I'm at a party with that guy you made out with on new years. He remembers your name!
you have no idea how wierd it is to get nudes while talking to grandma
I didn't know how to tell her I was too busy getting stoned and making a baked potato to meet up and finish our group project.
Wait wait wait. I remember riding in her car to the next bar. On your lap. With my head on the dashboard. That probably should have been my cut off point.
At least my fat-chick-ratio has not been that bad this semester ...
She is high at the bar - she thinks the bottle of frangelico is aunt jemima telling her to stop doing drugs.
We team puked and then made sex like wild monkeys. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.
And if I hated you I'd probably say things like, "I never want to speak to you again," or, "Eat a bag of dicks." That's how you'd know.
YOU ARE NOT A BOTTLE OF RUM THEREFORE I DONT KNOW HOW TO LOVE YOU
By getting lucky do you mean I get one of your incredible BJs or you not killing me by the end of dinner?
One of the art pieces was basically this chick throwing raw meat at the audience, anyone who got hit (which I did) got a free shot of whiskey. It was worth it.
I woke up in confetti... confetti and shame
I'm watching Netflix with my cats and eating homemade bread. Everyone and everything can go and fuck itself.
I climbed to the top of a stripper pole and touched the ceiling. Accomplishment?
I walked in the kitchen and heard her saying "We could have been so good together" as she caressed an egg with her cheek.
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