Let's be real. I'm the Usain Bolt of running away after hookups. Fastest (wo)man alive.
So it's official the pockets of my work apron exist solely for the purpose of secretly flipping off asshole customers and not losing my job.
What was my myspace song when I went away to rehab?
He sent me a picture of his dick as a snake, I'd say things are going great.
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I wanna snuggle with you as we feed each other chipotle burrito bowls and that's just where I'm at right now
what do we think the timeline is for when your liver will begin to revolt against your drinking habits?
Like I owe him sex. Hell fucking no. I owe myself sex. With a celebrity. Or a clean pornstar. Who knows.
Stuck in the Minneapolis airport for 3 hours with an expense budget and a wine bar. This could get out of hand quickly.
We were going to play manhunt in a strip club, calling it mancunt.
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He also told me he would eat mozzarella sticks before having sex with me so I'm mad at him.
You fell in the corner and refused to get up unless someone helped you. And then you crawled under the pool table and took a nap.
She just left someone a voicemail saying 'you better not have plans Saturday night, cause I'm going to sit on your face.'
And I must've sleep walked to the fridge cause when I woke up, there I was, balls deep in a fudge pop.
I think one of your friend's offered my friend chicken tenders back at his place...just FYI he should probably come up w/ another line