And then I interrupted the father of the groom, to ask if she was "ballet or pole" in the middle of his story about his niece, the dancer.
Totally just projectile vomited while ridind a bicycle.
Plus my stomach has been speaking through my ass all day sending notes saying "fuck you" and "this is from your liver" or "i will kill you."
Dear sober self: your car keys are in the glove compartment, your car is outside the church. I hope you're reading this from your own bed instead of someone else's.
pro-tip: weed infused snickerdoodles are far less conspicuous to eat at work than brownies. no one ever suspects the snickerdoodle.
FYI, Sammie and I made the executive decision that we're getting a pet octopus and keeping it in the ballpit. Just thought you should know.
How was the party last night?
I'm dangerously close to shitting myself.
Dropping acid was like seeing the whole world as a blank canvas to imagine anything I wanted.
And apparently all you wanted was to watch the sun explode and me take 60,000 dicks to the face.
No dude, he just dipped his cigarette info ranch dressing and lit it. He's said he normally doesn't do that but it's Memorial Day.
I just soaked a sugar cookie in nail polish remover to clean off my nails because I was too lazy to walk to the bathroom to get a cotton ball. Is this what rock bottom feels like?
hes like bread. how could bread be dangeous
Driving home this morning in my minion costume makes me rethink the 0 tint on my windows.
Do you think I need to report to HR that the intern and I had butt sex?
When Ben was deep throating pickles last night I actually reconsidered our relationship
I feel like a dancer trapped in the body of a math instructor. Love, Mom
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