opening your purse in class to grab a pen only to find dollar bills and pink fuzzy handcuffs instead...that's a cool feeling
Stop. You don't mean that. Tequila might mean that. But you don't mean that.
I'm destined to be knocked up by a sailor
and I'm going to name my autobiography "blow jobs with enthusiasm are the best"
I'm naming my autobiography "Reasons Not to Date Girls From Texas."
I probably wouldn't hook up with him if I had to deal with more than his penis. i think cumulatively we are up to a minute of actual conversation this week.
she went apple picking. why dont we do cute things like that? let's go to a pumpkin patch!
because we're not cute. we're sluts. and sluts don't go apple picking.
i must of done something right to please the booty call gods. . . maybe fucking that fat chick?
You gave me balls I gave you half a boob. Fair trade
Mr. Clingalot just ran from our apartment. What the hell?
I started to cry afterward and mumble random things. Examples: "God, please don't make me be so gay anymore" and "my mom is going to be so proud of me for fucking a dude this time." It was that or let him stay the night and cuddle. I mean, fuck that horrible shit I'm a girl that needs her space.
C'mon. I'm still an alcoholic at heart, regardless of its broken or not
May 25th. Drunk Laser Tag party to celebrate our bdays. May 26th. Mushrooms at Chattanooga Aquarium. Damn
you texted him "it's time for the no pants dance", please get your tubes tied.
Pretty sure when I woke up the next morning we were still fucking. It just didn't stop.
Just give me 5 advils and some sunglasses and I'll knock out on this couch no problem.
It looks like you got dick slapped by the sandman..
Randomize
