please tell me I'm in your upstairs bedroom. Just google mapped myself and I have no idea where I am.
I dont get chicks, its like they only care about themselves and money
sounds like you understand them just fine
He gave me a book last time I slept there. Im beginning to feel like a really weird hooker. Like instead of money he gives me random shit he has lying around. like hamburger buns
Throwing up while listening to pandora radio. Don't tell me my life doesn't have theme music.
Fell down a spiral staircase. Et tu vodka. Et tu.
I'm trying to make a sex playlist
record yourself crying and put it on a loop.
I'm about one sudden movement away from being able to cross "throw up in a fortune 100 company's bathroom" off my bucket list.
Apparently I stole windex from the cab driver. Klepto Tom strikes again.
He had "Bad Bitches Only" tattooed above his dick. I don't know his name but I hope I find him again. I also don't feel that I lived up to the challenge.
My dog just ran downstairs with my vibrator in her mouth... during my dad's birthday dinner.
I also have bagel bites. I know that's not as big an incentive as the cocksucking but.....
I can feel your judgement through the phone
He's a fucking ninja- think of the things he can probably do with his dick.
I made out with the hosts' boyfriend, infront of her, drank way too much, slept in my car and convinced everyone that I'm really a nice person. If that's not skilled lying, I don't know what is.
on a campus of 30,000 people, i should not be able to see every single guy I've ever hooked up with at one party.
Randomize
