I'm going to an arts college, I live next to the frat houses, and my room number is 420. god has plans for me and I couldn't be happier.
you know that dress I got margarita and puke on? yeah, just returned it.
my purse only fit my wallet or the martini shaker. it wasnt even a question of which i was bringing.
I'm calling into work with a wicked case of sledge hammer crotch. She has to understand
I knew the only reason I bought a smartphone was to play "You're Havin My Baby" on the way to cvs to buy Plan B.
It's ok. Rob's just shotgunning upside down.
Cause I came home. Im covered in green marker and jack daniels. Theres a taco and the words "we went to Mexico" on my wrist. Im a walking abomination.
Sadly him cutting me out of the duct tape dress was NOT the most awkward part of the night. It was a littleeee moist under there.....
Like some sort of pot growing robin hood.
Multiple bruises and a hell of a headache later, I have still to find out where the fuck I picked up the bottom half of a mannequin.
Fucking someone because they own a lava lamp is like fucking someone because they have 20 dollars and no concern for their house burning down.
My booty call fought through ice and a foot of snow to get here. He brought booze, food, and cigarettes for three days. My vagina is the greatest motivator of all time.
I spent half an hour sculpting my pubes into a perfect triangle of really short hair, and the first thing he said when he saw it was "Don't you think you need a shave?"
And on a positive note i found a list that i made in 3rd grade titled "what to do if you want a guy to like you"
they gave me money. the money smells like weed. also they gave me weed
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