Princesses don't give blow jobs
Vodka @ 9pm. Library. Nothing can go wrong, I promise.
Using his name makes it all too personal. I refuse to get attached to this one. This is all about ass. He doesn't get a name.
I always forget that visiting my hometown is like a who's who of ugly people.
Heard puking from next door. Looks like the third floor won't be any different than the second.
It's hard being an adult. And by that I mean it's hard to tell the boy you like who rejected you that you can't share a room with him at white party because you don't want to see him bang other boys.
it's taken me 3 hours to eat this pudding cup. I think I am melting.
Would you mind pretending to be lesbians just for like three emails?
Wanna smoke some ancient weed I just found in a box of cake mix?
He gave me the award for most entertaining blow job. That should count for something.
The picture on Facebook I was just tagged in, with the mask, that is the definition of Carmen, my drunk alter ego
Sitting in my car feasting on the spoils of Taco Bell as Donna Lewis croons "I love you, always forever." A more perfect moment will never exist.
and then you two started interpretive dancing to Mozart
I ended up sleeping with him in a public bathroom because neither of us remembered where we lived. I have hit a new low.
You know that tattoo place next to Dallas? The naked sexy frog on my neck is proof that their "won't tattoo if drunk" sign is bullshit!
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