I know its small, but please -- stop calling it my "weenis".
At some point I made a semi-conscious decision that i was okay with sleeping in my own vomit.
So guy #2, the dancer, is programmed into my phone under the name H.uy. His number- 11 digits. I should have stopped drinking.
he used a semicolon in his bootycall text, of course he's not gonna go down on me.
Her father's a cardiologist, her mom's a lawyer...she just went from a 5 to a 10 real quick.
you could never motorboat her...you'd have to motor-titanic her
you're my knight in shining pee-resistant armor
I think I wrote "thanks for the free alcohol!!!" in their wedding guest book and I'm almost positive I signed my name
In 30 minutes I will have been sober for an entire month. Time for a celebratory lap of cheap alcohol that leads to early liver failure.
But happy liver failure. That's what counts.
"can of pringles" is totally a legitimate measure of time
Taco Bell. She just parked, got out of the car mid drive-thru, ran to the dumpsters, pissed, then ran back and drove up in the line.
All I know is you walked out of the kitchen in some kind of French onion dip bra and started passing out individual chips to guys saying " do you dip?"
I just rolled a blunt and took my bra off. I'm not going anywhere.
Walking into my bedroom & smelling stale sex & disappointment isn't how I envisioned being 39, in case you were wondering.
I don't want to go to sleep. I like partying with myself.
Randomize
