Good Lord Fay that haircut is magic. Wowza.
I counter with a photo of me taken in work yesterday...
That's a Facebook link, so I hope it works.
[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.
Good Lord Fay that haircut is magic. Wowza.
I counter with a photo of me taken in work yesterday...
That's a Facebook link, so I hope it works.
Whatever happened to conservation of matter? Does it just not apply to bookshelves?
I'm convinced that books behave like a gas - they will expand to fill the space alloted to them. Literature abhors a vaccum.
ION, I just found out that my sister who's in China right now may move to LA when her contract is up. Which would still leave me with one sister in NYC and one sister in CA, but they'll have switched places and it is FREAKING ME OUT.
Fay, awesome hair. He's deeply stupid if he doesn't get the hot that is you. (But blokes can be stupid like that. I apparently cause IQ's to drop by entering a room.) But I'm not exactly endorsing the "Be bold! confess!" plan. Because I did it, and got a very talented beta reader, but no snoggage. Just enough flirting to fuck with my head once in a while, and that's all. I guess I'm glad I did it because it was incredibly nervy, but there are no guarantees.
Literature abhors a vaccum.
Hence the dust.
But I'm not exactly endorsing the "Be bold! confess!" plan
Yeah, the "be bold! confess!" hasn't usually worked out for me. Nor has it often worked out for the people (hi, 52 year old!) who have said it to me. On the other hand, I have had several people who like, YEARS LATER have said shit about having crushes on me, where I'm like "well, why didn't you say somethig at the TIME", so maybe if more people DID seize the day, more of those stories would work out, you know??
(And that's not to say it's always ended up as some awkward horrible situation or anything. Sometimes it's just like "Oh, uh...I kinda figured. OK. Nevermind then." And we move on)
I totally flung myself at Mr. Jane. Like, naked in his bed when he got home from work flung.
That's not flinging. That's launching out of a catapult. Go you.
Well, I flirt with everyone, so I needed a way to let him know that he was special.
Well, Daisy, all I can say about that, is good job it worked out. John hockenberry has a story like that in his book that didn't, and he ended up under her bed out of his wheelchair while she did someone else.
The thing is that flinging yourself at someone doesn't always result in Things Happening. In fact, it often doesn't. What is does do is end the constant "is he or is he not interested" bit, so that you can move on and meet someone else and stop wasting your time.
I discovered years later that I missed out on a very interesting guy because I was hopelessly wibbling on a COMPLETE ASSHOLE (i.e. I said "what ever happened to bob?" friend said "blah, blah, blah. You know he was totally into you, right?" shocked stare "yeah, it was when you were crushing on AssholeGuy and he thought you weren't interested")