If I don't come home tonight, I've died in a pile of gay.
I*** M*****, this is your dignity texting you. I ditched you when you started hitting on bros and old sailor men last night. My friend Sarah has pictures to prove it.
Hit a parked car with a "property of Jesus Christ" bumper sticker. Wrote out five hail mary's and left it on the windshield.
My broken door handle makes it really inconvient for when i need to puke at red lights.
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I just found my coat check number in my underwear.
That's true. There's really no bad time to take a Vicodin.
It is the Reeses peanut butter cup of pharmaceuticals.
You understand the drunkenness of my drunkenness
In my next life I better get to be a bird. Fuck flying. I'm gonna shit on your car. Every. Day.
Haha. Maybe he's one of those feminine men who fucks like a god then makes you fantastic crepes afterwards
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I'm like still hungover from the quinceanera.
I can't tell if I'm still on the hangover from last night, or if I'm experiencing the one from tomorrow, because it was so powerful that it actually traveled back through time...
my grandpa paid for my boob job but he just doesn't know it.
Crying while I'm pooping. I think this is rock bottom
So, looks like I managed to leave my bra in the boardroom after all the sex. FML.
Best single mom victory - getting eaten out in my dodge caravan in the hospital parkade at midnight.Three words: screaming multiple orgasms.
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