everywhere in life this happens. from college to job application. It is something that you have to deal with but something than can be overcome by proving to people that you are better than whatever label is attached to you. Making the more inclusive and better will help this.
He scanned the crowd, checking out faces, clothing, mannerisms. He would have to pick his targets in advance, as there would be no time for a selective process once his game had begun. He wanted a group, standing close together, so they would not be able to scatter too much once the fun started.
Where does he get off- being so selective? I’m grateful. I know how many people died for me to stay safe, here. He acts like he’s entitled to the best. The best food, the best clothes. He’s not. He’s never had to sacrifice anything. Not like me!
Hearing.
That’s what?
Selective. You said selective. I said hearing. That’s my word. Hearing.
Does this have anything to do with your upcoming hearing?
No.
You don’t see any connection with my saying selective and your mind going towards your hearing. Towards the possible trial.
No.
How was he to be selective in the landscape he had come to find? Wild oceans to float and relaxe in, the highest heights to find peace in falling from, trees that laid the perfect cover of rest. He was in paradise, he was glad – full of joy, that the one choice he ever did make, was well worth it.
She finally chose. No cake was perfect–good enough, right enough. No lemon or chocolate for her. Fondant was out. And yet she needed to choose. And so she opted out of cake and went with pie instead.
It was a selective choice, going away that is. She didn’t want to have to make a decision this crucial on her own, but eventually, the odds were not in her favor. Her life led her down a path that no man has ever wanted to take, not even Robert Frost. But when the time came that she had a chance to change, she kept at the opportunity.
Me. Being me, I can’t be very…
Selective.
My choices are limited.
I mean look at this
*shimmies*
but when it came to
him.
I can’t handle it.
He just,
whips away any doubt.
How?
I dunno.
Maybe it’s his laugh
or his eyes
or his smile
But I know I can’t be with him.
I mean obviously.
Look at this
*shimmies*
I feel like everyone is so selective
and I’ll never make the cut
my hair is too wild
my face isn’t angular
I weigh too much
I’m not smart or pretty or funny or like-able
and I’m never going to be good enough
There were things she remembered and things she didnt
Moments of intense passion and joy
that were etched in there
immovable and frozen in time.
The more mundane things,
daily life,
her children,
husband
didnt really make the cut.
I tried talking to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She took in nothing I said, almost as if I wasn’t there. Only listened to what appealed to HER. Only heard what sounded important or worthy of her attention. And that was the main problem. That’s why I needed to get through to her.
We are selective here. Only the best and the brightest, but more than that, those who’ve become bright. You can’t just be bright you have to work to be bright. Then you have to be able to do cartwheels and handstands and knit a sweater, but you should also just be a nice wholesome kid.
I’ve never been very selective. I want them if they want me, so to speak. Sure, I’ve had crushes and dream lovers, but being choosy about the real men in my life has never been an option. I’m not the kind of girl that turns heads.
“You’re so picky, Andrea,”
“I am not,” she protested, bottom lip dropping in a pout. “I’m just…selective,” Carla giggled and Andrea’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What?”
“It’s nothing,” she said, smile still firmly in place. “It’s just that you’re even picky about how you’re CALLED picky,”
I have never understood how people failed so often to be selective in the relationships they perused, but after meeting you that made more sense than I ever thought possible. And today when we were harmlessly tangled up within ourselves and wrapped together tightly yet gently I wonder how many decisions I’ve made with you that turned out so wonderfully without being as selective as I once would have been.
I’m not selective about the men I choose, unfortunately. The rightly simpered word, the hand placed correctly, a certain imagine which I can consolidate with my archaic ideas of masculinity- that’s all it takes.
I am more selective today than I have ever been. I used to let others select me. But today it is about what I want, what suits me. I’ve become very particular about selection and I will no longer settle too much for what I want. It has to be right.
ser selectivo es ser mamon con las cosas que buscas, no te conformas con lo que se te presenta, sino estas en la búsqueda constante de lo que quieres, de lo que anhelas, del ideal, de lo que te haría estar contento y hasta cierto punto satisfecho.
