When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, you're a dumbass
Last night I went to an anything but cups party. I took a hummingbird feeder. It was a terrible decision.
Is it obsessive that I keep picking my crazy sex rug burn scab so it leaves a scar I can remember him by?
I vote intervention dinner around 6, make up movie around 7:30ish, then apology drinks all night. Then hangover waffle house in the morning.
I think I just tested my sobriety limits for unicycling.
There was a photo of his face glued to a lifesize Kim Kardashian cutout. By the end of the night he was doing shots out of medicine cups and making everybody hug it goodbye.
She's trying to figure out what kind of dinosaur I am... Yay codeine.
I love you. Happy valentines. Satin Patricks dayyyyyyyyyy. Alreadythrew up. Geeeeerait.
Btw, do you want me to fix this with a box of wine and a chick flick or is this more of a 'lets head to the strip club' problem? I'm just trying to analyze the emotional depth of the situation.
You fed me pizza off a sword last night.
I'm like still hungover from the quinceanera.
For the first time in my life, I may be the most normal person in the room.
Update: I am definitely the most normal person in this room. And the least tattooed.
Dude, I have everything I need for meth here.
YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO MAKE METH IN OUR APARTMENT.
Anyways enough about genital fatigue...
I need to leave my mind and my stupid vagina are having fight over who's right
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