My t9 writes chubies instead of bitches.
either way. win, win.
like in an apt above a crackhead. A LEGIT CRACKHEAD. he woke me up every morning this week asking me if I wanted to buy a mini fridge and some CDs. at 5 am. EVERY DAY.
The sweet smell of jungle juice and bad decisions is calling our name.
James and whatshisface bought me drunks. I am drinks.
But Monday we'll be living in a post-apocalyptic hellscape. Also, I'm going to a champagne tasting.
I am sitting here. Drinking from a bottle of vodka. Eating shredded cheese from a bag and waiting on him to pick me up after he finishes with his girlfriend. This is what dreams are made of.
Lesson of the night: never take shots out of a bottle you found under a couch in a frat house. I have no idea where I am
Well for better or worse the home brew is almost done, want to get drunk/loose your sight tonight?
Zombie crawl summary: 5 of 6 friends successfully laid. friend 6 too drunk to care and making out with a whale (not a costume)
I wish drunk me wasn't so into manscaping. Or at least good at it. Either or really
I walked in on him fucking my best friend. I think we've reached the point of following each other on twitter.
He was so high he started playing Twister on the striped rug. Then when we missed midnight he went on a screaming rampage about his New Year's Eve being meaningless. How do you think it went?
I must stop trying to make out with my friends when I'm hammered.
Guys I ate pizza off the fucking ground of the cab. I am the worst type of person
I may just have to resign myself to life in flats. He's a sexy little chipmunk that worships me.
Randomize
