please tell me I'm in your upstairs bedroom. Just google mapped myself and I have no idea where I am.
i don't remember her name, but i don't need it unless we decide to hook up again. but even then, i can get away with not knowing it for a while. it's not like we have actual conversations.
please tell me that the half empty jar of cocktail sauce on the table has nothing to do with my missing seamonkeys
Mother nature decided I wasn't going to be a whore today. Fuck her.
He kept buying me shots of tequila. I decided to just save myself the half hour of toilet hugging and tell him straight up that I intended on sleeping with him. We got Tacos on the way home with all the money we saved.
Exactly how does jacking off in my purse count as a 'early christmas present'?
He filled our room with little plastic cups of beer so the only way I could get out was by drinking them all.
My mouth already tastes like senor cuervo took a piss in it and it's barely 1 am
I seriously don't understand how you keep getting laid.
Because I'm like the spider of false hope. I spin elaborate tales and snare them in my web of utter disappointment. They soon realize their mistake, but by then it's too late.
I threw up in the kitchen on the floor and a guy tried cleaning it up with a spoon at a party.
i wore just an American flag as my costume-huge success. 20 people pledged allegiance to my ass including a senior frat boy at the keg. God bless America.
Trust no bitch in laser tag. Not a single one.
Some guys phone started vibrating on the tv. I answered mine. That's how high I am.
So Saturday night after 10 drinks I guess he tried to have sex with me and in the middle of it I asked "can you tell I'm faking it!?" and then I sat up and threw up in my hand. That's a sex Win in my books
I'm sitting here drinking whisky and listening to The Wiggles, I don't need a social life
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