Overcooked noodles bend in your hands and leave a ring around the pot. Like a ring of white soap around the tub. Squishes under foot–dull, soft noises only. No staccato. No soprano. No solo. No dancing. You plod on through it, under fluorescent light. It is the dull ache between your shoulder blades from not holding your head high enough.
These Quia quizzes are probably one of Lennart’s creations. They’re so bland and outdated it would only seem fitting that he would code something like this. I mean, it’s not his fault he sucks so much, but you know… Hello! Lennart here! And I would just like to point out that Gunner is a very bland person himself! He’ll always talk about gassing the Jews and it gets rather boring rather quickly! Well hey, at least I have a goal in life, unlike some of my peers…Lennart…. yeah… well… screw you, Gunner! I’m tired of all your Jew gassing!
When I cook I want to make sure that I add enough seasonings so that it does not turn out bland. If it does, one of my family members will certainly let me before the day is over!
The bread tasted the same as it always had– tasteless. Yet, it was all I had to look forward to when I got up in the morning. Every morning. A bland slice of bread and a bland boring day, with nothing but working in the same wheat field over and over again.
I sat in the chair in a white room with grey carpet, and grey chairs. The blandness of it made me uncomfortable. Like a taste that you don’t really like.
Tapioca, tan, mush. God, why did I come out here? There’s nothing. Nothing. I look around and realize my life is bland, shapeless, meaningless. I’m done and gone.
The food looked good, smelled good, but what a pity, for it was bland to the taste. I was sure that I had made the right choice of restaurant when I stop in the gap next to the Hilton hotel.
Sometimes having a bland period in my life can be very healthy. I am always chasing achievement and excitement, trying to consistently, on a daily basis, achieve some kind of sparked, inspired success. Better to get comfortable with many days that are vanilla, days that don’t have much drama, just regular, good, simple days that teach us just as much. A bland day is not too bad. Kind of hope I have one today :)
I felt bland.
More bland than my stepmother’s cooking.
She was so interesting, so smart, so funny, so damn perfect.
Here I am in my cheap ripped clothes, wishing she’d give me a chance.
What is the meaning of bland? I have no idea. Engish is not my native language but I am trying to get along with it. In some way I love it. It is a really simple language. Not in terms of learning but in terms of clearness. It can’t be misunderstand.
She watched him closely, trying not to be too obvious, as he picked up a mint from the table and put it in his mouth. He stopped chewing after a moment and spoke; “This mint tastes a bit bland!” She stopped stirring the drink, and walked over to place it on the table beside the plate of mints. “Sorry, they’re a little old. Here, wash it down with this.” He picked up the glass and gulped down a large mouthful. Before he could even breathe in again he was choking, pulling at his necktie and staring up at her in disbelief.
The poison worked quickly; twenty seconds later he was dead.
It turned to ash in his mouth. Nothing but nutrients meant to fuel his body and mind. Nothing but necessity. It tasted of air, or water. It didn’t entice him like it used to. So long ago. Flavors that would dance seductively on his tongue. Gone. In ash.
Everything tasted bland once she started the treatments. Even coffee made out of algae didn’t make her grimace anymore. Only the spicy dishes he cooked up from his home tasted like anything anymore. Perhaps that was because he was anything but bland. He was the best taste, the taste of home.
It’s as if my taste buds have disappeared from my tongue
vanished in an attempt to avoid all things bitter and all thing sweet
to taste nothing yet achieve fullness.
The grandmother lifted the spoon to her mouth and tasted the soup given to her for her dinner and grimaced. It was so bland, what was these people thinking in the nursing home? She wasn’t dead yet!
For a writer, starting with the word “bland” is not always guaranteed to hold the reader’s attention. You could start with something that was the antithesis of “bland”. I’m not sure what that word is.
She asked how the chicken was, and I didn’t want to lie to her face, but the dish was so bland that I felt as if telling her that would be adding insult to injury. I put down my fork and excused myself to the kitchen, where I grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and drank half of it in just a couple of gulps. The cheap ale had a lot more flavor than the actual entree I had been offered that evening.
Without her brother, life was bland. She used to laugh daily because of how unpredictable he was. Now she felt like all she ever did was go through the motions; she even knew to expect her mother’s bedroom door to be closed every afternoon after school now, never expecting it to open. Ever since that car accident, nothing in her grey life was unpredictable anymore.
The food was bland and the wine bitter. Still, it was a fair sight better than the scraps of dried meat and bread that her pack held and she was grateful.
Life is bland. That type of life seems to me to be the worst. Worse than heartbreak, pain, sadness, love, joy, creativity. A bland life, one devoid of all the most fulfilling aspects of what makes life all that it is. Keep looking for all that it could be, all that it can be. Travel, go all the places that you have always wanted to see. Jump out of planes (preferably with a parachute), sing in a crowded train at the top of your voice, dance on a mountaintop. Live. Just live.
The relationship was bland. It wasn’t bad; it would have been better if it had been. But it wasn’t. It was just empty nothingness, no highs no lows. It was just there.
Bland is when you lack strong features or characteristics therefore uninteresting or as I say drab.I guess I would call my brothers bland because I think they`re boring and drab.I also would call Rio 2 bland that movie was so uninteresting I almost slep through it.