It about choice. The opportunity to select among the many opportunities we are given by God. And being selective is more than just choosing-it is about using wisdom in our choices. If we ask, we are promised we will receive wisdom.
He had to be selective with his friends. Breathing in, he looked out over the water and remembered. All that he’d lost. Fortunately, his recent friends were trustworthy and loyal.
Her hand hovered over the green opalescent ring for a moment, but she didn’t chose it. Her fingers, gnarled and worm-like, strolled over each piece of polished silver, each touch a no no no no. Not this one, but touch. But touch. But touch just in case. The vendor leaned back against the wall as he watched, just alert enough to scold a customer who tipped over a display, but not hoping for a sale.
Some people have selective hearing and only hear what they want to hear. especially men. I have to be selective with my friends and what conversations I choose to have with others around me
Selective evolution. We are all settle mutations from more complex species. The polar bear outlived the brown bear; it can hide better in the arctic. Selective evolution is the reason I am I and you are you. We have outlived
“You don’t have to be so goddamn selective,” frowned Harold as Teresa continued to peruse the shelf. “Just pick a book and be done with it.”
“And that is why you haven’t gone anywhere in life,” Teresa sassed back. “A book isn’t like a candy bar or a tee shirt. I can’t just pick up any old book. I have to find one I like.”
“Make sure it has tits in it!” replied Harold. “Then everyone’s happy!”
“She’s –selective. She’s not like the rest of them.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Father.” Miriam straightened her skirts and clasped her tiny white purse in her gloved hands. For a young woman carrying the most dangerous poision in existence within her pearl-covered purse, she was the picture of calmness.
“It is–difficult.” Her father managed to choke out. “You do not know her as I do. She is not to be trusted. Never trust her!”
“She has given me no reason to doubt her,” Miriam said, mildly. “Is something the matter, Father?”
He looked at her strangely for a moment. “I am fine. Come along, we have much to do before the day is over.”
Miriam watched him stalk off into the masses and paused on the sidewalk. She rubbed her nose with one gloved hand, the same one that had placed the poison inside her purse. The effects should be untraceable–would be, she knew, as she quickened her step to catch up.
Selective, her father had said. Well. She’d just have to show them both, wouldn’t she? Miriam sneezed and grimaced, before gathering up her skirts and sprinting before she lost sight of her father’s ridiculous hat.
You choose to be this way even though all that can come from it is loneliness. It’s a sad, solitary existence you have made. Choosing to be so picky that none of the good shines through all of your perceived bad. How alone you must be at night in the cold.
“Who’ll be on the team? Please don’t say Bradley. No offense, sir, but I really can’t stand your son.”
Daniels pursed his lips, trying to hide the smile he felt coming. “No, Catherine, Brad won’t be on the team. I’ve been very selective as to who will be, in fact, and I wasn’t trying to do anyone I have a personal relationship with.” The balding man clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, alright? Your partners will suit you well.”
Small groupings of living, transmitted neurons, random? On the contrary. All is precognition, much to the dismay of the individual. And the ego. Nothing is selected by chance; it’s all been determined, don’t you know?
Selective speices, take into themselves, only what they want and need. Selective selfishness, nation of supermarkets and sales. Selective detective impriosned and not effective. Dont be selective, be aselective, non selective. Take all and take it now.
everywhere in life this happens. from college to job application. It is something that you have to deal with but something than can be overcome by proving to people that you are better than whatever label is attached to you. Making the more inclusive and better will help this.
He scanned the crowd, checking out faces, clothing, mannerisms. He would have to pick his targets in advance, as there would be no time for a selective process once his game had begun. He wanted a group, standing close together, so they would not be able to scatter too much once the fun started.
Where does he get off- being so selective? I’m grateful. I know how many people died for me to stay safe, here. He acts like he’s entitled to the best. The best food, the best clothes. He’s not. He’s never had to sacrifice anything. Not like me!
