Definitely locked eyes with the stripper who gave me a lapdance last night as she walked by me and into the Ann Taylor Loft in Times Square.
And surprisingly enough iPhone does not have an app for Russian mail order brides.
how you manage to cockblock me from 500 miles away still baffles me.
When he goes down on me, he stares me in the eyes like a shark mocking it's prey as it devours it. Plus, his beard smells like dirty gym socks. This has got to end.
I think ill wear my dads dashiki but make it sluttier. We shall see
I'm not sure that our 12-years-ago-high-school-"relationship," and 179 texts in the last 4 hours is gonna be enough to squeeze a naked smartphone picture of me. I'm gonna need some chicken wings or Makers Mark before that starts happening.
I just very easily got pretty high off of one bowl of shitty dirt weed. I'm a sad excuse for who I used to be.
It's a drunk scavenger hunt.
Everything on the list counts for double points if done naked.
I woke up at 4 am to a guy curled up in the fetal position sobbing in our front yard. Oh college.
I told him I felt we were at the point where if I saw him talking to another girl, I'd probably choke him out. So I guess you could say things are getting serious.
I mean, "boo" isn't the appropriate response to someone dying...
I'm drinking coffee out of a pasta sauce jar and eating fruit soaked in Smirnoff. I think I've hit rock bottom.
I fell into a manhole last night, so there's that
I'll just say I told you so at your funeral
Potholders are an underrated garment. Especially naked.
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