What temp, though?
A billion. Celcius.
Drusilla ,'Conversations with Dead People'
[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.
What temp, though?
A billion. Celcius.
Ppplllbbbttt.
I took it out. The leg juices look clear now.
And I can't find the thermometer anyway. This kitchen has, like, seven thousand used cereal bags and about a bazillion used twist ties, but actual tools? Not so much.
I didn't hear how her incision was closed, but I can guarantee you her cervix is a perky little smiley-face right now.
Signed, The Cervix Lady
Hee.
I was taped.
WE LOVE YOU CERVIX LADY!!!
And you know, the look on your face when you got that phone call is still in my top ten moments of ever.
Drew hanging up the phone and saying, "What? I have no boundaries!" is one of my favorites.
Getting that phone call still ranks in my top ten moments ever, so we're all even here.
Amy, don't the legs take longer to cook, anyway, than the breast? Isn't that why one fears the dry breastessess at Thanksgiving? Or something?
Oh, you guys, Buffista ~ma is like magic, or something!
I misunderstood my dad about what exactly he was having done today (which isn't unusual, b/c he frequently tells me the wrong procedure/medication/movie title/etc.). He was having an angiogram, to determine if there was blockage that needed to be opened. *He* said it was an angioplasty to open up blockage, just because he assumed that there must be blockage, b/c there always is.
So the doctor does the angiogram, to see what's the sitch in the vein graft. Result: NO BLOCKAGE.
Dude. No fucking blockage in my Dad's stubborn, recalcitrant vein graft!!! So no angioplasty. So he's home already.
Unfuckingbelievable, in the very best way. Woot!
Thanks thanks THANKS for the cardiac~ma!
Yay Teppy's dad!