Hearing.
That’s what?
Selective. You said selective. I said hearing. That’s my word. Hearing.
Does this have anything to do with your upcoming hearing?
No.
You don’t see any connection with my saying selective and your mind going towards your hearing. Towards the possible trial.
No.
How was he to be selective in the landscape he had come to find? Wild oceans to float and relaxe in, the highest heights to find peace in falling from, trees that laid the perfect cover of rest. He was in paradise, he was glad – full of joy, that the one choice he ever did make, was well worth it.
Not sure how this became a wedding cake story but there it is. My first story post! What fun!
She finally chose. No cake was perfect–good enough, right enough. No lemon or chocolate for her. Fondant was out. And yet she needed to choose. And so she opted out of cake and went with pie instead.
It was a selective choice, going away that is. She didn’t want to have to make a decision this crucial on her own, but eventually, the odds were not in her favor. Her life led her down a path that no man has ever wanted to take, not even Robert Frost. But when the time came that she had a chance to change, she kept at the opportunity.
Me. Being me, I can’t be very…
Selective.
My choices are limited.
I mean look at this
*shimmies*
but when it came to
him.
I can’t handle it.
He just,
whips away any doubt.
How?
I dunno.
Maybe it’s his laugh
or his eyes
or his smile
But I know I can’t be with him.
I mean obviously.
Look at this
*shimmies*
I feel like everyone is so selective
and I’ll never make the cut
my hair is too wild
my face isn’t angular
I weigh too much
I’m not smart or pretty or funny or like-able
and I’m never going to be good enough
There were things she remembered and things she didnt
Moments of intense passion and joy
that were etched in there
immovable and frozen in time.
The more mundane things,
daily life,
her children,
husband
didnt really make the cut.
I tried talking to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She took in nothing I said, almost as if I wasn’t there. Only listened to what appealed to HER. Only heard what sounded important or worthy of her attention. And that was the main problem. That’s why I needed to get through to her.
We are selective here. Only the best and the brightest, but more than that, those who’ve become bright. You can’t just be bright you have to work to be bright. Then you have to be able to do cartwheels and handstands and knit a sweater, but you should also just be a nice wholesome kid.
I’ve never been very selective. I want them if they want me, so to speak. Sure, I’ve had crushes and dream lovers, but being choosy about the real men in my life has never been an option. I’m not the kind of girl that turns heads.
“Gosh, you are so picky.”
A precise hand elegantly swept over the assorted food. It picked up nothing.
“I can’t decide. I told you I wanted-”
“Well, too bad. They’re out of it.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“And don’t I know it!”
Choose or you have a choice.
selective. a word of wonder. one that means freedom of choice and happiness. It is one of the best words in the world.
He was selective. Very selective. He never came over to my house on time when we were young, for he couldn’t choose between me and another friend.
“You’re so picky, Andrea,”
“I am not,” she protested, bottom lip dropping in a pout. “I’m just…selective,” Carla giggled and Andrea’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What?”
“It’s nothing,” she said, smile still firmly in place. “It’s just that you’re even picky about how you’re CALLED picky,”
My selective memory fails me. I remember it all from here to there, selective in all that isn’t there. Selective memory. Yeah.
How selective am I? I’ve had three or four stories rattle around in my skull for a good five years.
I haven’t decided on one yet.
Sometimes it’s hard to know what you want. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut feeling. Choose wisely.
I have never understood how people failed so often to be selective in the relationships they perused, but after meeting you that made more sense than I ever thought possible. And today when we were harmlessly tangled up within ourselves and wrapped together tightly yet gently I wonder how many decisions I’ve made with you that turned out so wonderfully without being as selective as I once would have been.
I’m not selective about the men I choose, unfortunately. The rightly simpered word, the hand placed correctly, a certain imagine which I can consolidate with my archaic ideas of masculinity- that’s all it takes.
