Yeah, I had it all mapped out actually. Seriously. I wrote it down. I said, 'When I'm the head coach of the Eagles, I'm going to make sure I get that guy on my team.' And then guy next to me was like, 'You're only the offensive coordinator at New Hampshire.' I said, 'Don't worry about it. Minor details. But it's going to work.'
He flashed the warmest smile I'd ever seen, and my heart felt comforted. Maybe D.J. saw my insecurities, my fears. Maybe he knew God still had a lot of work to do in my life before I'd be good girlfriend material. Or maybe, just maybe, he saw beyond all that and simply wanted to flirt with the wedding coordinator instead of rehearse for the big night. I did my best to relax... and let him.
They've turned into begging lobbyists at best. Most of these guys for the entirety of their life have been the best athlete at what they have done. Now, they get in the NFL, and they are totally dependent on the offensive coordinator to call a pass play, choose you to be the primary receiver and then have the quarterback throw you the ball. They become salesman. After awile, they figure out how to get attention.
Madame Bellwings, Memoir Elf Coordinator, was not at all pleased with this request, because elves who write the memoirs of teenage girls have the habit of returning to the magical realm with atrocious grammar. They can't seem to shake the phrases "watever" and "no way," and they insert the word like into so many sentences that the other elves start slapping them...and for no apparent reason occasionally call out the name Edward Cullen.
Madame Bellwings, Memoir Elf Coordinator, was not at all pleased with this request, because elves who write the memoirs of teenage girls have the habit of returning to the magical realm with atrocious grammar. They can't seem to shake the phrases "watever" and "no way, " and they insert the word like into so many sentences that the other elves start slapping them... and for no apparent reason occasionally call out the name Edward Cullen.
Plant flowers in others' gardens and your life becomes a bouquet! Submitted by Lisa Letto, Coordinator, Nutrition Resource and Volunteer Centre, College of Pharmacy and Nutrition, University of Saskatchewan, Saskatchewan, Canada I slept and I dreamed that life is all joy, I woke and I saw that life is all service. I served and I saw that service is joy.
I show up on the injury report as much as the statsheet, but if I'm healthy, I'm going to be a late-round steal in most leagues. Last year I had more than 1,000 yards on the ground despite my injuries, and I had six rushing touchdowns despite Andre Brown vulturing my goal line duties around mid-season. Now I'm in Indianapolis, and my new offensive coordinator is implementing a West Coast offense that should get me plenty of carries and a few catches each game. Plus, I'll be the goal line guy. If I'm not wearing a boot.
[For Tracy Shaw of Southbury, Connecticut, life wouldn't be the same without her Wednesday night supper club (she and three other families from her daughter's daycare center take turns cooking meals), a reasonably priced handyman, a support group called Parents Without Partners, a circle of friends, and reliable babysitters.] Even though my ex-husband lives nearby and spends two evenings a week with our daughter, I'm still her primary caregiver, activities coordinator, and chauffeur, ... Without some help, I would have a tough time maintaining a balanced life.
I don't want to be married anymore. In daylight hours, I refused that thought, but at night it would consume me. What a catastrophe. How could I be such a criminal jerk as to proceed this deep into a marriage, only to leave it? We'd only just bought this house a year ago. Hadn't I wanted this nice house? Hadn't I loved it? So why was I haunting its halls every night now, howling like Medea? Wasn't I proud of all we'd accumulated-the prestigious home in the Hudson Valley, the apartment in Manhattan, the eight phone lines, the friends and the picnics and the parties, the weekends spent roaming the aisles of some box-shaped superstore of our choice, buying ever some appliances on credit? I had actively participated in every moment of the creation of this life-so why did I feel like none of it resembled me? Why did I feel so overwhelmed with duty, tired of being the primary breadwinner and the housekeeper and the social coordinator and the dog-walker and the wife and the soon-to-be mother, and-somewhere in my stolen moments-a writer... ? I don't want to be married anymore.