Apparently last night I sat at the bar with an upside down sharpie lightning bolt on my forehead, yelling "It's Harry Potter's birthday! Let me be on the qudditch team!" And I kept calling the bartender Dobby. There are videos.
He bought me a flower. He's totally getting head every day for a week.
I'm tempted to see how fat I can get before he leaves me. It's obvious we're playing a game of chicken here.
I am dripping wet and slathered in glitter and banana mush. I love gay guys.
The usual, bring face make up, I have a weird gash on my nose, probably from my one night stand
He drives a BMW. I have to fuck him. Girl Code Rule #26.
Note to self: last nights makeup does NOT, under ANY circumstances, look good today.
Want to know what makes for a better story than treehouse sex? Getting busted during treehouse sex
We're already drunk. 4 hours to go still. And there's a bear advisory. TOP WEEKEND.
Nothing says "I Love you" like my dick in a pizza box
Believe me honey Imma fuck the discount out of at least one plastic surgeon in my life
At least you got some excitement going on, you got weed and might die tonight, I'm just sitting here bored as fuck.
75% of the time I swipe right on Bumble for girls over 40 is because I think their 18 year old daughter is hot.
Listen, I just paid for a hotel room, so I didn't have to have sex in his car. I'm adulting successfully.
After we finish having sex, he smokes an honest to God pipe. It's like fucking a big, sexy Sherlock Holmes...
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