I am more selective today than I have ever been. I used to let others select me. But today it is about what I want, what suits me. I’ve become very particular about selection and I will no longer settle too much for what I want. It has to be right.
ser selectivo es ser mamon con las cosas que buscas, no te conformas con lo que se te presenta, sino estas en la búsqueda constante de lo que quieres, de lo que anhelas, del ideal, de lo que te haría estar contento y hasta cierto punto satisfecho.
It about choice. The opportunity to select among the many opportunities we are given by God. And being selective is more than just choosing-it is about using wisdom in our choices. If we ask, we are promised we will receive wisdom.
He had to be selective with his friends. Breathing in, he looked out over the water and remembered. All that he’d lost. Fortunately, his recent friends were trustworthy and loyal.
Her hand hovered over the green opalescent ring for a moment, but she didn’t chose it. Her fingers, gnarled and worm-like, strolled over each piece of polished silver, each touch a no no no no. Not this one, but touch. But touch. But touch just in case. The vendor leaned back against the wall as he watched, just alert enough to scold a customer who tipped over a display, but not hoping for a sale.
Some people have selective hearing and only hear what they want to hear. especially men. I have to be selective with my friends and what conversations I choose to have with others around me
Selective evolution. We are all settle mutations from more complex species. The polar bear outlived the brown bear; it can hide better in the arctic. Selective evolution is the reason I am I and you are you. We have outlived
“You don’t have to be so goddamn selective,” frowned Harold as Teresa continued to peruse the shelf. “Just pick a book and be done with it.”
“And that is why you haven’t gone anywhere in life,” Teresa sassed back. “A book isn’t like a candy bar or a tee shirt. I can’t just pick up any old book. I have to find one I like.”
“Make sure it has tits in it!” replied Harold. “Then everyone’s happy!”
“She’s –selective. She’s not like the rest of them.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Father.” Miriam straightened her skirts and clasped her tiny white purse in her gloved hands. For a young woman carrying the most dangerous poision in existence within her pearl-covered purse, she was the picture of calmness.
“It is–difficult.” Her father managed to choke out. “You do not know her as I do. She is not to be trusted. Never trust her!”
“She has given me no reason to doubt her,” Miriam said, mildly. “Is something the matter, Father?”
He looked at her strangely for a moment. “I am fine. Come along, we have much to do before the day is over.”
Miriam watched him stalk off into the masses and paused on the sidewalk. She rubbed her nose with one gloved hand, the same one that had placed the poison inside her purse. The effects should be untraceable–would be, she knew, as she quickened her step to catch up.
Selective, her father had said. Well. She’d just have to show them both, wouldn’t she? Miriam sneezed and grimaced, before gathering up her skirts and sprinting before she lost sight of her father’s ridiculous hat.
I am very selective in choosing my writing topics. But it is very difficult to follow through. However, one must be per
It’s not in the way that you
can see what the means are to
your end.
it’s the steps that you take towards
distraction.
I’m not an elective,
you’re just selective.
You choose to be this way even though all that can come from it is loneliness. It’s a sad, solitary existence you have made. Choosing to be so picky that none of the good shines through all of your perceived bad. How alone you must be at night in the cold.
“Who’ll be on the team? Please don’t say Bradley. No offense, sir, but I really can’t stand your son.”
Daniels pursed his lips, trying to hide the smile he felt coming. “No, Catherine, Brad won’t be on the team. I’ve been very selective as to who will be, in fact, and I wasn’t trying to do anyone I have a personal relationship with.” The balding man clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, alright? Your partners will suit you well.”
Cat chewed on her lip and nodded.
Small groupings of living, transmitted neurons, random? On the contrary. All is precognition, much to the dismay of the individual. And the ego. Nothing is selected by chance; it’s all been determined, don’t you know?
Selective speices, take into themselves, only what they want and need. Selective selfishness, nation of supermarkets and sales. Selective detective impriosned and not effective. Dont be selective, be aselective, non selective. Take all and take it now.
memories…are all selective….chosen from the ones we experience…we delete and rebuild them…selecting a few ones which define life for us,