First order of business is dropping my 9 am gym class. I'm sweating pure vodka.
the guy that filmed erin andrews naked got 27 months in jail. Every man that's seen it should send him cigs and a nail file baked in a cake. We owe it to him.
I'm finding that as the end of the quarter approaches, the list of things I refuse to do sober keeps getting longer.
Seriously, I was a high class hooker. I was snorting shit Rachel, white powder, lines formed with credit cards, the dudes house was beautiful. Magnum condom. Adorable puppy dog. Pretty sure at some point I was sleeping on a washing machine. Boxing Gloves.
Those were the highlights of my night.
So my mom and I were talking about what I should get you for christmas. She made it clear I cannot get christmas lingerie.
She spilled creme de menthe on her crotch and I told her she looked like a menstruating Vulcan (costume idea!). Obviously, I went home alone.
Whiskey dick is like insurance for making bad decisions
Drunk me obviously wants to fuck up my life
It's like I have an arch nemesis, and it's me
Hey my dad gave me life the least I can do is take him chicken strips and a pack of marlboros.
Because making bad decisions is what makes our house great and I don't plan on changing that anytime soon.
I guess the wine stains on your shirt and the $2 vodka tonics you're sweating out just scream, "Welcome to DC, please ask me for directions."
Also my bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall
I was giving you head in the kitchen, and when I looked up you were eating a quesadilla.
They just made me take another shot and I found out the liquor store next to my brothers house has a petting zoo
Mind. Blown.
just woke up and had to check if i still had pants on, i really need to stop drinking
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