I'm eating lunch next to a table of beautiful culturally-diverse women chattering away happily. It's like sitting next to a Yaz commercial.
Well, of course, to the untrained eye I look like a slut.
It's not my theme song, it's my blowjob song. There's a difference.
I can't believe you broke a Paula dean wooden spoon over my ass
I started sorting laundry at 6 am. He finally got the hint and left
This guy either needs to stop touching me or buy me another drink.
I never appreciated sexting until I went to rehab
Nothing like an alcohol-fueled, 6-hour-long hunt for weed--complete with occasional breaks for sex.
I didn't have the heart to tell him that the reason my vagina was so "prelubricated" was because I had just had another gentleman caller an hour earlier. So, when he commented about how turned on I appeared, I just went with it.
I just want to have normal problems like what kind of puppy to get, or should I pay a hooker to fuck Scott, or even a dilemma about fucking Twizzlers. I don't know.
I'm high. Everything has a 45° angle. That is as far as my eyes open
im lying in bed trying to choke myself out because being awake hurts too much
There is an unwrapped tampon, a condom, a rubber chicken and a slim Jim currently sitting on our dining room table.
It's one of those "I can't stand you but we're stuck in the same hotel room tonight so let's fuck until one of us passes out" kind of nights.
I'm too hungover to Google him and try to save face.
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