Diana Rowland Quotes

It looked like pieces of bread pudding that had been soaked in raspberry syrup.

The good thing about hugs: when you give one, you get one too.

I heard a low growl and realized it was coming from my own throat. Fuck the fear and fuck the insecurities. I was worth fighting for. Every woman was worth fighting for. Didn't matter if they were trash or addicts or rich or popular. Didn't matter if they dressed like a homeless waif, or in tight skirts and heels, or in jeans and flannel. No one deserved to feel hopeless and worthless the way this goddamn asshole wanted me to feel and, I had no doubt, made other girls feel.

The memory of the previous nights fun and games rose again. Hell this whole week had been weird. With the attack at the boat launch being the shit flavored ice cream on top of the crazy pie.

Had I managed to fall into some sort of carnivorous plant? Yeah, bleed on the man-eating plant. Always a good plan.

The over-weight and out of shape guy who owned the house had apparently decided that having a half-million dollar house meant that he couldn't afford to hire someone to clean out his gutters. Now he was dead with what looked to me like a broken neck after the ladder had slipped. He'd taken the plunge into his fancy landscaping - complete with rock garden. But hey, his fucking gutters were clean.

Hey, look, I thought with a miserable laugh, this day just got worse.

Yeah, so? I was ignorant, but I'm not a fucking moron. Why would I give the shit to you just so I could buy it back from you later?" I leaned back against the counter. "Hon, you're fucking with the wrong chick. I've been around too many drug dealers to buy into a scheme like that."
He shocked me by bursting out laughing. "Drug dealers? Well, that's an interesting analogy." He shook his head but a sardonic smile stayed on his face.

Ryan stared at me as I pulled my phone out to see who was calling at this late
hour. "You have the Fraggle Rock theme song as your ring tone," he said, with a
bemused look on his face. "You are so weird.

I was arguing with the paramedics after they got me into the ambulance, begging for something to eat because I was so damn hungry. Maybe that's why I didn't walk into the stupid white light. Maybe I knew they wouldn't have anything to eat down that way.

That old if you 'need anything, let me know,' is a total crock. You hear people say it all the time, but you never see anyone actually call up the person who said it and say, "Hey, remember when you said to let you know if i needed anything? Well, I'm feeling really overwhelmed. Could you please come clean my kitchen, I'd feel like I had a bit of a head start." You will never hear someone say that, because then the person asking the other person to clean their kitchen is seen as a helpless, incompetent dick. -Diana Rowland (My life as a white trash zombie)

I ran my fingers around the interior of the skull getting the last few clumps of brain mater and sucked them from my fingers like icing from a mixing bowl. Desperately not wanting to wipe my mouth, I straightened and moved to the surviving gun man, crouched and did a quick pat down to make sure he didn't have another gun on him. No weapons but I did find a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his shirt pocket. Grinning down at him I pulled the cigarette out and stuck it between my bloody lips and lit it, even allowed myself one sweet drag. Just one, didn't want to waste too many brains. But damn the moment called for it. I was reformed but I'd never be perfect. And that was okay with me.

I have missed you. And I did not know anything was missing.

Whatever happened, at least we had cookies.

The smell was like chocolate and cookies and biscuits and gravy and everything else that was delicious. It damn near drove me crazy every time I had to touch one. I'd been fighting the cravings the way I'd never fought the urge to take drugs or get drunk.

He leaned back in his chair. "Detective Gillian, what I want to say at this moment would no doubt be considered extremely inappropriate and unprofessional, even though it would be meant as a compliment to you." Then he surprised me by laughing. "Screw it. You're a devious, clever bitch, and I'm glad you work for me.

I was tough. I was fierce. I was already seating my ass off and hadn't even started to run yet.

Just because I'm insane doesn't mean I have to act all crazy.

Look, I know this is the last thing you want to talk about, but I wanted to ask you ... " He trailed off, looking strangely uneasy.
"Ask me ... ?" Ask me to dinner? Ask me out for drinks? Ask me if I wanted to see what he looked like under that uniform? Yow, where'd that last one come from?

Welcome to death.

Overeating is the noblest of all causes.

But then again, I was about as far from touchy-feely as you could get. Unless you're fucking me, don't put your hands on me.

God damn there is nothing better tasting in the whole damn world than warm brains when you were shot the hell up, like a cold beer after a long hot day of working in the yard.

No self-respecting zombie would be caught dead smoking.

I clung to the pain like a badge of honor. Blood dripped in a slow splatter from a deep gash in my forearm, and my left knee throbbed from a vicious twist, but I couldn't suppress my grin. I dragged my sleeve across my face to clear some of the sweat and grime, and squinted at the massive demon who crouched beside the white trunks of grove trees a dozen feet across the clearing.

