I'm gonna write a book, Things that go bump in the night: The story of Katelyn. Chapter one, my roommate is a dumb whore.
Girls are like M&M's, once the lights go out you can't tell the difference.
Driving by his house every hour is not stalking, it's a reconnaissance mission... How else can I confront him
he was too drunk to climb up my loft. i owe my beating teen pregnancy to four pieces of steel
ok is that genuinely the first four bars of mozart's symphony #40 sharpied onto my arm or
I'll even be awesome and bring pizza for your family, just as a "hey thanks for letting a stranger get trashed at your house" gesture.
We are magical, pot smoking, smart as hell, single as fuck, woodland dolphins.
Shotgunning beers to finish a midterm project at 3am is a good idea right?
I couldn't do it. You can't break up after that many orgasms. It's physically impossible.
I spent the whole ride asking the cabbie if people ever have sex back there, and if he wanted me to make that number one higher.
I need to be put in a corner surrounded by pamphlets of stds and babies
In another note. Thanks for making me get a vibrator. For real.
I feel like my life just hangs in the balance of "Yeah I'm probably not doing this right"
I'd have to have a ring. Like I don't want to be called "the ex girlfriend that shit on me"
The guy at the liqiour store just said "Wow haven't seen you in awhile, is everything okay?"
Randomize
