Jordan Sonnenblick (born July 4, 1969) is an American writer of young adult fiction. He is a graduate of New York City's Stuyvesant High School (1987), and of the University of Pennsylvania.
Chicks dig a dude who’s sporting the latest eggplant turtleneck styles.
There are really no guidelines whatsoever, because this is the kind of thing that only happens to ME.
I’ll probably just stand in a corner, trying not to be noticed, until the decoration committee accidentally packs me into a box at the end of the night. There I will lie, crammed in between rolls of crepe paper, until the New Year’s dance two months from now. Jeffrey thought about this for a moment and said, Won’t they notice the box is too heavy when they go to put it away?
You can be our critic. Would you dig that? (Yes, he was the last Man in America who could say “dig” with a straight face without referring to the process of using a tool to remove dirt from the ground. )
Note to self: It's hard to attain a state of no-mind when you're incredibly pumped up on tea and sugar and have to urinate every three and a half minutes.
Did you really JUST fall, Jeffrey? Why does everybody in my family talk in these dramatic CAPITAL LETTERS all the time? Why am I the only calm one?
I dove on those papers like Sherlock Holmes on a cappuccino binge.
It was a cheesy cheeseball, covered with Cheez Whiz and served on a bed of Cheez-Its. With a side of queso.
Well your mom was right, in a way. What do you mean? He DID fall, right? So he wasn’t safe on the stool. Thanks, Annette. Thanks a lot. That’s exactly what I needed to hear right now. You’re a very inspiring person, you know that?
The only time I can ever remember Steven crying over any of it was after my treatment, when I tried to use my foot on his bass drum pedal, and we realized I could never play a drum set.
Me: Well, you see, I, uh, I'm a cancer survivor. Person #1: And how's that working out for you? Me: Well, you see, I, uh, used to have leukemia. Person #2: Dude, how come you're not, like, BALD? Me: Well, you see, I, uh, I had acute lymphocytic lymphoma when I was five. Person #3: Whoa. THAT must'a sucked. I once had my tonsils out.
Instead of agonizing about the things you can't change, why don't you try working on the things you can change
It's amazing--my parents call everything a discussion. If I were standing across the street, firing a bazooka at my mother, while my father was launching mortar back at me, and Jeffery was charging down the driveway with a grenade in his teeth, my parents would say we should stop having this public "discussion".
Finally the kitchen clock said 5:17. It was time to roll out. I shouted for my mom, woke Jeffrey up, ran upstairs, changed into my concert clothes, put on my shoes, and was standing by the door to the garage by 5:19—chanting “Let’s go! Come on!” (Feel free to try that at home, by the way; moms love it!)
Annette had kissed me. Who would’a thunk it?
What do you call a planet where bad guys stroll through life with success draped around their shoulders like a King’s cloak, while random horrors are visited upon the innocent heads of children? I call it Earth.
. . . my little blurb wasn't going to win me any speaker-of-the-year awards, but at least I hadn't tripped and fallen off the stage, crushing and killing three elderly jazz fans.
(Yes teenage boys who are fine always cry on their mothers’ shoulders until they leave a snot trail. )
Steven, I know I phrased that as a question, but it was really a command. Yes, but mine is…ummm…private. Private, Steven? Yes, Miss Palma. PRIVATE Steven? Again with the capital letters?
Or maybe. . . their biggest fear is that they will get close to you again, and you'll go and drop dead.