I puked in a mailbox on the way back from your house.
Im bringing wine tonight. Its from a merlot from nashville. i bet it'll taste like infidelity and teenage pregnancy.
I discovered the grieving process is shock, denial, anger...and then something about drinking until you puke on yourself
Hurry there's a dancing lesbian. She's a jumper and has impeccable jazz hands.
sorry for allegedly lighting the beer pong balls of fire
Dear sober self: your car keys are in the glove compartment, your car is outside the church. I hope you're reading this from your own bed instead of someone else's.
I just remember being happy that I got that toilet fixed so I had somewhere close to throw up
Why is everyone else growing up when I'm just crying, eating, and having pregnancy scares?
You know it was a good night when you're lying on the couch in your pjs at 4pm having a pitcher of ice water for breakfast.
The entire state will know me by my boobs.
You know you're in the hamptons when it's 10pm And you kind of want to vomit white wine on rug that costs more than your apartment.
ok, i suppose pissing your pants could be considered a wardrobe malfunction.
So here's a brief summary of my weekend: last night I drank four glasses of Death Punch, grabbed the toaster, said "This is mine", put it in my pants and walked out the front door.
He got in a fight. Then called me drunk to see if he should bail his friends out, or walk through a Taco Bell drive-thru. True love.
I've broken 3 vibrators in the past month because I apparently am "too rough" with them. Is that even possible?!
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