I'm post-er-riffic right now, but Facebook cracks me up! I am "friends" with my students, and I just discovered that my student wore an evening dress from the costume shop to her senior ball. I could care less, frankly, but I really hope she had it drycleaned before putting it back. My costume teacher would have had a FIT.
'Our Mrs. Reynolds'
Natter 65: Speed Limit Enforced by Aircraft
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, pandas, duct tape, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
Epstein? Washington?
IN THE GIANT FAN!!! Mwahahaha.
I think I just got that you were suggesting he was in the house fan that scares you. Me=slow. And he can't get up there!
Man, I need to put in a call to get that checked out. I could really use the shit out of that thing.
That one guy? Who isn't Kotter or barbarino? Does he/she mean Horshack?
Freddie Boom Boom Washington, obviously.
A lovely time was had with the Industries, Martin friend-of-industry, Calli, and smonster, although it's crazy to think I hadn't seen Cor in person in something close to a decade.
So sorry about Frank, lisah.
Yeah. Although I think I found what I wanted-- the Monteleone.
Carousel bar!
Dinner was lovely, and the industrial friend's name is Martin iirc. I foresee Ms. Industries and amyth and I having looong sustainability gabfests.
Lisah, so sorry about your Frank.
msbelle, strength to you.
Glad flea got home okay.
Epstein? Washington?
"No, 'cause I do this:" (mimics standup bass) boom, boom, boom, boomboomboom
Aww, Little Juan. Truefax. Many's the time I offered to write an excuse for a kid who'd lingered at our house past curfew. I signed them StY's or StE's mother.
"Ooh! Ooh! It's a very popular name. It means 'the cattle are dying.'"
Carousel bar!
I was gonna say that! In fact, I think I still will.
Carousel Bar!
Ginger, I'm going to see a doctor about it. It's clearly not going away on its own. I'll ask about Prilosec.
sarameg, Leo did that to me once. About two weeks after I'd gotten him, I came home and he was *nowhere*. I was frantic, until after about fifteen minutes of searching and calling, he walked in the kitchen, blinking and yawning. Later I discovered that he could crawl up *inside* the couch.
Health~ma for your mother, Cashmere.
"Help, there's a hog in my kitchen." Why do I remember that line decades later?
The shithead has been plastered to me ever since. It's like he knows he freaked me out (or that's his SOP 95% of the time I am home. )