i'm not a human right now. not even a dancer.
Mom wants to know why I'm bringing a blender back to college.... didn't have the heart to tell her she's paying a $20,000 tuition for us to make margaritas and sleep through class
These hangoverless Sunday mornings are becoming too regular.
i remember you telling me to take a shower, brush my teeth, go get back in bed w her, and "just do what i was born to do." and as soon as i stopped yacking i did just that. you saved my birthday.
Home safe. Psyche shattered. Still rolling. In love with the morrocan rug in the living room.
I need to get skinnier so that I know when pregnancy scares are real...
I take it that, because we are not guzzling a box of franzia, everything went alright?
There two guys dressed as FEMA workers with jump-suits that say "Post-Disaster Breast Examination Division"
Relationships are fuckin' work. And you can't just up and leave with no questions when you really just need to get home because you're about to shit your pants.
You're so wise.
I have decided that today will be all about indulgence and hedonism.
I was thinking about the biological process causing me to puke while I was puking. THAT'S how much I'd been studying.
They were assless. I wore assless football pants.
I just blew thrown up hashbrowns out my nose. That's the level of this hangover.
I'm pretty sure even the managers want me to show up hungover my last day, it would be negligent and disrespectful to do otherwise
I teamed up with my vagina. I compromised his morals and then she corrupted him for good. It’s been a very successful and slutty partnership
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