the Monday before Thanksgiving is not a Monday at all. Just Thursday in Monday suit.
I'm bringing in a picture of a stranger on facebook to get my haircut. I have reached a new level of creepy.
You were in your third change of clothes, and I found you in my driveway passed out with my dog's food bowl. You win.
I just did the math. It is, in fact, cheaper to go out drinking every weekend than it would be for me to pay for a legitimate therapist. What are you doing next Friday night?
The bartender said he wanted to turn you gay, and we got free shots the rest of the night
The last thing I remember was paying off her younger brother not to judge me, then puking on his shoes.
She really is something else.
Words cannot describe what though. The best way to describe her is to say it like watching a bear and a whale have sex. You don't know why it's happening or how. But it's rather funny and you can't look away.
you were afraid hed set himself on fire so you dumped a box of baking soda on him
I can measure my amount of vomit in solo cups.
I seriously just drove by a man walking down the street wearing hospital scrubs, an 80s track jacket, gold necklace and carrying a flute.
I think we can say happy hour is successful when you have frosting and southern comfort in your hair.
I don't think I have face palmed that many times in such a short period. And I've worked tech support.
I haven't had a bra on since I quit my job.
Me and mom just bonded over our mutual desire to bang Mark Ruffalo. I'm not sure how to feel about this.
I woke up this morning to my panties draped around the neck of an empty bottle of bulleit. That is the perfect visual metaphor for my life at this juncture.
Randomize
