Epic, that's the exact auction page I've been staring at for a week now. Again, I ask why oh why is there no one making knock-offs of it?
Spike's Bitches 33: Weeping, crawling, blaming everybody else
[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.
Well, Nordstrom is sold out of them, and every place that has them has a higher price tag on it, so I say buy it and hug it tight.
Meh. Temperature is back up. And I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself because The Boy is working tonight and I called him and he sounded indifferent. Or maybe distracted. I just wanted a little sympathy and "poor Teppy" noises. I mean, I know I've got them from all y'all, but it's different when delivered in person by one's own BF. But now I'm all worried that he thinks I'm a huge needy whiny pain in the ass.
Meh.
Yeah, Karl, Clovis is like Omar. He never curses.
Yeah but honey, he can be a huge whiny pain in the ass, too. This is the stuff that dreams are made of.
(For what it's worth, UTIs make me weepy and sad -- fragile and nearly depressed, until I've been on the antibiotics for 24 hours).
That's Teppy's boy, not Karl, Clovis, or Omar.
(For all I know)
Having a disability and needing to pee all the time. Unmixy things.
Yeah but honey, he can be a huge whiny pain in the ass, too. This is the stuff that dreams are made of.
Nah, because my knee-jerk assumption is that any need on my part will lead directly and with all haste to a breakup.
I realize that it's crazy. I do. But it's where my brain goes.
Meh.
For what it's worth, UTIs make me weepy and sad -- fragile and nearly depressed, until I've been on the antibiotics for 24 hours
You know what I want? I want dinner to magically appear, brought by the Dinner Fairies who have read my mind and know what I want for dinner even though *I* don't know what I want.
It's not outside the realm of possibility; just at the very very very very VERY far edge of it.
Oh geez. I bet. Also, stomach viruses.
...
Mixy things? My ears and Harry Connick, Jr.'s singing.
I realize that it's crazy. I do. But it's where my brain goes.
You are not alone.
It's not outside the realm of possibility; just at the very very very very VERY far edge of it.
Damned faires. Insent.