Sorry I totally forgot to text you back. When you texted me I was at work at the pharmacy and it was stupid busy. And then of course I had my 8 hour "shoot me b/c half of Loyola comes in to buy plan B" shift.
Whats the name of the guy with his hand down my pants?
I keep forgetting that I only have two nostrils.
You just kept saying "I want my babies to look like you."
he fucked my hip out of place.
Became best friends with the hotdog stand creeper outside the bar. Cried and told him my feet hurt too much to walk home then begged him to hire me.
She seriously pointed at the couch and asked me if she could "ride the talking giraffe". I'll never serve everclear again.
Smuggling a beer bottle full of vodka out of the bar with a tampon as a plug for the top of the bottle wasn't one of my classiest ideas... but your hangover proves it was resourceful and effective. Your welcome.
It was like you were trying to communicate only you were using every letter of the alphabet but in no order and in a different language
I'm 50% sure my cousin put weed in these deviled eggs.
Sigh. I haven't seen a dick since August 22nd. And in case you forgot, it's January.
How long do I have to listen to him talk about the chickens before telling him I just really want to fuck? Note: it's already been twelve minutes.
Opening my shipments of mascara and nipple pasties this morning like a boss bitch
I got up and left his place at 3am because I remembered I had a burrito in my car.
And now Google thinks I have a hard hat fetish...maybe I do...
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