My low point of the night was when my roommate spit out her jello shot and i took it...
He called me a "functional alcoholic" like its a bad thing.
Actions speak louder than pants.
Hate the very realistic pregnancy dreams. Like my dream when I birthed the pirate ships. SO REAL...
I've watched enough of my roommate's imported Japanese satellite to know when the exchange students are calling me a whore.
I got carried out by security last night. AND the taxi had to drive up onto the sidewalk to get me i was that drunk.
Ran into my neighbor that's always crying. I wonder if she's like; "I ran into my neighbor who's always playing with her vibrator?"
Shits getting dirty between us in her dad's bedroom. I'm talking early millennium rap and r&b
usual friday morning routine. the pants i wore last night are in my passenger seat and im rooting through the pockets trying to make exact change at the dunkin donuts drive thru
I'm still pretty stoned. There are mini rice cakes in my robe pocket to snack on in the shower.
It was all fun and games until he noticed the hickey that he hadn't given me...
Question #1: Why am I on my living room floor? Question #2: Where did the bloody footprints come from? Question #3: Why are there two McChickens next to the wine bottle?
I don't give a shit if you judge. This isn't about you or anyone else. This is about me and my chicken tenders.
We have been dating for 5 months. I'm friends with his sister. Yet my number in his phone is still saved as "hot bartender"
The night got way more interesting after Jimmy started doing summersaults in front of the bar.
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