I can't tonight. I'm still nursing a beach sex injury. Don't wanna talk about it.
I thought I drunk dialed Adam last night and left him a voicemail. I just checked my phone. I realize I left a drunk voicemail with my son's teacher.
I feel like I owe it to them to wear pants.
You tried to pay for our cab with the 2 dollars you got from selling your natty ice outside the strip club.
This is that think about life weed. Thank god I'm in American lit this semester. I can actually write papers in this vat of introspective stoned.
You need to be full form and virile tomorrow so I can live vicariously through your rub and tug.
This guy is trying to get me to do some acrobatic gymnast shit just so he can see "my tight hole." I'm too big to be sweating in my own damn bed. Shittttt.
I don't go out. I live in my room watching Bridget Jones and thanking my vibrator for existing.
I'm crying and shaving my Bronco playoff beard
thankfully we both ride of shamed home together on razor scooters in dresses because we stopped for breakfast sandwiches too
I just sat on the floor of my shower for 20 minutes to punish myself for drunk me's decisions.
is telling someone you can be his trophy wife the same as proposing?
I'm seriously considering selling my books back early. I don't use them anyways and I could really use the beer money..
All time low: no dry towels so I'm using the sex towel to dry off
send nudes
from the living room?
Randomize
