So of course that was the moment my motherboard decided to do a short internal scan, throw up its hands, and screech, “Dear Lawd, a VAMPIRE has taken mah blood!” and initiate a general shutdown.

It looks as if I was thinking what you were thinking." "Actually, you weren't. I was really thinking I needed to ask you a question." "What was that?" "Do you think we should ask Goatee Guy how to find the caterer?" I smiled at him innocently as his eyebrows pratically met above his nose. "I am never going to share my pet peeves with you again."

communication is such a two-edged sword for guys. On the one hand, they almost always mean what they say. Refreshing, I know. On the other hand, getting them to actually say it can be like coaxing a corpse to tap-dance. Not that it can't be done. But it's so freaking exhausting. Not to mention the cost in heavyweight fishing line and Savion Glover videos.

When I bite you, it'll be because I want to make your toes curl and your hair stand on end. And you won't need stitches afterward. You'll need crutches.

The padlock clicked open. A voice soundingoddly like South Parks's Cartman echoed through my quivering brain. Goddammit!

So... you're an assassin?" Dave asked incredulously. "Why do I feel like you'd have used the same tone if I'd just confessed to being a stripper?" I demanded. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I'm just surprised, is all.

Have you dared to eat my son?" I laughed. Actually, it started out as more of a giggle that grew. Because my mind went straight to the gutter.