Oh no, Kristin, I'm so sorry for you.
You have reached Ritual Sacrifice. For goats, press one or say 'goats.' To sacrifice a loved one or pet, press the pound key.
Phone Menu Voice ,'Conviction (1)'
Spike's Bitches 40: Buckle Up, Kids! Daddy's Puttin' the Hammer Down.
[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.
billytea - Mar 19, 2008 6:19:28 pm PDT #637 of 10001
You were a wrong baby who grew up wrong. The wrong kind of wrong. It's better you hear it from a friend.
brenda m - Mar 19, 2008 6:20:51 pm PDT #638 of 10001
If you're going through hell/keep on going/don't slow down/keep your fear from showing/you might be gone/'fore the devil even knows you're there
Ooh, poor baby. That goes for both of you. But I'm still hoping the doctor gives you some better news than it looks.
Pix - Mar 19, 2008 6:21:27 pm PDT #639 of 10001
We're all getting played with, babe. -Weird Barbie
I am changing the topic.
Pickles. Discuss.
SuziQ - Mar 19, 2008 6:21:55 pm PDT #640 of 10001
Back tattoos of the mother is that you are absolutely right - Ame
No need to be sorry, hon. You have a lot going on right now.
P.M. Marc - Mar 19, 2008 6:22:08 pm PDT #641 of 10001
So come, my friends, be not afraid/We are so lightly here/It is in love that we are made; In love we disappear
Sweet or dill? And did you have any of E's when you saw her last?
Pix - Mar 19, 2008 6:22:37 pm PDT #642 of 10001
We're all getting played with, babe. -Weird Barbie
Dill. And no, but she did give me quince.
brenda m - Mar 19, 2008 6:26:52 pm PDT #643 of 10001
If you're going through hell/keep on going/don't slow down/keep your fear from showing/you might be gone/'fore the devil even knows you're there
I had beer battered pickles at a "gastropub" (read restaurant with kind of frou frou food and good beer) recently and they were unexpectedly delicious.
WindSparrow - Mar 19, 2008 6:30:31 pm PDT #644 of 10001
Love is stronger than death and harder than sorrow. Those who practice it are fierce like the light of stars traveling eons to pierce the night.
I had beer battered pickles at a "gastropub" (read restaurant with kind of frou frou food and good beer) recently and they were unexpectedly delicious.
Part of me thinks that sounds horrible, and another part would like to try it. Perhaps if I were a few sheets to the wind. I like my pickles dill and my relish sweet.
P.M. Marc - Mar 19, 2008 6:37:27 pm PDT #645 of 10001
So come, my friends, be not afraid/We are so lightly here/It is in love that we are made; In love we disappear
Mmm. Dill.
My mother doesn't like it, so she always insists on serving sweet. Despite the fact that ALL the rest of us would rather have dill.
(She rode in a car on a hot day that was filled with dill, over a bumpy country road. This would have been in the 1940s, when cars were less with the comfortable and air conditioned. She never has managed to get over the dill hate.)
Ooo. Quince! I have envy.
Atropa - Mar 19, 2008 6:39:46 pm PDT #646 of 10001
The artist formerly associated with cupcakes.
You know, now that I know someone who makes her own pickles, I really should try them again to see if my childhood dislike of them has gone away. Because I do love E's Rosemary's Baby Carrots.
Plei, do you want me to see if she'd be willing to swap you a jar of quince paste for a jar of something you made?