i'm trying to reconcile what i did last night with who i am as a person.
Update. It gets worse. A) he's done viagra and B) he wears socks at all times.
some girl just asked me how to spell unconscious. I really want to know what she was texting.
he came on my stomach, took his sock off, wiped it up, put his sock back on along with his shoes and left.
we were shitfaced at work by 8pm. I had to stop myself from pouring vodka in everyone's cappuccino.
She asked the taxi driver to stop at the Texaco because she had to puke. She did then stumbled into the gas station and bought a 40.
You don't take my phone while I'm passed out, have a three hour conversation on it with Dealer Dave, set up a date with him and NOT TELL HIM THAT HE'S NOT TALKING TO ME.
Give us adventure or give us cock. Or cocktails.
I want to get my vag crammed with complete loss of every bit of dignity I have left by this man from every angle on every flat surface that exists. That is all.
Well I can't go home with anyone tonight bc I stuffed my bra
Due to last night I think a roommate constitution should be made. The first law will be designed to prevent any chicks below a 4 to enter the house.
So is it safe to say that my only objective from last night is to finish this entire jar of peanut butter?
I'm officially no longer allowed to make any of my own decisions regarding alcohol, men, or the combination of both. Thats up to you now. Do me proud.
I was orgasming and dying of laughter at the same time. I think I've found the One.
Brah, we should get a "do not disturb sign"... I can't have people knocking on the door while I'm high, it fucks with me way too much.
Randomize
