So I called her out for all the gossip she does and she's like "you do the same, bitch"
So I was like "Im classy like the Countess, youre just a bitch like Kim."
Kudos on the Interstate Housewife metaphor.
She's making her own pesto again. Cooking spaghetti in the microwave and "frying" vegetables in the toaster oven. All this while wearing the yellow rubber gloves and saying that the pesto has feelings like a real person. Im terrified.
the doctor brought back painful memories by lecturing me about your teeth marks that are still on my dick.
If one more "stranger" walks up to me at the bar and asks how I have been, I am going to rehab.
Bruises. Everywhere. Table sex is dangerous
I'm one ex away from doing an entire victory lap of all of the guys I've hooked up with since second semester of freshman year. Single me is scary.
I am wearing two different shoes and just swallowed my gum. Wake the fuck up and bang the bartender already.
I blew him while watching the aristocats. There were singing cats in the background. I think he he hummed along at one point.
You screamed "I NEED TO GET THE WHOLE SET!" and then proceeded to try touching everyone's balls in the room
It's tough not drinking when the bartender adds rum to your coke without telling you, and doesn't charge you
Rolled over in bed this morning and found Nutella and wet naps. Why can't it ever be a fire fighter, or Jude Law.
I just want him to hold me after a bad midterm. Is that even too much to ask for after sleeping with him twice?
How long do I have to listen to him talk about the chickens before telling him I just really want to fuck? Note: it's already been twelve minutes.
Okay, but that still doesn't explain all the glitter in my puke.
Not going to make it tonight. Some cougar at the bar just told me she has dibs on my dick.
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