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Kissing is something that makes up for a lot of other crap you have to put up with...It can be confusing and weird and awkward, but sometimes it just makes you melt and forget everything that is going on.

Maureen Johnson

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Maureen Johnson
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 16
Author
Novelist
Writer
Philadelphia
Pennsylvania
Sometimes
Confusing
Going
Awkward
Something
Crap
Weird
Kissing
Forget
Makes
Everything
Melt

More quotes by Maureen Johnson

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Fear can't hurt you, she said. When it washes over you, give it no power. It's a snake with no venom. Remember that. That knowledge can save you.
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You don't know me yet, I said. Rory was telling me she lives in a swamp, Charlotte said. That's right, I said, turning up my accent a little. These are the very first shoes I've ever owned. They sure do pinch my feet. Jerome gave a little snort.
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Dr. Everest, got up and gave us a little pep talk. Mostly it boiled down to the fact that it was autumn, and everyone was back, and while that was a great thing, people better not get cocky or misbehave or he'd personally kill us all. He didn't actually say those words, but that was the subtext.
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I knew it was beautiful, but knowing something is beautiful and caring about it are two very different things, and I didn't care.
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A woman who shaves or otherwise depilates her pubic curls has a profound interest in recreational sex.
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I had always assumed the weekend was a holy tradition, respected by good people everywhere. Not so at Wexford.
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These houses had been plunked down with an alarming randomness -- unevenly spaced, on crooked lines, like whoever had designed the place had said, We'll just follow this cat, and wherever he sits down, we'll build something.
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Sometimes people graduate but they don't leave. They hang around for years, for no reason. I would think of ghosts like that, I decided.
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Ah, he said. I had an . . . artistic disagreement with the director of the panto. As it happens, I take issue with the objectification of women in Cinderella, and the reliance on shoes as a means of identification. Surely you understand.
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No sausage? he asked. Apparently my pork consumption habits were a matter of public record.
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Don't get stabbed. It makes everything awkward.
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Tell me what you want, what you really, really want, he said. Braiiinnnnssss, we said in unison.
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One of them hung a pink bra from our lighting fixture. I left it there. It was a nice bra
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I feel warm and reassured, I whispered. He's like Santa.
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I have no phobias. Phobias are irrational. My fears are rational and CAREFULLY CULTIVATED, like roses.
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Just then, my phone started ringing. The ring must have been damaged by the water as well, so now it had a high, keening note - kind of the sound I imagine a mermaid might make if you punched her in the face.
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Spicy food and I have a close relationship—an obsessive one, in fact. If it’s spicy, I want it. I want to sweat and shake and go half blind from the searing pain . . . which, now that I put it that way, seems really suggestive. But spicy stuff is addictive. That’s a known fact of science.
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Tired, but not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.
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But we made our own fun, mostly. I recall a time, many years later, when American children seemed unable to amuse themselves without a fortune in electrical and electronic equipment. We had no fancy equipment and did not miss it.
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Did you hear? he asked. They found another body around nine this morning. It's the Ripper, definitely. Good morning, I replied. Morning. Listen to this. The second victim.
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