i just turned barefoot contessa into a drinking game. everytime she uses a knife butter or salt i drink.
While I was dancing with him in my foil dress he said, "You're like a Chipotle burrito. Don't worry, that's the best complement you could get from me."
All I know is that we apparently made a drink we named The Single Girl which is rum, vodka, grain alcohol, and sprite and rolled around in the backyard.
At some point we were all eating banana flavored rolling papers.
He said he was going to "rock my world". I wonder if he too has a false sense of confidence and accomplishment stemming from a complete lack of honesty from our own female counterparts.
In order of importance: Where am I? Where's my car? Where are my clothes? Who is this chick in the room?
Anne's couch, the bar, your car, Anne.
Did you find any other hidden treasures in my room? Specifically weed? Or Slim Jims?
remember when I told you about my grandma asking me about my sex scars? Less comfortable than that
Remember when we were coked out at that house and we were trying to meditate in the bathroom? Who's house were we at?
Know your penis has been the topic of conversation over glasses of wine.
Let's drink tonight I promise I'll make it out of the house
Hold on, I'm taking nudes in a blanket fort right now
I thought we agreed to no sexting at the school bake sale...
I vaguely remember ordering a water at some point last night. It's good to know drunk me can still be responsible.
So the makeout sesh? Not so great. His stubble rubbed my face raw, he tried to push me towards auto-erotic asphyxiation, and he licked my forehead. Twice.
Randomize
