My car used to set off its alarm for no damn reason at all. Still does, sometimes. Oddly, it stopped doing that (much) about the time I promised I wasn't going to sell it. My car is neurotic.
Spike's Bitches 37: You take the killing for granted.
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risqué (and frisqué), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Why is it that the sound of leather on leather is more likely to send me to a twenty-year-old making out with leather jacketed boyfriend place than a ten-year-old horseback riding place? I heard that sound for eight years before I even discovered boys.
edit: this musing brought to you by two shots of Jim Beam and the sound of leather on leather.
I've only had homicidal feelings about Rex Grossman once so far.
I just caught the post-game wrapup on the radio on the way back from ChiKat's tonight, and have had homicidal feelings about Grossman pretty much nonstop since then.
yeah. I posted that at half time. ugh.
It's morning.
It's MONDAY.
Can we rewind and have it be Sunday morning again?
I'm with that, Anne. I was so crazy all weekend that I don't feel like I *had* a weekend!
We need a TARDIS.
We need a TARDIS.
Indeed. If mine could come pre-stocked w/ a 10th Doctor and/or Capt. Jack, so much the better.