I wish I could say I write 9-5. It's usually more like 8-6, every day but the weekends.

You tried to slide his original curse back onto him?” Al said in wonder. “At the restaurant? And I stopped you? Sweet mother pus bucket!” he exclaimed, and I swear, dust sifted from the ceiling. “Rachel, we have to work on this communication thing.

He grinned. “That’s because pixies are ever-after. We’re magic, baby. Just ask Matalina.

Oh for the sweet humpin' love of Tink! ~ Jenks

Find Eloy. Smack his head into a wall, dance on his guts... I'd get creative. Spontaneous like.

Memories of ice and Trent surfaced, and I wrapped my arms around my middle. I had saved him, and he had saved me. What was wrong with us?

Rachel, what do you do? Put an ad in the paper for trouble? (Glenn)