maybe it's trying to dirty dance with you.
(...grind... get it.... OK, not one of my best)
'Time Bomb'
[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.
maybe it's trying to dirty dance with you.
(...grind... get it.... OK, not one of my best)
I've had something like brain zaps -- if I miss more than two days of Zoloft, I get these intermittent shorting-out sensations that feel a whole damn lot like they're happening inside my brain, and feel a whole damn lot like a very mild electric shock (extremely mild, kind of like the momentary ick you get if you bite on foil when you have metal fillings or retainers). It doesn't even last a full second, but it's amazingly unpleasant.
Oh, ugh, Sean. Have you already tried turning it off and blasting it with a can of compressed air? It's a little appalling how many giant dust bunnies can somehow hide in such a little space with a fan going the whole time.
And, Shir, what everyone said. Write the letter yourself and let the Buffistas edit it, then have her tweak or sign off. Although having Nilly as your back-up plan is nothing short of spectacular.
Oh, friends...
JZ, I may open it up later and see if I can do anything. I may just disconnect it, at least temporarily.
I'm quite speechless.
I came here thinking of a rant, trying to make peace with with it all. I didn't think, for a moment, that I'll find here a course of action.
To say that I'm grateful will be an understatement. You are amazing, kind and generous folks, and I'm very lucky to have you in my life.
Those who offered to review my self-rec - profile addys are good?
Edit: I forgot I was writing this post at 23:51, w/o spellcheck.
we are borg. You have been assimilated!
Mine is, Shir.
Yup. Don't say things if you don't want help with them. We're like that.
At this point, I don't really care if you all end up being three sick and twisted men who are seekretly conspiring to get my ass to the U.S. and sell my organs to experimental conceptual artists.
I'll still love you.
Damn, she's on to us.
Two sick and twisted men, one diabolical guinea pig. /pedant