So i wrote 'don't sex me' on my stomach, so that if we got to a point where my shirt is off - he would know how i really feel, not just the alcohol talking
how did that work out?
Well, all the water washed it off, so we ended up fucking since i didn't have my reminder...
I buy you gas. You blow me. Economics.
Watched a women out our tannin salon literally fight police because she was getting arrested for trying to drunkenly fight the tanning salon owner...we need to step up our day drinking this is shameful.
It's official. 2011 is the year of sport fucking
high enough to want to lick peanut butter off of Michael Buble's vocal chords as he serenades me.
I feel like our lives always have been and always will be a never ending drunken rampage full of pregnancy scares and lost brain cells
he shit on the floor last night i'm not venturing down there
Not great. "Leave the toilet seat down, it gives me somewhere to rest my face."
Tuesday Boozeday turned into What-the-fuck-were-you-thinking Wednesday real fast.
I'm right down the road from AJ's old house and I'm getting mixed feelings. My vagina is remembering good dick. But the rest of me is remembering horrible times.
He snapchated me a photo of his penis with the caption "it needs a home".
I was a plus one at an intervention for a person I didn't know.
I just set an alarm for 5 am tomorrow morning titled "Wake and Bake Its Christmas motherfucker"
She wants to have a threesome with Taylor Swift. I think this is the kind of love my grandparents spoke of.
I'm not talking about Donald Trump in the midst of sending you nudes
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