At my boss' house at a bbq. Had a few beers. Taking a poop - there's no TP...this is my nightmare.
Probably should plan this out. Step one: grow stache. Two: get trenchcoat. Three: Kidnap Selena Gomez.
I had better be fucking involved with step four.
Just showed mom and dad the pics from San Francisco, while i played the Full House theme song in the background.
The glockenspiel player has some booze though so hopefully the ride won't be that bad
The last memory I have is vomiting into a box and her rubbing my back saying "you are such a trooper..."
Rain ponchos don't count as shirts at the bar. FYI.
she tried to douche with champagne. in front of all of us. unabashedly.
woke up to see a man wearing a sailor hat and covered in vomit sneaking out the door. Epic night indeed.
Finishing last nights 1.5L of wine and beef jerky for breakfast. Work looms, ever the prickly bitch.
I can't feel my tongue. And that means go. Green means go. And you know what Barney says. Green means go and woah means no. DRIIIIINKK
I have already been up, showered, had a cup of coffee brought to me, added a little rum to cure the hangover, had sex and kicked him out and it's only 1pm. Successful day so far.
You know you gave a quality blow job when you have to ice your neck and jaw the next day.
Can you please stop fucking every bartender in the city? Just once I want to have a Jack and Coke without fielding questions about your availability.
21st birthday weekend in Vegas has concluded and all I'm missing is my underwear and 'Contacts' icon on my phone home screen.
Once you start using "cuddles" as a code word for sex you'll never get real cuddles again
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