m fairly certain my abilities are more closely related to schizophrenia than to anything supernatural. Ask anyone. If I were edible, I’d be a fruitcake.”
I stood and walked around the desk so I could stand over him. Menacingly. Like Darth Vader, only with better lung capacity.
“I have to go harass your dad.” He rose from the table and patted my shoulder, which was his way of saying we were good. I slipped my hand onto his. “Harass him some for me, will you?” After a soft squeeze, Uncle Bob strolled over to the bar, claiming— loudly—to be an investigator from the CDC. I cringed. Dad found few things less humorous than the thought of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention paying him a visit. It lay somewhere between an IRS audit and a class action lawsuit.
We stopped talking while Dad brought over my sandwich, offered me ten thousand dollars to off Uncle Bob, then left with my butter knife tucked into his pants, apparently planning to shank the man himself. I thought about warning Uncle Bob, but where was the fun in that?
I totally needed to read that book on how to win friends and influence people. But that would involve an innate desire to win friends and influence people.
institutionalizationers.
I think I irked him. I could be irksome when I put my left ventricle into it.
“Dude, we could have such a racket,” he’d say. “Racket being the optimal word.” “Think about it. We could go to these people’s relatives that died and score like maniacs.” “That’s extortion.” “That’s capitalism.” “That’s punishable with one to four in the state pen and a substantial fine.”
Have you heard anything about the warehouse?” “I’ve gotten just enough on it to make me think it’s not what we think it is.” “Oh, well, good thing I wasn’t married to my beliefs.”
“You know what’s disturbing?” Garrett asked, closing his notebook as we walked up. “Your addiction to little people porn?” “Nobody has seen Father Federico in days,” he said without missing a beat. Apparently, it was a rhetorical question. I wished he’d stated that before I wasted one of my best lines on an answer.
“I can do this, and you know it. I do have a slight advantage over the average Joe.” “What did you say?” Garrett asked. “You have a slight advantage over the average psycho? I doubt it.” Well, that was just mean.
Do not disturb. Already there.
“Just because I see dead people doesn’t mean I want to be dead people.”
Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup. —BUMPER STICKER
“But, you’re his son,” I said, trying really hard to hate him. “You’re the son of Satan. Literally.” “And you are the stepdaughter of Denise Davidson.” Wow. That was a bit harsh, but, “Okay, point taken.”
A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory. —STEVEN WRIGHT
“I made coffee.” Ah, the three magic words.
Do you think I’m psychotic?” She blinked, worry lining her face. “Because at this point, my sanity is all that I have. Well, that and a breakfast burrito.” She blinked some more.
