Jeff, I'm sorry, I meant, do you have a ballpark idea for a date and place of your wedding? Although being married at homeplate would be kind of six degrees of awesome...also, the ring is wood? Picture? Now?
Tending to agree with Hannah, though...hmm. Congratulations, Jeff!
So happy, Jeff! And I've never talked much with Layla, to my detriment, but please pass on my congratulations! Ballpark date for the wedding? Is this the first true Lush marriage?
carefully placing Terrence back on top of the nut dispenser, giving him a fond good-bye pet
Ahem. Bill, may I borrow the keys to the stockroom? Also, may I have a glass of water and two orders of double Jack Daniels, neat? And maybe a couple of hand towels? That stockroom can get...tight. And messy.
Seems that Shawn is a bit worried about his first collaboration, his first submission to Lush, period, and I think he needs a little dose of Cowboy Up, courtesy of his collaboration partner. Check that, his collaboration partner needs a little dose of him, and then is going to smack his fine ass, kiss him hard and tell him to cowboy right the fuck up.
*sighing* now I want H. to send me a batch of Anzac biscuits...I've tried to make them, and failed miserably.
Camille, welcome to Lush.
You'll find that the onslaught of unsolicited messages and friend requests dies down a bit after a while. Until then, the "block" button is your friend. Again, welcome and please don't presume that the actions of the few represent the community as a whole.
Stressed over the Competition That Shall Not Be Named
Aww...Bill. Terrence isn't cranky, he's just misunderstood. Did you want me to bring him over so you can pet him too? Look, he's almost purring....no, nope, not a purr. Back away slowly and everything will be fine.
In other news, I'm a dead woman walking as soon as Hannah wakes up. Maybe a nice pear cider before I die? Chased with two double bourbons, neat?
I just WhatsApped her, advising her that due to circumstances beyond my control (read: sons) I am unable to finish even a semblance of a poem. It was nice knowing all of you.
Yah. Hannah. You'll have it by midnight. Just...ugh. A general fear of angering petite women and knowing that I can kill the poem in about two weeks are the only factors going into my submitting anything for consideration in this competition.
Bill, could I have a stiff pour of Drambuie before I have a stiff pour...wait, no, before I meet Lyfbuz? With whom I am going to totally innocent things like carefully counting out the coffee stirrers whilst hiding from Hannah? And totally not committing some consummation Canadian style?
I'll buy the gentleman a drink.
Sleeping. Sleep shift disorder, a polite way of saying that your circadian rhythm is so fucked up by your work schedule that your body has quite literally forgotten how or when to sleep. It's fabulous.
Barkeep, whatever the gentleman prefers, please.
It's because I thoroughly enjoy fellatio, and because turning him on turns me on, and because...see the first bit of the sentence. "Just [wanting] to make him happy" is not part of the equation.
I need coffee, I double posted.
Someone get Mike some coffee, stat. Mike, I was addressing Milik, not you. You're good, Milik's good, it's all good.
Former member of a prestigious Corps de Ballet, now working in the business sector.
