I didn't mean to kill the thread, or make you all go run out and get crabcakes or ice cream. Um, are you all on your way to my house right now, and that's why there's been no posts for OVER AN HOUR? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? I NEED ENTERTAINMENT!
'Sleeper'
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.
yes, we ARE all on the way to your house. Make sure you act surprised when we get there.
OK, well, there's only one couch and one other pillow besides mine, so first come first served! Who gets the couch, and who sleeps with me? But there's plenty of ice cream. The half-gallon was on sale!
Perkins ruined the surprise.
I do that. It's a thing.
I promise I'll pretend to be surprised. I'll be in bed, and...
My stomach decided to rebel against me as soon as I had finished my super yummy dinner. Teacup Guy is fine, so it wasn't my cooking.
700 Club Slut!
Timelies, all.
It's been an orientally interesting day.
In no particular order:
I drove from work this afternoon to the eyeglass place to get my bent frames adjusted. Go out to the parking lot, and the car won't start. Click. Then nothing. Cue three hours of world-class networking by Hubby at home to get various friends to ferry me and then the battery to our "son", who usefully works at a garage. Corrosion had frelled up the connection. I now have squeaky clean battery terminals. Cost: three hours and no dollars and no cents.
Cop stops by the house, Hubby comes out suspiciously. Cop comments favorably that the fence was now standing up straight and concealing the cars in the backyard. Apparently the neighbors had feared vandalism. Also the teenagers of the neighborhood have been gossping about the "hot rod" we've got back there ('69 Mustang, seen better days, for sale). Cop also says, "Oh, you finally got curtains up. Gosh, you've got dandelions." Yes, the neighborhood is kind of Stepford, but at least no one is hounding us about church.
Teenaged boy comes back for second scouting run on said Mustang. His girlfriend's dad wants to get a car to restore for her, and he sent teenager over to see if it does start and how much it smokes. We're asking 2K, but we wouldn't mind at all if word got out and a bidding war occurred.
I need to call the parent company of the software I'm doing tech support for to arrange an interview, as they're pulling the tech support back into the main office and are looking at bringing over some of the trained support staff. In the course of discussing this with Hubby, I discover that he harbors secret beliefs that I'm too old to be economically viable. "Schedule the interview for later this week, then you can go and get your hair colored." True, it looks better as a clearer copper red, but my hair color is perfectly acceptable for what it is--except for the obvious locks of grey that are beginning to show. To me, they're cool accents. To him, they're dirty blonde evidence of--well, of something apparently.
I am tired of interesting.