I hate being so stupid. I go out for a simple errand to get some things at the grocery store. I take one wrong turn, and I get myself completely lost. Then I panic. Home safe now, but I hate this.
Spike's Bitches 30: Going on Thirteen
[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.
Or at least, I don't, because in my own idiom this is a tank top.
I think that's a pull-over.
I'd call that a sweater vest.
Plei, Fay's waistcoat is also called a waistcoat here, if it's formalwear, isn't it, or have I just read too many British novels?
Cindy's nouns are my nouns.
Still want bed and chocolate. And good Xander fic. Any recommendations? (I loved Victor's Converstation with a Monster.) eta: Also, I prefer non-slashy stuff.
I've had a headache all day. Do you think eating chocolate and being in Fay and ChiKat's bunk would help make it go away?
Sail - I'll give it a try and report back.
Way to take one for the team, Suzi.
coughgreedycough.
Damn straight. I've had this @()*#&@# headache for 4 days now.
I have actually made a doctor's appt for tomorrow about it. Hopefully just making the appt will scare it away.
So, I just told my dad that I joined Match.com, since his "solution" to my current potential living situation is that I should get married. He got a little too excited. I knew there was a reason I wasn't going to tell them about that.
Yes, Jen, I am a "Wire" *fiend* who's been counting down to the new season for months. Fair warning though: The Wire is even more love-it-or-hate-it than Homicide and the arcs are long. You will either think it's brilliant or like watching paint dry. There is no middle ground. Except for the ep named "Middle Ground" which got an emmy nomination.
So, I just told my dad that I joined Match.com, since his "solution" to my current potential living situation is that I should get married.
Um. Don't you need to find a solution in, like, 90 days? Unless you are going to marry Emily (and listen to me, honey -- smart, pretty, mathy, helps with the dishes and fusses lovingly over you when you're feeling low: you could do a lot worse), I don't think Match.com is quite the solution you need.
Of course, dads get slightly craxy about all that grown-up daughter stuff. Last weekend my dad's girlfriend pulled me aside and told me sotto voce that for the past three years running she'd had to talk my dad out of giving us kids baby clothes as Christmas presents. His idea of a gentle yet witty hint. @@