So then I told him that only a restaurant managed by a florida fan could run out of ketchup
beer pong: waldo and ernie vs. bacon and eggs... i love halloween
so i was just informed that i sang that song "pop that pussy ayyy pop that pussy" at the halloween party saturday. iembarrassing.
States back in the final four. Now our sunday night drinking has purpose. Sparty on baby.
Operation liquormelon is in full effect. We may die tonight.
the thought 'we cant do it, we're in a public place' crossed my mind, and then I realized he's succeeding if he's trying to domesticate me.
elevator sex. pronto.
I told him if I was pregnant we were coming out to the people at work, because I'm not pretending to get knocked up by an imaginary boyfriend.
Most people would probably take his lack of responses as a queue to stop. But nope, not me. I just keep going. And that's why I don't have a bf, just a little weinered friend
I still have beer shits from last weekend. Dying from dysentary is a real threat at this point.
No more morning sex. Just for once, my vagina would like to go to work bone-dry and bone-free.
Novelty of the week: Getting my lipstick back in an evidence bag
We're super invested in me shitting to my full potential
Yes I am wallowing. There is a significant lack of cookie dough
I like how you were offering me $50 last night to come home with you to take care of you and your dog
never have sex with a mint flavored condom on. my vagina is on fire.
Randomize