Bland was the only accurate way to describe the cocaine. Even the word bland feels bland. But not as bland as the coke. But it might have the been the days long daze i had been in from the bland coke.
There are many things in this world that can be considered bland – first and foremost the concept of normality. There is so much in life that is filled with wonder, color and a riot of sound that it seems to be such a sin to keep it to the norm.
I hope your life is bland without her in it. Unsalted potatoes. You try to add salt, of course, I’m sure, a sprinkle of a woman’s body here, a lit joint there. But I hope these rain storms bring you to your knees and turn your skin to suede without her there.
I don’t know what to do. It is just a bad word to write a bout. I don’t even know what do write. I will have to see what others did. I just suddenly thought of a bland smoothie.
The smoothie was horrible, even disgusting. It still had chunks of fruit in it, and there were also abnormal flavors. I wanted my money back. I wanted it do be done. I wanted it to be better. I had already gone through mourning, and my week didn’t need to get worse. I Just thought that if I went to this smoothie place, I would get better.
I don’t know what to do. It is just a bad word to write a bout. I don’t even know what do write. I will have to see what others did. I just suddenly thought of a bland smoothie.
The smoothie was horrible, even disgusting. It still had chunks of fruit in it, and there were also abnormal flavors.
Disgust littered my tongue at the fowl taste that overtook my senses. My taste buds practically shriveled up and disappeared at the flavor that refused to explode onto my tongue in the way that it should have. It was as if I was eating cardboard and my stomach threatened to overflow with the blandness that surrounded my mouth.
My mouth twisted up in disgust at the flavor that invaded my taste buds and took over. The sensation that danced on my tongue was one I never wanted again. The flavor lacked everything and anything you would want. Pure disgust coated my insides.
Spitting the broth back into the bowel I glared at the guard. “That food is hardly fit for pigs. It’s bland and it stinks. I refuse to give it to the Prince. He’ll die from one bite of that disgusting, bland goop.”
Spitting the broth back into the bowel I glared at the guard. “That food is hardly fit for pigs. It’s bland and it stinks. I refuse to give it to the Prince.”
Overcooked noodles bend in your hands and leave a ring around the pot. Like a ring of white soap around the tub. Squishes under foot–dull, soft noises only. No staccato. No soprano. No solo. No dancing. You plod on through it, under fluorescent light. It is the dull ache between your shoulder blades from not holding your head high enough.
These Quia quizzes are probably one of Lennart’s creations. They’re so bland and outdated it would only seem fitting that he would code something like this. I mean, it’s not his fault he sucks so much, but you know… Hello! Lennart here! And I would just like to point out that Gunner is a very bland person himself! He’ll always talk about gassing the Jews and it gets rather boring rather quickly! Well hey, at least I have a goal in life, unlike some of my peers…Lennart…. yeah… well… screw you, Gunner! I’m tired of all your Jew gassing!
Like her date, her food was very nice to look at, but ultimately bland and lacking substance.
When I cook I want to make sure that I add enough seasonings so that it does not turn out bland. If it does, one of my family members will certainly let me before the day is over!
The bread tasted the same as it always had– tasteless. Yet, it was all I had to look forward to when I got up in the morning. Every morning. A bland slice of bread and a bland boring day, with nothing but working in the same wheat field over and over again.
The flavor of old stale morning coffee in grandma’s house. The color of a late November day that dragged on and on.
cake was bland. Why does my brother get this all the time. Oh dear me.
Landscapes roll away.
50% chance of world inversion.
My tongue tastes bland unless you’re attached.
I sat in the chair in a white room with grey carpet, and grey chairs. The blandness of it made me uncomfortable. Like a taste that you don’t really like.
Tapioca, tan, mush. God, why did I come out here? There’s nothing. Nothing. I look around and realize my life is bland, shapeless, meaningless. I’m done and gone.
The food looked good, smelled good, but what a pity, for it was bland to the taste. I was sure that I had made the right choice of restaurant when I stop in the gap next to the Hilton hotel.
Sometimes having a bland period in my life can be very healthy. I am always chasing achievement and excitement, trying to consistently, on a daily basis, achieve some kind of sparked, inspired success. Better to get comfortable with many days that are vanilla, days that don’t have much drama, just regular, good, simple days that teach us just as much. A bland day is not too bad. Kind of hope I have one today :)
I felt bland.
More bland than my stepmother’s cooking.
She was so interesting, so smart, so funny, so damn perfect.
Here I am in my cheap ripped clothes, wishing she’d give me a chance.
I fear what reality is hidden underneath constant overthinking and short lived interests. I wish not to be bland but it’s inetvitable.
What is the meaning of bland? I have no idea. Engish is not my native language but I am trying to get along with it. In some way I love it. It is a really simple language. Not in terms of learning but in terms of clearness. It can’t be misunderstand.
