perhaps when you are drinking red wine from a tall glass with a straw it is time to call it a night.
She kept calling me her DD, which I assumed meant designated driver, so I was confused because I don't even have a car. Found out later it means designated dick. It's what her and her friends use as code for the guy they want to hook up with at the end of the night. I feel so used.
closing bar tabs have helped me with simple math in college.
she came to the game with a camelback filled with booze. except it was only the bag part so she duct taped to her back
how do you tell someone you stalk them in a non-creepy way
you don't.
I fell asleep to the sounds of them banging in the next room. It was oddly soothing...
his apartment was in a funeral home, walk of shamed through a visiation in the skankiest outfit i own
the story is to long to tell you via txt so when you notice the tattoo on your ass call me.
Maybe he meant to say like I love fucking you? But just forgot the fucking part.. That's what I'm telling myself.
The bartender just hugged us goodnight. I think we go there too often.
I really need to create fewer "the time I was on drugs" stories for my future memoir, "my first year in San Francisco".
good luck with that
I was peeing in the bathroom at this house party when a guy just casually stumbles out of the shower
I'm honestly just now recovering from saint Patrick's day.
YAY! I just removed my own stitches, and I'm only bleeding from one spot! on a related note, do you think a dishwasher will sterilize forceps and trauma shears?
I just took a plan B pill with my preworkout. That's the level I'm on today.
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