Whatever Pixie Download
Sara Ruballos
Here are two good ones I found around the internet that live in my brain rent-free.
"Your brain runs on sugar and pixie dust, you naive Scooby Snack!"
"YOU MAYONAISE SANDWICH!"
Gonna be using these in various stories as the situation comes up.
What are some other funny insults you've heard?
I like calling people "You complete and utter ____" and then filling in the blank with any random, completely innocent inanimate object. Sandwich, shoebox, Christmas ornament, tow truck, whatever. Almost any object can be made to sound like an insult when prefaced with 'you complete and utter'.
Sydney downtown, December 2011: Just before sunset one evening, after a full day of working, we were taking our hungry bellies to go grab yet another serving of Laksa (Malaysian Yumminess in a bowl), I came across a blown up poster of my favorite woman of all time, Audrey Hepburn. She was glowing as always, with her demure, confident, sweet gaze, the gorgeous eyes, the perfect nose, the royal neck, the lovely dress, and yet, the one thing I noticed about her this time was that killer pixie haircut. The type of a pixie cut that makes you drool and yet terrifies you to consider for yourself!
Instantly, I wanted the pixie haircut, and what I want, I generally get! So I made up my mind to cut my hair without even processing the decision through the standard filters of paranoia, craziness, and logic.
I was convinced that I could not be feminine enough, sexy enough or beautiful enough with a super short do, especially the brave pixie cut, and that I was going to look too much like, well, a boy!
And yet I got an urge from that Audrey poster that could not be silenced by any force. What if I did get a pixie haircut? What freedom! What boldness! What liberation! What new lines of courage to mark in the sand!
The strangest thing of all is that I have not once missed my long hair. I have not for a second regretted my pixie cut. I embraced the new look and let go of the old as quickly as it came to be. And unlike many stories I have heard, I did not shed one single tear yet!
When I let go of my six-figure salary, I felt richer than ever before, and believe me, I still plan on becoming obscenely rich on monetary measures too. But the irony struck: Letting go can be empowering!
The emotion cycle repeated for my pixie haircut. Even though the moment I decided to do it, it was a done deal, I still felt some healthy paranoia in the days ahead. I had a few freak-outs and probably sat in the car much too long before confidently marching in that salon to get the best haircut of my life.
2 Time, darling, time: I have to admit, you have learn to work with a pixie cut, and it does take some time, but nowhere nearly as much as long hair but the best part: No more hair playing when I need to focus.
4 Facial features: I honestly feel like a new person. I have never seen the shape of my own head, the length of my neck and the depth of my facial features as much as I do with the pixie haircut.
But in case you can't tell, this year isn't normal. In fact, it's far from normal. Which means that whatever well laid plans you might have made for tax season have possibly not worked out quite as you hoped.
Sylvia sighed to herself, for interviews with Aunt Margaret were a decided trial in these days of convalescence, when every nerve seemed on edge and ready to be jarred. She was nearly twenty-two, and for the first year after leaving school the dear old dad had been in England, and she had had the most delightful time travelling about with him. He always declared that he was a poor man, that tea was doing so disgracefully badly, that he expected to retire into the workhouse in the course of the next year, but, all the same, he never appeared to be short of money, and the travelling was done in the most comfortable and luxurious of fashions. Sylvia was his only child, and in his eyes was the most beautiful and accomplished creature in the world, so that it was a trying experience to be domiciled with an elderly maiden aunt, whose ideas were as early Victorian as her furniture, who had forgotten what it felt like to be young, and was continually aggrieved because her niece had not learned to be old.
Sylvia brought her eyebrows together in a frown, and tossed about on her pillow. She felt irritated and disappointed, and that made her head ache, and the headache sent down her spirits again, and eclipsed the brightness of the morning. If Aunt Margaret refused to call, she could not make the acquaintance of the fair unknown, and it would be a tantalising experience to see her every day, and, yet be as far removed from friendship as if they lived a dozen miles apart!
Angelina strolled to the window in response to these demonstrations, and stood smiling at them while she fastened on her hat, but she did not appear to hurry herself in the least, nor did the brothers show any signs of annoyance at their long waiting. When at long last she made her appearance, there was great manoeuvring to get a place by her side, and away they trotted, four abreast, pushing everyone else off the pavement, but apparently blissfully unconscious of anything unusual in the proceeding.
