so Brent and I ordered you a drink then realized you don't live here. I drank it.
She made a list of the things each of us had done wrong and assigned a point system. Guess who came out the loser?
he was like a christmas ornament you would hang on the back of the tree....not great but still made the cut.
She is a fish and this place is a barrel. I can play this game.
I'm pretty sure we've had sex a bunch more times than we've hugged. So hugs are weird when they happen.
He gave me the "I've pictured you while jerkin off" look
you know you've made it when it's your own pool table you're waking up on
Bren left me with a lovely parting gift. Newfouund alcoholism. I'm on the kitchen floor, hugging a bottle of vodka. It's my only friend now.
pretty sure I called you last night to sing Hebrew to you.
This is love.
Which part? The alcoholic cupcakes or the lesbian st paddys day party?
He's so urbane and sleek; so aesthetically chiseled, having endless features to offer me whenever I desire.
Are you fucking a guy or a condo building?
I'm getting drunk by myself again. But I'm not shotgunning any of them. That's self-restraint, right?
Seriously. I'm like, "Wait, we are actually talking about physics in the middle of sex and its ACTUALLY erotic because you're so fucking intelligent I'm turned on?"
you know that australian accents are like the bat signal to my vagina
I had a dream that I was smoking rasberries out of a bong. THEY WEREN'T EVEN DRIED...
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