apparently my drunken alterego is a lazyeyed bisexual.
Either I get my picture taken sitting on a fuckin pony, or I'm not coming.
I miss waking up knowing you're passed out under my bed.
Gin and redbull in a wine glass. They think I'm keeping my wits with a really yellow Chardonnay. Gonna get ugly after a couple.
Could someone please explain the rug burn on the right side of my face and do I need a shot of penicillin?
Idk. I was speaking metaphorically. Go for it. As one of your bad decisions, I feel confident in saying you've done worse.
I just messaged a senior at Harvard and told him to 'tinder me softly'
I only blacked out one night of three if that isn't fucking personal growth idk what is
I'm gonna eat more dunkaroos to cope with what's in my vagina.
Apparently chalking everything I've done these past 48 hours to the fact that it was homecoming, is like a "get out of jail free" card.
Just a suggestion, don't apricot scrub your vagina.
Ended up in his bed... He's passed out holding me and his bulldog is laying across my legs. Both snoring. HELP!! I wanna go home!
My legacy here is being that tiny blonde girl that threw someone down and shouted "Fuck your face, I'm Dee Dee Ramone."
that awkward moment when you use blowjob jokes as a segue into coming out as bi
I lysoled the money\n(631): wrong text lmao
Randomize