I found the seven page love letter I had written you. I'm sorry i was so obsessed.
I assume you are not resopnding because you are having sex thus i give you a text message high five
He considered it romantic when he told me mid-blow job that no matter what happens, he will "never forget how good of a dick I suck". Verbatim.
I sat on his lap and we shared a beer. I feel like that's an invitation to his dick.
Where is my rescue team. I keep hiding shit. And I'm trying to give out shots of olive oil
Remember the girl passed out in front of my fireplace?
I just found our entire wall-to-wall from September 2006 printed out and clipped... it's 49 pages. Blackout me is so considerate of bored-at-work me
He's single. I'm single. We should rekindle our eighth grade romance over a box of wine and carefree sex.
OH AND DAN PET MY CAT WHILE I WAS GIVING HIM HEAD
You pole danced in your parka.
I SHIT YOU NOT a mailman helped me leave without waking him up.
I need to sanitize my soul.
My face feels like a midget just gave birth to quintuplets
He started me on Celexa. I think I feel like Bjork. Is that normal?
Like... my feet feel like little octopuses, and they want to swim to the next room.
It was great. We stayed up all night talking about objects he'd put in his theoretical vagina.
Randomize
