I think Charlie st. Cloud is the saddest thing I can masturbate to.
First of all, I don't like eggnog. Second of all too much rum is all bad. And thirdly I'm not there to sit in your lap and pretend you are Santa and I've been a bad girl.
I should probably go to bed before I start to care about why I started drinking in the first place.
I'm working on finding a bottomless situation. Both pants and mimosas.
Sweating vodka and spray tan, I feel like a trophy wife.
YOU WOULD BE SEEING ME. IN MY KITCHEN. BENDING OVER MY OVEN. MAKING YOU CAKE.
Wait, that's an option?
You always seem to be able to bribe me with tequila and Mac and cheese. This relationship of ours will cause me health problems someday.
Thank you for FINALLY joining the Slutasorus Rex club in this conversation.
my roommates tied me up with rope and duct tape then left me outside the door to the hot girls' suite on my floor, knocked on the door and ran away leaving me there with a sign that says free
Please don't pee your pants in the cab. One more time, and im pretty sure the cab companies will refuse to pick you up anymore
it went well until I said "me" instead of "my" and he kept sexting me in character as a pirate
Wait... why were you finger painting at one in the morning?
Think I was still drunk when I woke up cause I went and bought a mandolin
highlight of my day: hitchhiking a ride with random locals. tried to make conversation, asked what they do. driver says "you clearly don't recognize me." turns out i have had sex with him and forgot.
You are officially qualified to graduate from college.
Can you dump a guy for having pierced nipples or is that shallow?
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