I'm a grown ass woman and I'm sitting in bed eating pizza at 4:30 a.m. BFD, right?
Now he's talking about how he's writing in a journal because he doesn't remember "his thought patterns when he was in elementary and that's distressing". I'm walking home. Fuck this.
I have shoes on. No pants. And my jacket pockets are full of ketchup and grass. Yes. Good night.
He was carrying a rolled up carpet saying he was saving it for tomorrow's Walk of Fame.
I'm not sure how appropriate a drug deal is while at a wake.
Contents of my pockets this morning: phone, condom, one hoop earring, half a cheeseburger, lighter and a $87 receipt from tacobell. Time for work.
I thought it went well, but he just sent me a video of me sucking an icicle on the fire escape of his building with the caption "The ice got more than I did." Somehow I feel like I owe him a blowjob.
Once he blows his load, he's more of an immediate flight risk than that jetBlue pilot. He's out the door before his cum is out of my vajayjay.
I seriously think the toilet is the cleanest thing in their house. At least if I have to worry its not about that.
The notification you get from snapchat that someone took a screenie is like a formal declaration of blackmail.
Lindsey Lohan and I have slept with the same amount of people. The only thing she's now beating me on is rehab trips and teen choice awards, so really I'm the winner.
The fact that he quoted freebird as his breakup speech was a little more classy than expected
when in doubt, mount your coworker in the staff room.
when i woke up with rugburns on the tops of my feet, knees, and chin i was a little confused. and then i remembered i had sex with him in his friends walk in closet.
Something in me snapped and now I’m just googling famous vegans.
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