Note to self: soco dudes get amusinly uncomfotable when I moan at the urinal.
Pretty girls always come out on top. Or bottom. Whatever. Point is we come out with their boyfriends.
When we ran out of red solo cups we switched to Starbucks cups for beer pong... Who doesn't want to live in Seattle?
We're playing Edward Bottle-of-eight-dollar-sale-wine-hands now
I am only moving my arms so I remember that I can. These brownies are wild.
im honestly more upset that i fucked a buckeyes fan than about cheating on my boyfriend...
The plan is to make enough mistakes this weekend to hold me over until spring break
I ate shit on a rock, and when I got up this car full of people asked me if I was okay, and I just sprinted away screaming "I am a banana!"
I have a diplomatic trade for you. My pants for your rum. Tomorrow?
Tequila pump. I'm ecstatic your engineering degree has real world application.
Also this guy fingered me at the bar and then gave me his card
I told her my cab was outside the club and that I had to go, but I think we both knew this wasn't going anywhere past the sloppy bathroom handjob.
In my next life I better get to be a bird. Fuck flying. I'm gonna shit on your car. Every. Day.
Jesus, you make out with one twin then sleep with the other and suddenly they don't want to play soccer with you... Men can be so sensitive...
The fact that it was "anything but a cup" now explains the cowboy boots and fishbowl aftermath at the apartment.
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