Xander ,'Lessons'
[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.
I've begun to wonder if any sort of behavior that leans toward either side of staid is considered part of a syndrome. Sure, the extremes are worrisome and anything that interferes with normal functioning should be dealt with, but the mild ones seem to be the natural effects of a passionate life.
I sometimes wonder if drug companies sit around coming up with things to sell drugs for. "Hm, knobby toes, do we have anything that we can sell to treat knobby toes?"
I haven't noticed the seasonal affective this year yet. I usually get it pretty badly, which is a shame because I love Autumn. Maybe it's because we hardly had any sun this summer. If so, that's fine with me.
Okay, no more buffista children are allowed to fracture anything. (Seriously, I hope Abby's okay and feeling better.)
Aw, Seska, yay for grandmas who are more with it than we give them credit for!
And because it made me happy and I hope it makes my Bitches struggling with the moods a little happy, some Muppet Therapy.
Okay, no more buffista children are allowed to fracture anything. (Seriously, I hope Abby's okay and feeling better.)
If you could stop them peeing on themselves too, that would be lovely.
If you could stop them peeing on themselves too, that would be lovely.
They'll just pee on you.
Or, you know, rubbing blueberries into the light beige carpet.
Not that I know anything about that.
They'll just pee on you.
Or the dog
(Which is what Nate did. In spectacular fashion, when he was about Ryan's age.)
I sometimes wonder if drug companies sit around coming up with things to sell drugs for.
That might be the case in the US. Over here, our psychiatrists are loathe to diagnose anyone with anything. I didn't get my diagnosis until five years after I starting seeking help (and I was ill enough that I had to go to hospital for a bit).
Interesting parallel that I've just noticed: there was the same reluctance to diagnose my genetic musculoskeletal disorder. That diagnosis took over 25 years. (My mother, who first sought help when I was aged 2, was not impressed to hear, 25 years later, that my medical notes from back then branded her 'neurotic'.)
Our NHS: we love it, but it drives us crazy with its "Go away, you've probably got a cold" attitude to everything.