It was laundry day and I was wearing last xmas undies. he took one look and went...you's a ho, ho, ho. my response you ask? for less dough, dough, dough. I'm a slut.
with a sacreligious after taste.
I woke up with a crunchy, pink Pepto streak through my hair, no recollection of the last 6 hours of my night and the feeling that all the hotel's staff knew me on a first name basis.
I found him in the livingroom trying to soak up broken glass with the clock from the kitchen.
I'm sad your dog died... Her name is my stripper name.
He was fucking her while he was wiping my tears.
I saved him as teletubby in my phone....that can't be a good sign. I'm not answering.
Happiness was finding the hidden Gatorade in the fridge
It mathmatically balances. Less pants + more shirt = fully clothed. see? Not a whore!
"Functional." Your standards for how you feel after drinking are so high.
When your night starts by chugging margarita and drinking vodka out of tupperware, I feel it's best to stay realistic.
Look. I've got things to do today.. Will you hurry up and come over so I can give you some head and get my day started already
Outside
is that a sigh of girlish delight, or "sigh...I'm having a herpes outbreak'
Can't it be both?
YAY! I just removed my own stitches, and I'm only bleeding from one spot! on a related note, do you think a dishwasher will sterilize forceps and trauma shears?
So I decided to sleep with him for the first time in months so I can convince him it's his kid instead of the other guy
We left Waffle House and he took off running five miles down the road saying we were "training for the Olympics." And I mean, I couldn't leave him out there like that...
The only thing I remember about us having sex is yelling at him to choke me.
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