My mind said no, but my drink said yes.
Dude, this chick just tossed my salad hard. All that I could picture was a dog trying to get the last of the peanut butter out of the jar of Jiff and trying not to think of how grotesque my last dump was.
Then she tried to kiss me and I wouldn't and she got pissed off and went to sleep. Then about an hour later, her kid called her. She went home and on the way out I told her to wash her mouth before she kissed her kid good night. Weird night..
No, we're smoking outside. We're hot boxing the world.
I'm at the cafe. It's 7am. There is a girl I don't know on my futon who tried to tickle me this morning when I got down from my loft. I also not wearing any underwear.
She's making her own pesto again. Cooking spaghetti in the microwave and "frying" vegetables in the toaster oven. All this while wearing the yellow rubber gloves and saying that the pesto has feelings like a real person. Im terrified.
I had a dream last night that you and me were eating cheesecake and according to my FATHER I was moaning really loud in my sleep. I seriously have issues.
I'm not sure that our 12-years-ago-high-school-"relationship," and 179 texts in the last 4 hours is gonna be enough to squeeze a naked smartphone picture of me. I'm gonna need some chicken wings or Makers Mark before that starts happening.
If we both finish he brings me a beer and cookies, if only he finishes I get wine and cheesecake. I think I'm in love.
so when our kids ask "when did you know you loved mommy?" you're gonna say "when she sent me emoticons about slobbing on my knob?"
Typing up notes at the bar and doing shots with the bartender until close on a Wednesday. This is what my second year of law school has become.
If you're still up for that roadtrip, I managed to end up in Louisiana and could use a ride home.
I'm over my straight phase. They all turned out to be idiots and none of them got me off. I'm going back to hot girls with strap ons.
Me and my liver are not on speaking terms.
but if we have a President Trump come Tuesday, I might throw myself off the Walt Whitman Bridge so Thursday might not work for me after all.
He left cushions on my floor, chocolate on my bra and unexplained scratches on my thighs. I think this one might get a second date.
Randomize
