I called Tyra Banks a whore to her face. A sure sign I should go home. Instead I went to the gay bar.
things it involved: vodka, boy parts, possible photos of me on a cell phone. things it did NOT involve last night: my bra, his pants, and sobriety.
We banged through her entire lady gaga playlist. I can die happy now
It'll be a Christmas-Fucking-Miracle if we get through the ceremony without a groomsman vomming
I'm putting "buy a bottle of scotch" on my "productive things to do to procrastinate studying for finals" list
It's amazing how not interested in talking to him I am since I've decided that he probably has chlamydia.
I got a letter from the home owners association saying its against policy to have sex on the trampoline.
i would really love it if at least once per weekend i did not wake up to you half naked passed out on the floor
I had a girl last night tell me that she was happy to find a condom wrapper in my garbage because,and I quote, "well at least you're not raw dogging every slore that crosses your path"
I owe you cheese. The drunk munchies don't acknowledge food ownership.
"I'm in the bathroom. Only place I can sit and relax without that girl trying to give me a lap dance."
I walk in and my mom has a Christian workout program playing. It's like, gospel music with an "electronic" beat to go with it. And then they try to save your soul at the end. I hate being home.
Idk if I deserve a medal or a one way ticket to hell
Word. I want it involving like... sing-a-longs and sniffing glue.
You spent twenty minutes waxing poetic about her ass and her thighs
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