my periods are so regular now that they are sync-ed with my subscriptions of vogue.
All I remember from last night is puking up a box of cheeze-its and the building catching on fire.
Is it bad to go up to the security desk and ask them for the name of the guy I signed in last night? I have absolutley no clue
On a scale of 1 to last weekend, how hungover are you?
Not cool at all. Last night I organized my condoms by expiration date. I need to get laid.
she just came into my room, drunkenly shoved six dollars into my bra and told me to spend it on chicken wings.
You left wolverine marks
I'm somewhere between sorry and proud
75% of my food budget goes to wine, the rest to chips and salsa.
but, alas, I am not the lady in the streets. I'm simply the freak in the sheets.
I'm sorry I told you to go fuck yourself after you said good morning to me when I was hungover.
Just had to stop myself from doing a bump on the Disney bus. The struggle is real.
Alas, I cannot find a male suitor sharing my affinity for sport culture who will both manhandle me and treat me with the respect a young Hillary supporter wants and deserves
I threw up all of my purple drank and thats really important
I'm currently using a band-aid to cover my bar stamp from last night while I ask my professor for an extension. That's a sign of getting more responsible, right?
I haven't listened to news as I've been having lesbian sex all night. Anything new?
Randomize
