Spike's Bitches 21 Gunn Salute
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Man, I've been busy.
All floors are are treble-shampooed or mopped. All the wood in my hallway and dining room is polished. Tomorrow - after the spa day and the personal shopper and the glayvin, with (I suspect) the film crew, I will need to
1. clean the bathroom (a matter of about three minutes, so no big).
2. Dust the living room and sunporch (ditto)
3. Put furniture covers on things (maybe eight minutes).
4. Straighten up kitchen (maybe eight minutes).
5. Get my pantry prepped for the Colouring of the Hair (maybe fifteen minutes).
6. Relax with Betsy and 'dre and Nic and order pizza.
7. Try to snatch about four hours sleep, which means, conking at 11 or a bit before, because Graham will be getting here three-ish.
8. Dude.
Early Show.
My daughter rocks.
Cass, as has been said? There's not only comfort, there's good advice and bracing support and the example of some of us who have come through breakups that should have (and nearly did) either kill us or ruin the rest of our lives, and yet, here we are, alive, breathing, and doing pretty damned well.
So definitely make use of us. David is quite right.
I want to see pictures of JZ looking super fabulous!
There are two of us and I'm the oldest and Mom always had a habit of starting out with my brother's name first.
It's sort of like the joke in Holy Grail. You feel like you've just been brought out and tossed on the pile of black death corpses. But you'll get better. "I'm not dead yet!" is a useful concept right now.
Maybe I'll get better?
t /Jane Espenson
All your tildes are belong to me... (just for the week, til you need them back.)
--
8. Dude.
Uh huh.
Early Show.
Yep.
My daughter rocks.
She truly does.
And I am set to record it all.
--
So definitely make use of us.
I am. Shamelessly in fact. Thank you.
Cass, I know I've said this, but I'm driven to repeat it, because I genuinely believe it: feeling the crap now is way, way way way better than going into a fugue state.
That's what I did. I spent age 15 to age almost not quite 22 in an on-again off-again complicated by his marriage to Lynda-aka-Dolly state of jealous intense incandescent love relationship. All I wanted was for the entire world, including his drunken deranged needy faithless wife and the musicians who made up his career, to piss off and disappear. Instead, I ended it and made a deal with myself, apparently, to feel nothing because I was afraid it would kill me.
I remember nothing at all between January and late October of 1976. Nothing. Real live fugue state. It's now 28 years later and the blocked memories have become monsters, and I'm bleeding over it.
Better to feel it now. Really. Much better.
What Deb said.
I need help. I need someone to tell me I really have a very good excuse to buy this dress. Any takers?
I need someone to tell me I really have a very good excuse to buy this dress.
You're alive, and female?
Truth to tell, I was almost lost forever looking at the sweater next to it. I loves it, I do.
I know I've said this, but I'm driven to repeat it, because I genuinely believe it
And I need to hear it. Again and again and fucking again. I really do.
Because I would rather feel ripped apart and crying now than be bleeding over it in the future if I don't have to be.
I have this theory percolating in my brain on what it can mean to be soul mates, and truly know someone else's soul. It is very dark right now. Which is skewed because I honestly believe that you can have that and have it be a really positive thing. Hell, I think I've even seen it in other people. Rarely, but I have.
I need someone to tell me I really have a very good excuse to buy this dress.
Want. Need. Buy. Have. And get the sweater too, Sail.
