Joe would. There's burning of sage and blood letting involved, I think.
Or maybe that's how to get rid of demons. I can't remember.
[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.
Joe would. There's burning of sage and blood letting involved, I think.
Or maybe that's how to get rid of demons. I can't remember.
maybe that's how to get rid of demons.
I think in this case an exorcism wouldn't be going too far. I do know where to get bundles of sage.
Well, except for the part where I haven't become Queen of the Vampires or something like that, but even then I knew it was a pretty unrealistic dream.
To be fair, love, I think you've come as far towards achieving that dream as is humanly possible. At least for anyone who's more interested in the associated gothly aesthetics, rather than in the whole bloodletting side of things. (I mean, I know there are people out there doing the blood-drinking business and calling themselves children of the night, but it's not particularly sanitary, nor, I rather suspect, is it good for the dry cleaning bill. I prefer your route.)
I'm watching a Playboy video that's so lame I'm not even sure it's porn.
your dad gets his Canadian citizenship that means you can get it too and we can move to Vancouver!
Vancouver is acceptable. It's driving distance from Seattle. And in the right time zone.
This is one of those times when you should listen to the voices in your head.
From what I can tell, many if not most writers have characters who act as voices in their head--this is just the first one I've had who feels qualified to comment on EVERYTHING, not just his own story. And it's all my own fault, because I was having trouble with his voice at first, so I started sort of asking him what he thought of everything from the presidential election to my problems at work. Now he won't shut up, and someone sees me crack a grin in the midst of a contentious staff meeting, and suddenly I'm scrambling for an explanation that isn't, "The dead guy who lives in my head thinks pistols at twenty paces is the only thing that'll solve this."
Is the dead guy in your head a real historical person?
"The imaginary dead guy was right"
Aimee and Joe,
MOVE BACK TO LA GODDAMNIT.
That is all.
In love,
ND