The foot refused to heal, and one morning a well-known surgeon followed Dr Horton into the sick-room. The very sound of his name was as a death-knell to the girl in the bed, but she controlled herself by a mighty effort, and strained every nerve to watch the faces of her attendants during the examination which followed. She knew that they would keep up appearances in her presence, and so long as possible hide the worst from her knowledge; but if she appeared unsuspicious they would perhaps be less careful, and a stray word, an interchange of glances, might show the direction of their thoughts. She lay perfectly still, not even flinching with pain when the diseased bone was touched, for the tension of mind was so great as to eclipse bodily suffering; but the cool, business-like manner of the great surgeon gave no hint of his decision, while Dr Horton was as cheerful, Whitey as serenely composed, as on ordinary occasions.
It was just someone I met one time when I was visiting, and when he was ordered abroad he asked if he might write while he was away. I was very happy about it, for I had never seen anyone I liked so much, and we wrote to each other regularly for over a year. They were not love-letters; just quite ordinary, sensible, telling-the-news, but there was always one little sentence in his which seemed to say more than the words, and to tell me that he cared a great deal. If a stranger had read it, he would not have understood, but I knew what he meant, and I used to skim over the pages until I came to those few words, and they were the whole letter to me.
It was easy to listen, for in truth Jack gave her no opportunity to do anything else; it was impossible to resist admiring, for he made a handsome figure, with his broad, muscular shoulders, graceful carriage, and clean-shaven face; it had seemed at first sight as if sympathy were not required, but Master Jack invented a fresh crop of imaginary woes every time that he met a pretty girl, for the express purpose of receiving consolation. Sylvia beheld in him an exile from home and country, toiling at an uncongenial task, for the maintenance of his orphaned brothers and sisters, and was vaguely given to understand that since meeting her, his poverty had become an even more painful barrier to his hopes. He confided in her details of business, which she understood as well as a buried language, and asked her advice on knotty points in such a flattering manner that she forgot to notice that he never paused for a reply, and when at last he reluctantly rose to leave the room he sighed profoundly, and in a voice touched with emotion declared that she had helped him as he had never before been helped!
She sat down suddenly by the couch with an air of having forgotten all about the errand which had brought her into the room, clasped her hands round her knee, and began a series of disconnected childish memories, while Sylvia gazed spellbound at the beautiful, dreamy face, and wondered how she could ever have thought it cold and unfeeling.
At that every eye turned curiously at the curtained picture-frame which stood artfully supported by boxes at the place of honour at the farther end of the table. Evidently this was the grand climax of the entertainment, but meantime there were half a dozen excitements in store, all calling for rapturous acknowledgments.
She was all smiles and complaisance, and sat down for the cabinet council with an unruffled brow, but, as we all know, it is more difficult to face one or two definite difficulties than an army of shadowy deprivations, and when the division of the family income made it necessary to subtract considerably from her housekeeping allowance, and to saddle her in addition with several outside expenses, Mistress Bridget sighed and showed signs of rebellion.
Sylvia felt doubtful whether answers would ever be received, but as events proved, she was wrong, and Pixie was right, for her inquiries were answered by return of post, and on the first opportunity handed over for inspection. The philanthropist who provided remunerative work for gentlewomen at their own homes without interfering with present duties, forwarded samples as promised, the which Pixie spread out on the table with an air of depression. They consisted of a two-inch length of a simple stamping-off pattern, a fragment of black net, and a few dozen common jet beads, wrapped in a paper.
Judging from the note-paper, the handwriting, and the style of the photograph itself, the critics could not be very severe, and for a moment Sylvia found herself wondering if by chance Pixie had indeed found some work within her scope. She herself knew little about painting, but after a long discussion of the different features of the photograph, she succeeded in dissuading the youthful artist from a somewhat violent scheme of colour, and in extracting a promise that the completed picture should be brought across the road for her inspection before it was despatched, for by this time Miss Munns was once more settled at home, and the last evening of the happy visit had arrived.
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