I just told my doc I would like to talk about my drinking problem, but that it would probably get in the way of my weekend plans.
He has some good qualities. Beneath the layers of asshole and fat.
I had five suicidal voicemails from him when I woke up this morning. They all started and ended with "DON'T FUCK MY ROOMMATES".
It was only one, it doesn't count.
i like being sick. whatever the doctor gave me is awesone. the walls are waving at me. i never want to get better.
There was a guy on the elevator dressed as santa in flip-flops giving away beer.
yea, there's something about a stripper whipping you with your own belt that makes you think
You're right. Single life welcomed me back with open arms. It's like it knew it wasnt going to be long when I left.
i could have been the DD. this is ridiculous. i'm the most sober and getting the least ass.
You gotta buy me dinner first. Or smoke me out. Both are equally chivalrous
I'm just now starting to feel better... I remembered sleeping on the floor. I was peeing and saw his rug and it looked so comfy
Of course I'm using oj as a mixer, its flu season.
Margaritas just taste better when they're bigger than your head
The fact that I bookended my summer with pregnancy scares doesn't upset me. The fact that he's a trombone major does...
It was like if the scent of sour milk and burning tires had a baby in taste form.
And our sex soundtracks thus far have been metal and Star Wars
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