So I made him an imaginary sandwich and told him that the day I didn't have to fake it, neither would he.
My drug dealer is spending the weekend in my studio apartment. I feel like I've crossed a line that should never be crossed.
It seems to me that once you begin comparing Jesus to hercules and calling him a super pimp you should put the wine away...
I'll try not to. I have an appointment at the hospital tomorrow so my goal is to wake up there.
He was trying to be aggressive in bed, but in reality, it was like watching a declawed cat try to climb a curtain. They WANT it, they just can't DO it.
New life rule, no banging opera singers. I might be a little deaf now
We ate our feelings. Then drank our feelings. I feel feminism delivered.
Braid them armpits, sister.
We have six bottles of wine and we are at target buying baby oil to grease up the sleds with, just in case you're interested.
He told me that before I went to bed I needed to do my stretches and then processed to demonstrate a squat thrust, while completely naked.
Yeah.. I'm sorry I broke your phone. But in my defense you handed me the frying pan.
My only positive piece of news is that my roommate is moving home for the summer, so our stress-relief sex will be much easier to get away with.
You're the common denominator of my blackouts.
there is a spider sitting on top of my weed like he owns it or some shit
no but seriously tf do i do? i have that spider phobia but i think my lvoe of the weed overpowers it
My favorite part was when you kept telling everyone you were being "green" by drinking straight out of the bottle so u weren't wasting a cup.
Theres a handprint of sauce on my fridge, one on my face, and a trail of it leading to my bedroom, and sauce all in my bed, and I have no idea what the fuck i ate.
Randomize
