I am dying of drunk and no thats not a typo.
we didnt fuck last night. again. seriously, his place is like where dreams go to die.
Everytime she tries to call me all I can think about is when she tripped walking down my steps during her walk of shame. Then I laugh until it goes to voicemail
The mexican place next the the funeral home has dollar margaritas, our grandfather would want us to act on this... trust me i know.
It snowed today. The whore-inducing weather is official over.
I drank mimosas and played bocce ball in the middle of finals week...now i know how Comm majors feel all the time.
i woke up to the sound of my roommate climbing onto my desk mumbling that she was going to bed
I put labels all over the house on things I think are mine. A cactus, the dog, and a bottle of wine.
I feel like everytime I call him he's either fucking or getting into trouble. It's really disturbing that he presses the answer button and then proceeds to fuck her harder.
We haven't even scratched the surface on the damage we could do. Just saying
Also, if you all get arrested i'm coming to laugh at you because i don't have the money for bail.
So this is where people who peaked in high school come to drink?
If I die it's either cuz I undercooked my burger or because I used questionable cheese. I have no pants on, so if there's a wellness check, you go in first.
You're the best thing in my life, followed closely by cannabis and trashy romance novels
Nah, I was done when the Big Pun lookalike began to sob and tell me I looked like his ex...
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