Let's just say there is a bloody hand print above my bed and it's not mine. Literally.
I am good. I dancing. Drinking but dancing fine.
I feel like I'm one of those people who someone looks at and thinks "how did she get into this college"
That taco smell coming from your belly button was a huge turnoff
we drove through mcdonalds and ordered everything on the dollar menu. We told the workers that were making Super Size Me 2, drove away without paying and told them to bill our producer.
My water bill is like twice the normal amount. I need a boyfriend.
Do I even want to know?
I'm still not walking right. We need some boundaries for "drink-or-dare"...
On a scale of your daily life to smuggling crack into the DR, how illegal is it?
His response today determines what state my vagina will be in this weekend.
I'm getting shit face wasted, and I have to be up so early tomorrow. I am bad at smart.
I hate when you actually try to sing and people think you're joking so you just go with it, but on the inside you're crying.
I love this text stream: discussing the development of a business model centered around cooking acid to bankroll a yacht trip in Croatia
Also, I wish we had magnetic nipple rings and our boobs stuck together.
We go out and drink, fuck, and I stay the night. He agrees to it because he knows I'll hook him up to IV fluids in the morning. Everyone wins
I really wanted you to make me eggs this afternoon. I even wrote it on my hand to remind myself.
Randomize
