Trudy!!
Spike's Bitches 31: We're Motivated Go-getters.
[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.
I had a porny dream about Nathan Fillion and Joe saw Joaquin Phoenix at the gas station across the street from our house. Joe saw him and said to him, "My wife's gonna kill me."
Joe saw Joaquin Phoenix in the dream, or really?
'Cause if it's really...man, I have no words.
Megan!
Trudy,
You know, if you're at all concerned with impending nuclear doom, now might be a perfect time for a visit. No chance of an attack here that's for sure.
I guess you could slash D'Argo with Crais...but mostly I like him with Crichton. And D'Argo needs his slashing.
Hah!
I had wanted to go away this long weekend, but post-surgical dog cries in her sherpa bag -- it seems the stitches hurt her when she's all curled up.
Feh. Stoopidness of stitches.
I'm trying to get into hotmail and can't. My suspicion is that it is now too much for my dial-up with all it's upcoming bells and whistles. Oy.
Alright, I have to go to the place on the corner to check my email. Oy. There are messages in it and I suspect they relate to sacred brides maid duties.
Joe saw Joaquin Phoenix in the dream, or really?
Really truly. He was buying Red Bull and Gatorade. Joe was in line in front of him, wearing his "Xander Harris Saved the World" t-shirt and JP asked him about it. He never watched Buffy. Joe kind of freaked him out with the whole, "My wife is gonna kill me" bit, but Joe explained and then JP said, "Thank you. And tell her thank you."
If I had been there, I'd have called him "Leaf".
Poor Dallas! I'm glad all went well with the surgery though.
If you change your mind, I have a car for all of this month, so I can always zip up to Wilmington to get you whenever.
b) he still told her and us that her wrothful tale was boring to him. Mebbe the Python could have been applied without that part?
Though I'm not married, it would seem better to take a diplomatic tack and not actually tell one's spouse that they're (or the story they're telling) is *boring.* That's not the kindest thing to say.
In conclusion, I'm going swimming today in my cute new suit, which really does look killer on me. And I discovered, in trying it on and pulling out my measuring tape, that I have an 11-inch waist-hip differential. (A lot of that comes from belly fat, though, and not actual curviness of hips.) (Not that I'm not curvy. I curve all over.)