we're blogging at a bar
I make my boyfriend pay for half of my birth control. We call it his monthly rent.
I fucking love fucking science majors-- she told me that she wanted to know if her gag reflex got better or worse with alcohol, and that her initial evidence had been inconclusive. So, next few weeks, yeah, gettin blown periodically. All I have to do is keep a log.
She's more than welcome to come too, so long as she has gotten over that me being responsible for the death of her cat thing.
It's safe to say that bucket of tequila night can NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN.
He went down on me while I had rollers in my hair. I've never felt more like a lady.
After so many times of carrying your puked covered clothes home in a bag on a Tuesday morning, you begin to realize that Fucked Up Mondays aren't a real thing.
There is a dude in a thong with a Nerf axe having battles in the street. Welcome to Portland
Just high enough for therapy.
Well, at some point in her life every girl has to decide how much weird she's willing to tolerate for hot tall banker cock
STOP BUYING ALADDIN PANTS WITH MY AMAZON CREDIT CARD
i spent most of my hangover doing the math to figure out the last of the alcohol would be metabolized from my system.
thank you pre-med degree.
Also I just had a pointless meeting and the only thing I accomplished were my kegals
just had an acid flashback in my therapist's office. i am a walking stereotype
just bought safety googles to wear so he can cum on my face and not in my eye. SAFETY FIRST!
Randomize
