No, asshole. I'm not gay. But if I was I think I would do better than fucking Nick Lachey.
morning outfit: hottub soaked skirt. no underwear. someone's bandanna worn as a shirt. took me an hour to walk home. this isn't fun anymore.
Apparently I think casual Friday means I can show up unshaven in yesterday's clothes and reeking of booze.
And I was somehow convinced to wash the glassware at the bar topless.
I usually would've stopped there but I kinda remember opening the bottle of vodka, and we ALL know that's when things go downhill.
Hypothetically, how much legal trouble do you think i will be in for stealing someone's dog?
Hung over does not do it justice. I am hung like a horse over. I am hungover and over and over. I am hung, drawn and quartered fucking over. They just told me I can't keep my sunglasses on in the office. Fuck drinking with you people.
His fuck buddy just got fake tits and wants him to 'come break them in.' I need his life.
I wish I could like. Pull my liver out, and put it in the corner of a boxing ring, put a towel and ice on it, rub it's shoulders, and tell it to "get back in there, you got this!".
Just found the cutest bag of coke under my bed. I'm going to get fucked up and bleach the cat vomit out of my sheets.
Marshall is naming all the elements of my face. I love science nerds.
Maybe I'm nitpicking, but that looked more like how one would jerk off an elephant than it did playing air guitar.
He rubbed aloe on my sunburn while I blew him... could he be anymore perfect?
He somehow always manages to get me naked within 5 minutes of being together. It's like fucking witchcraft.
One door closes, one man cooks for you through the next open door
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