I don’t really know what bland means. I wish I learned my English harder… #SearchOn
She watched him closely, trying not to be too obvious, as he picked up a mint from the table and put it in his mouth. He stopped chewing after a moment and spoke; “This mint tastes a bit bland!” She stopped stirring the drink, and walked over to place it on the table beside the plate of mints. “Sorry, they’re a little old. Here, wash it down with this.” He picked up the glass and gulped down a large mouthful. Before he could even breathe in again he was choking, pulling at his necktie and staring up at her in disbelief.
The poison worked quickly; twenty seconds later he was dead.
It turned to ash in his mouth. Nothing but nutrients meant to fuel his body and mind. Nothing but necessity. It tasted of air, or water. It didn’t entice him like it used to. So long ago. Flavors that would dance seductively on his tongue. Gone. In ash.
Her life was so bland. There was no flavor no spark, and you could see it in her eyes.
Everything tasted bland once she started the treatments. Even coffee made out of algae didn’t make her grimace anymore. Only the spicy dishes he cooked up from his home tasted like anything anymore. Perhaps that was because he was anything but bland. He was the best taste, the taste of home.
It’s as if my taste buds have disappeared from my tongue
vanished in an attempt to avoid all things bitter and all thing sweet
to taste nothing yet achieve fullness.
The grandmother lifted the spoon to her mouth and tasted the soup given to her for her dinner and grimaced. It was so bland, what was these people thinking in the nursing home? She wasn’t dead yet!
For a writer, starting with the word “bland” is not always guaranteed to hold the reader’s attention. You could start with something that was the antithesis of “bland”. I’m not sure what that word is.
She asked how the chicken was, and I didn’t want to lie to her face, but the dish was so bland that I felt as if telling her that would be adding insult to injury. I put down my fork and excused myself to the kitchen, where I grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and drank half of it in just a couple of gulps. The cheap ale had a lot more flavor than the actual entree I had been offered that evening.
Not my kind of night to be caught off guard. Anger isn’t as sharp a knife as disappointment is.
I don’t like what’s cooking in here.
Without her brother, life was bland. She used to laugh daily because of how unpredictable he was. Now she felt like all she ever did was go through the motions; she even knew to expect her mother’s bedroom door to be closed every afternoon after school now, never expecting it to open. Ever since that car accident, nothing in her grey life was unpredictable anymore.
The food was bland and the wine bitter. Still, it was a fair sight better than the scraps of dried meat and bread that her pack held and she was grateful.
Life is bland. That type of life seems to me to be the worst. Worse than heartbreak, pain, sadness, love, joy, creativity. A bland life, one devoid of all the most fulfilling aspects of what makes life all that it is. Keep looking for all that it could be, all that it can be. Travel, go all the places that you have always wanted to see. Jump out of planes (preferably with a parachute), sing in a crowded train at the top of your voice, dance on a mountaintop. Live. Just live.
The relationship was bland. It wasn’t bad; it would have been better if it had been. But it wasn’t. It was just empty nothingness, no highs no lows. It was just there.
Bland is when you lack strong features or characteristics therefore uninteresting or as I say drab.I guess I would call my brothers bland because I think they`re boring and drab.I also would call Rio 2 bland that movie was so uninteresting I almost slep through it.
Bland was the only accurate way to describe the cocaine. Even the word bland feels bland. But not as bland as the coke. But it might have the been the days long daze i had been in from the bland coke.
There are many things in this world that can be considered bland – first and foremost the concept of normality. There is so much in life that is filled with wonder, color and a riot of sound that it seems to be such a sin to keep it to the norm.
I hope your life is bland without her in it. Unsalted potatoes. You try to add salt, of course, I’m sure, a sprinkle of a woman’s body here, a lit joint there. But I hope these rain storms bring you to your knees and turn your skin to suede without her there.
I don’t know what to do. It is just a bad word to write a bout. I don’t even know what do write. I will have to see what others did. I just suddenly thought of a bland smoothie.
The smoothie was horrible, even disgusting. It still had chunks of fruit in it, and there were also abnormal flavors. I wanted my money back. I wanted it do be done. I wanted it to be better. I had already gone through mourning, and my week didn’t need to get worse. I Just thought that if I went to this smoothie place, I would get better.
I don’t know what to do. It is just a bad word to write a bout. I don’t even know what do write. I will have to see what others did. I just suddenly thought of a bland smoothie.
The smoothie was horrible, even disgusting. It still had chunks of fruit in it, and there were also abnormal flavors.
Disgust littered my tongue at the fowl taste that overtook my senses. My taste buds practically shriveled up and disappeared at the flavor that refused to explode onto my tongue in the way that it should have. It was as if I was eating cardboard and my stomach threatened to overflow with the blandness that surrounded my mouth.
You are bland like a band that plays covers of U2 songs.
My mouth twisted up in disgust at the flavor that invaded my taste buds and took over. The sensation that danced on my tongue was one I never wanted again. The flavor lacked everything and anything you would want. Pure disgust coated my insides.
Spitting the broth back into the bowel I glared at the guard. “That food is hardly fit for pigs. It’s bland and it stinks. I refuse to give it to the Prince. He’ll die from one bite of that disgusting, bland goop.”
Spitting the broth back into the bowel I glared at the guard. “That food is hardly fit for pigs. It’s bland and it stinks. I refuse to give it to the Prince.”