I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
Here. I am here. I do not know where here is but it includes condom balloons, a keg castle, and a shaved goat. Do not find me...I am in post blackout heaven.
went thru the pain of a Brazilian and he's passed the fuck out while i eat Doritos and watch tbs. fuck married life i want out
just filed my taxes drunk as balls. i may be going to jail.
Mr. Clingalot just ran from our apartment. What the hell?
I started to cry afterward and mumble random things. Examples: "God, please don't make me be so gay anymore" and "my mom is going to be so proud of me for fucking a dude this time." It was that or let him stay the night and cuddle. I mean, fuck that horrible shit I'm a girl that needs her space.
It wasn't like a party or anything. They played PlayStation and talked about sports. Then I threw up on his porch.
God loves me. So high, craving Jimmy Johns chips, looked down, unopened bag in front of me. Still doesn't feel real
You are the only person I have ever seen offer your other drink to the bouncer on two fors night
Bouncers are people too...giant angry people
He initiated the conversation by sending me a picture of his penis at 4 am
I'm in too deep with Breaking Bad. I realized I've altered my Tinder likes to people that either look like Jesse or work in a school's Science department.
Dude. I've been high for so many hours now that I'm just accepting this as my new reality.
Stocking up on Wasabi powder. Nobody's tampons are safe.
he brings me coffee and gets a blow job. not sure if I trained him or he trained me or it's simply mutually beneficial beautiful.
You can't die you're my only democrat family member
Having Father’s Day on Pride weekend is always so awkward. “Hey dad just calling to say I love you.” While I’m navigating my way through a pop up pool at a bar riding a penis floatie. Happy Father’s Day.
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