The Boy and I were talking the other day about coming out to SF.
[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.
Hee. I love Scola The Enabler.
The Boy and I were talking the other day about coming out to SF.
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Heh. Not *moving* out there; just vacation.
Woo! marks calendar, prepares hangover remedies
Woot!!!
Sending out the ma~~~ I 'm just hoping I have had enough meds that I don't start randomly yelling about the plants having sex ( and then needing to rest for half an hour because I used up all my air) But i feel awake enough to go get coffee.
Heh. Not *moving* out there; just vacation.
Pffft. So you say now. September with San Francisco at its prettiest, and Folsom Street, and the Boy? We'll just see.
Much, much ~ma to Cash and poor sick Owen.
And hearing-back-today~ma to sj and TCG. The sooner you're out of there and free from the disagreeable landlady and the stream of lookers and realtors, the better. And I forgot to mention it at the time, but I'm both sorry and incredibly amused that your evil stinky-fish-dish plot a few days ago was totally undermined by your culinary skill.
Baby sleep report: Matilda only woke twice last night, at midnight and 3:30. Both times she fed and went peacefully back to sleep, and now she's wide awake and chatting happily with David. Lots of "Okay" and "Hey!" in this morning's conversation.
I think I insulted Matilda when I gave her a raspberry on Saturday. She went from coo'ing to full on pissed off in a second. I'm losing my touch.
They rock. Sometimes, I’ll put a heating pad on top of the compress to keep it hot. Yes, I’m risking electrocution, but since I’m praying for death at that point anyway, it’s a moot point.It is nigh impossible to find a plug-in heating pad. Mine died and I miss it like whoa. Because screw electrocution, I want the constant heat. Or death. Something.
She's just tetchy with the teething, and also possibly heading into stranger fear. On Sunday at church she was flirting and cooing and grinning with a very friendly lady in a pretty Sunday hat, and out of nowhere she went from Big!Merry!Smile! to her entire face turning into a clenched little red fist and exploding with woo woo woo waugh! for no reason at all. It's awful; her woe is both heartbreaking and incredibly comic, and it's so disconcerting to the poor person who's just been happily chatting with her.
But, in short, not you. She's got a funky little brain and its ways are deep and mysterious.
Always fun to come back to work after vacation and find piles of crap all over your desk and your coworkers looking like puppies who just piddled all over the carpet.