I called the bar to ask if they found my Id and credit card and they remembered me as 'the girl who signed her receipt in blood'
I'm like connect-the-dots of drunk. Whiskey, bourbon, vodka, rum, gin. The hidden picture is me faceplanting.
if i were reduced to my simplest elements, i would be jizz and glitter.
But Monday we'll be living in a post-apocalyptic hellscape. Also, I'm going to a champagne tasting.
So on how many levels of wrong is it that I'm reconsidering my divorce simply because I don't want to go through getting used to shitting around someone again.
Remember those girls from the bar? The tall and short blondes?
Is this a story I am going to hate you for?
These fuzzy pants work great for sleeping, taking an exam, getting baked and watching the hobbit. I guess i'm not changing pants for 72 hours.
151 hangover. Need apocalypse.
He is sitting on the foor in the soup aisle saying "to each their own soup"
Immediately after sex he layed on the floor and acted like my yellow bra was pac man
So now I can cross "have my ass be someone's phone background" off the bucket list. You know, if it was something I actually had wanted to happen.
Really this has to stop, if they get any younger we will be breaking the law
Protip if he licks the back of your knee and you reflexively kick him your game of 'lick the lady' is over.
While finding our clothes afterwards he says..."So do we like have to talk after this?"
I'm still very high. To be blunt. No pun intended.
Randomize
