he was fingering me, then looked down and said "i like your socks"
im celebrating the fact lent is over and i can give blow jobs again.
I was still in a towel. We hadn't even started drinking yet and the champagne bottle dropped and exploded literally up into my vagina.
"The juvenile turned and faced the officer, unzipped his pants, placed a fresh cigarette in between his legs and preceded to light it with a match"
Call me when you get up. This hang-over is like dismantling a bomb: I need someone to talk me through it.
I really just want to stuff him in my purse, take him home, feed him pudding or applesauce and brush his hair. That's not creepy, right?
Just to circumvent as much mood-killing as possible, you are allowed a small amount of laughter at my pubic hair. Too much and I revoke your vagina privileges until you can get your shit together.
I actually had to tell him that sex doesn't replace my Tupperware. Our relationship has reached a weird level.
Inebriation Olympics: Team Drunk vs Team Stoned. This weekend. It's on.
The selfie stick gets 5 stars bc it really added a fun element to my sex tape
I just made my mom buy me lube. I've reached a new level of broke.
It's really life affirming to be at a wedding thinking wow I took your husbands virginity
I couldn't figure out what was more important, finishing the shot or putting out the fire on my leg.
Every day I wake up and there is no spectacular morning wood waiting for me I get so sad.
And on the way out from Applebee's he tried to take the basket of toothpicks claiming he was using them as a tax write off. Last time I babysit my dad on thirsty Thursday.
Randomize
