My drug dealer is spending the weekend in my studio apartment. I feel like I've crossed a line that should never be crossed.
i left with the words "thank you for undersanding my sluttiness"
After a couple hours you decided you were going to walk home but ten minutes later you called and said you'd puked by the side of the road and you needed us to drive you to the art museum.
I want to celebrate with you...
There's nothing I'd like more than a celebratory "The guy I'm doing just found out he's not a baby daddy" dinner.
He came home all fucked up crying slammed his bedroom door and all we could hear for about three hours was THIS ISN'T GONA RUIN MYLIFe what happend
I told him I got this chick pregnant and he has to get a new wingman
Steve called. He needs me to pick him up. He also asked for a set of his clothes, he can't find them. He is such a strong motivation to stay sober.
When I said tequila slammers would be the death of me, I didn't intend it to be today. Oh god.
You fed me pizza off a sword last night.
Yup. Dog walker, house sitter and mistress to the rich, bored and bi-curious. I've got a nice little operation running.
Home-made laxative recipe: activia yogurt and tequila shots. Any ratio ought to work.
He showed up at my apartment drunk with a telescope wanting me to look at the "blown up star" in -24 degree weather, claiming "it's in the name if science"
If my eyeballs could make a sound to describe how they feel they would just say uhhhhhhhhggggggghhhhhh.
How drunk is too drunk to be on an airplane?
I may or may not have spent student loan money on a vibrator, that falls under living expenses right?
Is it wrong for me to wish my cat had arms to get me a beer?
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