so Brent and I ordered you a drink then realized you don't live here. I drank it.
he's washing the lighter in the sink and telling me to picture unicorns. requesting backup.
I think I need to stop sleeping with him. Sex with him is just a reminder of the mediocrity of the rest of my life.
I found the perfect eye liner, it passed the blow job test, no smudging!!
I knew the only reason I bought a smartphone was to play "You're Havin My Baby" on the way to cvs to buy Plan B.
thanks so much for stopping me from telling him i want to have sex with him while i proceeded to hookup with the air.
So I cleaned out my gym bag. Found half a bottle of malibu.
You know, I could pretend I'm shocked but what's the use?
We talk about tequila and blow jobs the way that normal people talk about the news and the weather.
We're going to shave my junk and take pictures of it wearing fake mustaches we found at the dollar store. They're uncannily realistic; much better than the cockstaches of my youth.
Last night he asked the cab driver "if you were in the middle of getting tattooed and the tattoo artist suddenly got a boner would you leave or would you get that boner??"
This is how my night is going so far. The bartender bought our last two rounds and I'm chasing a bee around the bar with a foam bat.
He's holding a pee stick. Yes it's weird.
Okay who let me pass out in a recliner cuddling a pitbull and a cardboard cutout of Orlando Bloom
Dude, fuck these noisy kids, fuck all this light, and fuck you for getting to sleep while I have to be productive and hungover.
So I took my bra off and threw it in the bushes before we went to the bars..
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