The only reason I kept his number in my phone for so long is so that hed pay for my abortion.
They normally just get fucked up and see who can hold their hand on the exhaust the longest. It's great
It can't be good... The last recollection I have is singing lullabys to his penis
If court goes my way we are flying to Vegas.
There's always a certain something about a day that begins with your panties in your purse.
YOU'RE CHANGING THE SUBJECT. I CAN BLOW SOMETHING UP OR I CAN TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM, BUT ONE OF THE TWO IS BOUND TO HAPPEN
He's like... An octopus that touches my vagina in all these diff ways at the right times. It's almost unsettling
I'm counting my small victories this morning. For instance, I haven't puked at work yet.
Totally on the hot mess express last night. Mom said I was passed out on her kitchen floor. Told her I was drinking genuine tea.
Basically all I do anymore is get stoned with my cats, and then we share goldfish.
You used a fucking bud light like as lube last night. I'd get a UTI test like stat.
I feel like ditching all logic and responsibility and get shit-faced before the week's over. Thoughts?
Too much dab too little lung dying šµšµšµ
So I woke up this morning to find my laptop open, with a google search for "where to buy marble", and a hungover naked northern girl in my bed who told me that I claimed to be a sculptor last night and that I promised to sculpt a bust of her hands...
Access to a Target is paramount to my general happiness and self-worth.
Randomize
