This is a no-win situation for me.
"Hello, Tuesday, is it time again for my guaranteed humiliation?"
I shouldn't have to leave home for that. IJS.
'Serenity'
[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.
This is a no-win situation for me.
"Hello, Tuesday, is it time again for my guaranteed humiliation?"
I shouldn't have to leave home for that. IJS.
I shouldn't have to leave home for that. IJS.
Would you prefer to have your humiliation delivered?
I shouldn't have to leave home for that. IJS.
Would you prefer to have your humiliation delivered?
In-house, baby.
I actually don't care about that as much as being embarrassed to admit to co-workers (and you guys) that I was all freaked out over gas pains or something.
With everything your Father has been through and the genetic hand you are slowly being dealt I will do nothing but say a prayer of thanks that its gas. I will follow it up with a quick prayer of petition that such pains for you always be gas.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Go Teppy! (which, btw, the iPhone wants to make repot). Be assertive, even if it's nothing, better than starting to be like your dad early all "oh, it's not that bad of a heart attack, I'll just drive to the hospital...". Heh.
PC, nice hangup story. Also, why I could never ever be a sales person or a telephone solicitor, omg. Though at least now I'm ok with the phone as opposed to when I was a teenager and wouldn't even order pizza.
The new episode of Axe Cop is up, and I grabbed the tagline before anyone else could!
I don't want Cheney to die just yet because I want him to be convicted of war crimes.
It's possible I'm being too naive here....
Would you prefer to have your humiliation delivered?
In-house, baby.
Er, I should hasten to explain that I don't mean abusive-humiliation. I mean sexy-humiliation, and yes, it's a Thing.
With everything your Father has been through
Part of me REALLY wants to call him and tell him to meet me at the hospital.
"oh, it's not that bad of a heart attack, I'll just drive to the hospital..."
Yeah, uh, I was figuring I'd drive myself.
Seriously.
What? I am my father's daughter!
It's possible I'm being too naive here....
I'm afraid you'll have to settle for myocardial infarction.
Infarct you, Cheney!
(See how I indulged my inner 10 y.o. there?)
Andi, your post broke my heart. I don't want to diminish your struggles, but I have to disagree wholeheartedly about one part. You're really beautiful. And I have high standards and do not give out comments on exterior beauty very often. So.