I'm at some bar in brklyn... just made out with a guy named Owen.
He is a pre-school teacher... just sang me a song about weather.
Just got my period. I'm not pregnant with Scott's child and I won't be having any sex tonight. This must be what they mean by bittersweet.
I'm pretty sure there's seven mailboxes in the bathtub...
I called the bar to ask if they found my Id and credit card and they remembered me as 'the girl who signed her receipt in blood'
theres gunna be a new season of 16 and pregnant on mtv...WHERE DO THEY KEEP FINDING THESE IGNORANT PREGNANT GIRLS
Now he's talking about how he's writing in a journal because he doesn't remember "his thought patterns when he was in elementary and that's distressing". I'm walking home. Fuck this.
i dunno what you eat but your cum is all over my underwear and it smells like pretzels
we had a ceremony where you passed your fake id onto me in the middle of the bar. i was on my knees and you presented it to me. i don't think the bartenders were suspicious though
Well the good news is my "i'm an adult" dinner party went well, they all brought wine and complimented my cooking abilities. the bad news is i woke up with the leftovers in my bed/on my face
On a separate but also a very relevant note, can we practice drinking wine like real people?
Worst decision of artistic career thus far: bringing a banana to eat on male model day.
We turned a watering can into a margarita bong.
Nothing better then waking up to multiple snap stories of people doing body shots of tequlia off of you
I told him I just left the convent and really wanted a man. He fell for it. Sure beats telling him I'm a nympho stalker that followed him to the bar when I saw his beard.
I swear to God...this day is one great big who's who in the land of fucked uppedness.
The day will come again young grasshopper. For now you must complete your training of patience and tongue biting
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