So guy #2, the dancer, is programmed into my phone under the name H.uy. His number- 11 digits. I should have stopped drinking.
He slapped my ass and hummed the jello theme song, which was followed by an overly loud "IT'S ALIVE!"
He told me he could read braille... with his tongue. So I took him home. I don't think he was lying
I've started grabbing my boobs in front of my lesbian philosophy professor so she'll give me a better grade. It's working...
Dude just slipped a $20 into the jukebox at that restaurant we were escorted out of last Mardi GRAS. Hope they enjoy Justin Bieber's Baby cause they're gonna hear it 40 fucking times.
Nothing like a 3am firealarm to kick a booty call out...
Life lesson: When you compete in an impromptu "bloody mary chug-off," in the end, no one wins.
I just sent you a google doc listing all the reasons why I should stop hooking up with him. Feel free to add to it.
In a shocking revelation, I learned that the Easter Sunday shit show happened not because of vodka but because my gay neighbor drugged me.
There is no such thing as a great breathalizer story. That isn't a thing that exists.
Im going to be coked out with hello kitty fire arms. Valentines day can suck my dick
You told the cop you where the star of the Track team and tried to run away. So yeah, i'm not surprised.
She said, I've heard about you, from girls you wouldn't even be interested in. What?
I had sex with him in the back of my car in a duck onesie. I'm worth something dammit.
Also, if you don't fuck me soon, I will die. I don't want to die like that.
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