i don't remember her name, but i don't need it unless we decide to hook up again. but even then, i can get away with not knowing it for a while. it's not like we have actual conversations.
NO FUCKING WAY. PLEASE MAKE HER IMPLANT THAT POOR KID INTO A RESPONSIBLE UTERUS.
yeah that pretty much nipped itself in the bud when I realized i could see her whiteheads glowing in the blacklight
if every girl in minneapolis isn't pregnant when i get back to the cities i will cry
Judging by the hole in the wall by the door, the mis-matched shoes by the door, and the door hanging off one hinge... i'd say he's on the loose.
It's like my ice maker knows when I wanna get drunk
Time to do stuff I know I'll have to hide from my grandkids one day and everyone at next weekends wedding.
Porch rule of tonight: when you sing, you must use "something" as a microphone. The person to use the most "creative" object gets the door prize...so far Stephie is winning with Jennifer's dog.
As I type I'm climbing my cousins swingset so I can take a nap inside the slide. Fuck this hangover. I always win.
Having the sex-a-thon in the back yard led to some really odd tan lines.
Like handprints on my lower back...
Also adulthood=replacing meals with bourbon. And not getting your hair caught in a fan.
Apparently I stole windex from the cab driver. Klepto Tom strikes again.
You were spooning an empty magnum of white wine in the middle of the bed so I slept on the couch
Well at least there's no more confusion about your place in my life. Wine > pizza > your dick > the rest of you.
Love you...
Last thing I remember is whiskey shots. My roommate tells me we were there 15min before I decided to run home naked. And we live across from a police station.
I'm convinced he's the patron saint of oral sex
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