Elizabeth Anne Taylor April 25, 1974 - April 25, 2004 Our Sweetheart, Only resting

Why is it suddenly uncool to spell? That's all I want to know.

I was so furious I was actually dizzy with it. There were so many bitchy, sarcastic observations to make, I was having a sarcasm stroke. "My God! You people! You're - you're so stupid you're making my eyeballs throb. They're throbbing, dammit!

It's nice to see you again, Laura." "Thank you, Mrs. T-" "No, no, no. Please, my name is-" "Mud," I suggested. "Mud Barfbag Taylor. Call her Asshat for short." ~Laura, Antonia, Betsy

Here I am, just wandering down a deserted street in the middle of the night. I hope I don't run into any trouble. Goodness, that would just ruin my whole evening." I strolled and hummed, trying to project Innocent Victim.

My my Laura Goodman. I must say that is a charming name for a charming young lady." "Eric's old." I broke in. "Really really old." "Er— really?" Laura asked. "Gosh you don't look even out of your thirties." "Tons of face-lifts. He's a surgical addict. I'm trying to get him help." I added defensively when they both gave me strange looks.

Kissing Sinclair was like making out with a sexy timber wolf— he was licking my fangs and nipping me lightly and growling under his breath and it was...oh, it was really something.