I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
I'm going to an arts college, I live next to the frat houses, and my room number is 420. god has plans for me and I couldn't be happier.
this is the second time this week i got a blowjob from a crying girl.
he asked you how you felt and you yelled "I FEEL SO PROACTIVE!" and started coloring with sharpies
Ladystoner tip: if eyes are bloodshot, lime green eyeliner makes them appear less red. its basic artt.
He sent me a picture of his ass and said the backdoor is open. Almost grabbed my keys and a condom before I saw it was a group text. Not nearly drunk enough for his desperation.
He went down on me while I had rollers in my hair. I've never felt more like a lady.
I need vodka and champagne for my new favorite drink, vodkapagne. Alternative spellings are "vodkapain" and "vom-machine"
and then you called me a third time and yelled that you were stealing a puppy named Willow
I threw up off of your balcony and it must have been loud because the dog downstairs went insane.
The single life is the freaking dream dude. I'm sitting here naked, eating chocolate mousse, and watching Gilmore girls. It's wonderful
I think I just scared the sex out of my booty call. He saw me at the grocery store using one of those "future mother" parking spots right next to the handicap ones. He just made eye contact and drove off. I regret my laziness.
I was drunk, but not drunk enough to forget I had some dude on his knees begging for forgiveness.
some guy had a sword and everyones crying..it turned bad..fast.
the weird part wasn't waking up in someone else's underwear, it was how the cat was staring at me like he knew more about last night then i remembered.
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