Sorry to hear it Steph. So how did you get the boo-boo? I figure any story you don't want to tell dad, you should tell us.
Paul Newman? Still hot. Damn.
Dawn ,'Selfless'
[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.
Sorry to hear it Steph. So how did you get the boo-boo? I figure any story you don't want to tell dad, you should tell us.
Paul Newman? Still hot. Damn.
Steph, it's a hospital. If I were going to choose a public, lit place to cry, I figure I could do it in a hospital. This is stressful.
kinda crazy out-of-control men are scary
Really? I say that half-facetiously, but I don't know if it holds up in fiction either. Not if we're talking the same sort of out-of-control as the women (who strike me as not much more than quirky with an optional side of self destructive, depending on the lesson we need to learn).
Ooh, now I want to hear the mysterious falling down story...
Also, who else votes that Teppy leave the hospital entirely and have something good to eat, even if it's just Panera or something?
What Meara said.
I vote Teppy go and get something to eat!
((Teppy))) I'm wishing much heart~ma to your Dad.
Sorry to whine so much, people. I snarfed a muffin in addition to the glue sandwich, and now I'm back in Dad's ER room. Still waiting on the test results. He told me that he has enough money to take a taxi home and that I should go home.
Yeah, because *that* will win me Daughter of the Year.
God, it's 5:00. This sucks.
Sorry to whine.
It's okay, Teppy. I once lost my shit so hard in a hospital, they got the chaplain. My being enraged was a big surprise for Father O'Rourke.
Tep, please don't apologize. You're under a lot of stress and hospitals are just not easy unless you're there for a birth of a child. Vent as much as you need to.
Oh, and that Daughter of The Year award doesn't even exist. Let it go.
Tep, please don't apologize.
No, you guys don't need me to whine. It's not fair, and by now it has doubtless gotten old. It's not your (anyone's; the plural "you") responsibility to make me feel better just because I suck at actually having any kind of meatspace support system. I deserve everything that happens to me, you know?
I think they spiked your tuna sandwich because that's just craxy talk. Don't forget, I have your cell number and since you can't answer your phone in the ER, I'll be forced to leave a very long, very ranty, and sometimes very schmoopy message about how strong and supportive and CRAXY you are.
DON'T THINK I WON'T!!!