Sentences with phrase «break out of my shirt»

Here's a recent family pic that clearly show my stomach trying to break out of my shirt.

Not exact matches

That's not all, in the craziness of the celebrations Costa spits on Cazorla, Captain Santi doesn't notice but Flamini does and comes crashing out from the bench, lunges at Costa from 2 metres away, and absolutely floors him breaking both his ankles in the process... Mutters something in French to him, takes his shirt off and then Tupac walks away from the scene of the crime.

He pulled Higuain back by the shirt after the striker juked him out of his shoes to break free down the middle to earn a yellow card, then, barely 30 seconds later, tripped Chiellini as the big defender made one of those bombing runs forward, this one getting all the way to the edge of the penalty area to get his marching orders.

Legislators, lobbyists, and aides are running out of suits, shirts, socks, and even underwear during the long days of work, with no breaks for laundry or other personal tasks.

He held it in and then he blew it out really fast and went through that a few different times and it was all the more hilarious «cause he was like pitting out in this dress shirt and just sat like huge balls of sweat building under his shirt but that's what the dude does and he's known for you know, in a triathlon, just like going off the front, the first 300, 400 yards you know, and that's where he breaks from the crowd, right there and boom, he's gone.

With the ability to wear items from my subscription service that I normally wouldn't wear, I am easily able to break out of this rut and wear a sheer shirt again.

Whenever I think of tuxedo shirts, I can't help but think of Downton Abbey and cocktails, so for Friday night's post-work happy hour it was a no - brainer to break out this vintage tuxedo shirt I got from across the pond.

After February's solid month of rain, you better believe I'm ready to put away my Hunter rain boots and break out my wedges and chambray shirts!

I love breaking out my white jeans this time of year and pairing them with a burgundy sweater or jeweled grey shirt.

The warm (ish) weather was such a welcome break from the frigid temperatures we had been experiencing and a fantastic excuse to break out the LOFT bell sleeve t - shirt I picked up a couple of weeks ago.

One of my own personal challenges is to break out of the rut of always wearing the same shirt with the same pants with the same shoes with the same... well, you get the point.

The opening shot of Son Hayes (Shannon) putting on a shirt, where we see his back peppered with old wounds from shotgun pellets, says far more than any of the fight scenes that break out between the rival siblings.

Check out the Guitar Hero World Tour and Guitar Hero Metallica ads after the break to gain some perspective of the pink shirts we're talking about.

But if it cares so much about proper art why does its website (and print edition for all I know) keep running endless puffs for «artists» — the word it insists on — who do everything from portraying themselves as Heisenberg from Breaking Bad to making fake roses out of Ralph Lauren shirts?

In front of dozens of curious tourists, media cameras, and civil servants on lunch break, legal professionals donned bright green t - shirts instead of their usual suits and danced their hearts out for their favourite constitutional document to a boombox playing the national anthem.»

He got a little carried away at a nighttime celebration during a 3 - day company offsite, and as a result, he did not quite make it to his hotel room before deciding to take a short break, passing out in front of the elevators on his hotel floor while wearing a ball cap and a t - shirt with a prominent company logo.

It went something like this: hotel check - in, locate room, locate wifi service, attempt connection to wifi, wonder why the connection is taking so long, try again, locate phone, call front desk, get told «the internet is broken for a while», decide to hot - spot the mobile phone because some emails really needed to be sent, go «la la la» about the roaming costs, locate iron, wonder why iron temperature dial just spins around and around, swear as iron spews water instead of steam, find reading glasses, curse middle - aged need for reading glasses, realise iron temperature dial is indecipherably in Chinese, decide ironing front of shirt is good enough when wearing jacket, order room service lunch, start shower, realise can't read impossible small toiletry bottle labels, damply retrieve glasses from near iron and successfully avoid shampooing hair with body lotion, change (into slightly damp shirt), retrieve glasses from shower, start teleconference, eat lunch, remember to mute phone, meet colleague in lobby at 1 pm, continue teleconference, get in taxi, endure 75 stop - start minutes to a inconveniently located client, watch unread emails climb over 150, continue to ignore roaming costs, regret tuna panini lunch choice as taxi warmth, stop - start juddering, jet - lag, guilt about unread emails and traffic fumes combine in a very unpleasant way, stumble out of over-warm taxi and almost catch hypothermia while trying to locate a very small client office in a very large anonymous business park, almost hug client with relief when they appear to escort us the last 50 metres, surprisingly have very positive client meeting (i.e. didn't throw up in the meeting), almost catch hypothermia again waiting for taxi which despite having two functioning GPS devices can't locate us on a main road, understand why as within 30 seconds we are almost rendered unconscious by the in - car exhaust fumes, discover that the taxi ride back to the CBD is even slower and more juddering at peak hour (and no, that was not a carbon monoxide induced hallucination), rescheduled the second client from 5 pm to 5.30, to 6 pm and finally 6.30 pm, killed time by drafting this guest blog (possibly carbon monoxide induced), watch unread emails climb higher, exit taxi and inhale relatively fresher air from kamikaze motor scooters, enter office and grumpily work with client until 9 pm, decline client's gracious offer of expensive dinner, noting it is already midnight my time, observe client fail to correctly set office alarm and endure high decibel «warning, warning» sounds that are clearly designed to send security rushing... soon... any second now... develop new form of nausea and headache from piercing, screeching, sounds - like - a-wailing-baby-please-please-make-it-stop-alarm, note the client is relishing the extra (free) time with us and is still talking about work, admire the client's ability to focus under extreme aural pressure, decide the client may be a little too work focussed, realise that I probably am too given I have just finished work at 9 pm... but then remember the 200 unread emails in my inbox and decide I can resolve that incongruency later (in a quieter space), become sure that there are only two possibilities — there are no security staff or they are deaf — while my colleague frantically tries to call someone who knows what to do, conclude after three calls that no - one does, and then finally someone finally does and... it stops.