so apparently we got drunk enough at the reception to rip the center pieces apart and use the flower vases as "fancy glasses"
standing in line at subway, they've got 'stand up and get crunk' blaring. the lines out the door and everyone is dancing. Lombardi Gras rules.
well you haven't lived until you've been 86'ed from a family restaraunt
bikini waxes are so much more painful when you know you're not getting laid
I think I explained what happened in the voicemail. But I think I might have just cried and ranted about how cool osiris shoes are
its time for step 4 of getting over him: post his number on the transvestite page on craigs list asking for pics
I don't care if we have to swim home from the bar, Im not gonna sit home in the dark and read some fucking book
hes either a crazy bad problem or a crazy good orgasm. I just can't decide which one.
Well call me tomorrow, it's a great story that may lead to me being fired and/or possibly being buried in a shallow grave somewhere out in wine country.
My catholic guilt is strong, but the alcohol is stronger.
I bet the guy on the treadmill next to me with the noise-canceling headphones wishes he could trade them for smell-canceling noseplugs. Hard to believe that last one did not involve any pants-shitting on my part.
I had fresh baked oatmeal cookies, tacos AND was on deck to give a stellar blow job. You'd think that'd be a win/win/win situation.
Do NOT. I repeat. DO NOT call me little one after we have fucked. In no world is that ok. Even jesus agrees.
After we finish having sex, he smokes an honest to God pipe. It's like fucking a big, sexy Sherlock Holmes...
I just learned that I could drop out of school and spend the rest of my savings on a giraffe are you free this weekend
Randomize