Coffe and breakfast with friends. What more could a girl ask for.

I replaced the elbow with my knee and grabbed his throat as I knelt on top of him. Then reached my other hand to grab hold of his balls. A part of me wish I could bring myself bite his damn cock off. But eew.

God-fucking-damn but he was seriously good-looking. "Have you ever had the stuffed pancakes here? They're evil. I highly recommend them."
"Heh. The cop is recommending evil," I said. "Too funny."
To my surprise, Ivanov chuckled. "You've discovered my dark side.

I just can't believe you fucked that thing !" he retorted, voice rough with what I coud only assume was utter distain. "Why ... why would you do that ?"
( ... )
"Because I'm lonely ! " I exploded, standing and nearly tipping the stool over. "Because I've only ever had two boyfriends, and they were shitty in bed, and they never stayed very long anyway. I had this incredibly gorgeous guy wanting to kiss me and make love to me and I wanted it. I don't I have many friends. I mean, shit ! I know he was just trying to get something from me, but y'know what ? I wanted something from him too. I wanted to be touched and wanted and to feel - for a few fucking minutes - that I was sexy and desirable. And to feel - for a few fucking minutes - a way I knew I'd never felt before and would probably never feel again !".

I leveled a scowl at him. "Is there
anything in our agreement that says I can't
call you names?"
He crouched and added a few touches
to the diagram. A very faint smile curved
his mouth. "No."
My own mouth twitched. "So,
hypothetically, if I were to call you an
asshole, there'd be no reprisals?" I asked
with an innocent look. "Hypothetically, of
course."
Idris glanced up sharply, then hissed
and drew back his hand as the sigil he was
working on stung him.
"Nothing of that sort is covered by the
agreement," was Mzatal's mild reply.
I chuckled under my breath. "I think
I'll just call you Boss."
He glanced over at me with a raised
eyebrow. I smiled sweetly in response.
Mzatal straightened, turned fully to me,
hands behind back and head lowered
slightly, and still with the faint hint of a
smile. "There could be consequences."
I shrugged, still smiling. "What fun
would it be if there weren't?"
Mzatal lifted his head. "None
whatsoever," he said, his face betraying a
hint of amusement as he moved to the
center of the diagram.

How could I be mad? I got to sleep with a kitten.

Three hours ago I was in bed, I thought miserably. I should have stayed there.

Greg was a supernice guy and a good tenant."
"I met him only once, but he seemed pretty cool," I said. "Of course, the neighbor across the street was convinced he was up to no good."
"Oh, my God, that racist bitch? I swear, I wanted to rent the place out to a black Jewish gay couple just to piss her off, but then I figured it wouldn't be fair to the black Jewish gay couple.

A zombie pretending to be a zombie pretending to be a zombie. Made me dizzy.

Whoa!" I jerked my hand up to stop him. "Wait, what?" I asked as sick horror shot through me. "You mean, like when the bodies get cut open?"
Delight lit his face. "Yes, you'll be helping with the autopsies. You didn't know that?

I'm finally getting my life together. Too bad I had to die first.

This dude could read Pat the Bunnyand make it terrifying.

Too easy to lose the way.
Too hard to keep from unraveling when there's nothing to remind you of who you
are and where you should be.
Another eternity passes in the flick of an eyelash.

And that old "If you need anything, let me know," is also a total crock. You hear people say it all the time, but then you never see anyone actually call up the person who said it and say, "Hey, remember when you said to let you know if I needed anything? Well, I'm feeling really overwhelmed. Could you please come clean my kitchen, because if I could have a clean kitchen, I'd feel like I had a bit of a head start." You'll never hear someone say that, because then the person asking the other person to clean their kitchen is seen as a helpless, incompetent dick.

What would be so much better would be for the person who spouted the useless "if you need anything just ask" platitude to fucking go over to the person's house and clean their goddamn kitchen without being asked. Go over and say, "Hey, you go take care of your kid or your work, or go take a fucking nap. And when you get done, you'll have a clean kitchen. And, no, you don't owe me a goddamn thing. Someday the shoe will be on the other foot, okay?

The pudding lived up to its name. And nothing fell off that wasn't supposed to.

Angel, I have no idea how you can stand this stench," he said. "Derrel's been doing this for long enough that I think he doesn't have any smell receptors left, but you ... ?" He grimaced as he snapped pictures of the skull and the injury while I held the body in position for him. "You are one tough chick." Then his eyes crinkled, and even though he had the mask on, I could tell he was grinning at me. "Or maybe you're seriously sick and twisted, in which case you are so in the right line of work."
I laughed. "Gotta be the second one," I said. "I'm not tough!