I want to know why this is happening.
That makes total sense.
[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 want to know why this is happening.
That makes total sense.
Could it be the feeling so crappy physically for the last few days, Tep?
I'm sorry, Teppy. Surprise panic attacks are of the extra special kind of suck.
I'm catching up on the Jon & Kate Plus 8 now.
Teppy, I'm thinking supportive thoughts for you as you puzzle out the source of the anxiety attack.
sj, much safe, progressing birth~ma for your cousin.
smonster, I'm sorry that you have icky cold calling to do. That is totally not fun.
Harvey is curled up in my arms as I type (thank the internet gods for the pouch he's in, or I couldn't type!). He's purring so sweetly and softly, I wish I could pour this purr through the interpipes to make everyone feel relaxed and loved and happy.
Windsparrow, thanks for the good wishes.
thank the internet gods for the pouch he's in
linky, please? i've joked about something like this for one of my cats.
I just walked into a large pane of glass. The doorway was a few inches to the right, it seems.
Did you also knock over a fruit stand while fleeing from the cops?
::slips Hitchhiker's Guide To the Galaxy motto through the interpipes to Teppy::
My standard response when he says, "Do you KNOW how many calories are in that?!?" is "I don't actually care."
Chatty: "Do you KNOW how many calories are in that?!?"
Tep: "No, but I know exactly how many fat cells are between your ears: Three billion two hundred and seventy eight."
Or, in a perhaps more Michiganian response:
"I'm not sure of the calorie count, but I'm certain you're a fucking asshole."
"I'm not sure of the calorie count, but I'm certain you're a fucking asshole."
"I can diet tomorrow, but you'll still be a classless douchenozzle."