Last night was an abortion. I might need a publicist.
Next time, if you wake and bake, make sure you nail the wake part. Not easy to explain to mum. Or the fire brigade.
I can't believe I wasted a google wave invite on her.
I probably should have cut it off when he started putting queso on my nipples, but within ten minutes I was a self-serve burrito bar.
Something smells like weed and I think it might be my mascara. Come sniff my eyes
Nothing like a marijuana chart of usage in each country to make me understand math.
At some point i could of swore that you were in my bedroom riding a manatee last night..... I like my new dealer
God only knows how I ended up there doing crown royal shots to the titanic and insighting a bar wide shit fest when I asked the dj to play levels
I. Did. In fact. Sprain. My liver. This. Weekend.
Welcome to drunk texts. Live from Margaritaville, it's Saturday night!!!
Actually, I take that back. You can only have it if I'm allowed to French braid the mullet.
Dude! We had to write our address on your arm in permanent marker so you wouldn't get lost. You just showed the cabbie your arm and he drove you! Nice guy.
You texted me the words "butt stuff" 53 times in a four hour period last night.
It makes me feel all patriotic & free... And borderline diabetic.
I'm definitely drunk. At the gyno. On my birthday. Life is a joooooooke
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