This is not Luther.
Spike's Bitches 47: Someone Dangerous Could Get In
[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.
Takes me to the Tumbler log in page.
bonny, sounds like an absolutely delicious and well-deserved treat. And now I want sorbet.
HFS, I am helping a neighbor friend pack and I just want to throw EVERYTHING into the trash. Soooo much cheap crap she doesn't need and won't miss. But we're not close enough and she's kind of far along in the process. I must go home and clean out my whole house, which I needed to do anyway.
DONATE ALL THE THINGS. Then you don't have to clean them.
Heh...I am Ruthless McRuthlesserson when I help friends pack. I am BRUTAL.
"When's the last time you saw it? Wore it? Uh-huh. Family heirloom? No? Donate or recycling—HEY, THERE'S NO CRYING IN PACKING!!"
Beverly, it boots me to the login page, as well.
smonster, I know that one (Note to Aimee: I'm not talking about you, don't worry). I want the heat to break, so I can clean and whatnot (this is a very strange feeling, wanting to do housework).
Strix needs to come to my house. I bet. I bet folding $$ that my house would make you weep real tears.
We are weeping as we pack.
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P-C, I am not a medical doctor, but I would talk my entire compromised bank acct to Vegas to bet that you absolutely do not have a stroke if BOTH of your wrists hurt. I would actually be more worried if it were just one.
I'm voting secretly being treated behind his own back for multiple myeloma. WAY more plausible. :)
Am I allowed to be sweaty if it's only 75 here? I did walk up and down and back and forth. Tried on a bunch of jeans in a size that actually fits, but didn't buy any of them because for some reason the thrift store only had petites. Random.
Later roommate and I are going to go eat sushi and watch movies. Separately, because we don't want to see the same thing.
Am I allowed to be sweaty if it's only 75 here?
No.
I have a solid self-concept and do not need external validation, but when I got to the bottom of my unread emails telling me that I have new followers on Twitter and found that I had been retweeted by Neil Gaiman, I may have said, "Holy shit!" in my head, at the very least.
Sorry. Here you go. Silly, but it made me happy. And still not Luther.