There's a pair of socks on the bar. No-one's questioned this.
Last thing I remember is beer bonging sangria. Dear God.
Why we can't turn this into a healthy friendship where I cheat on my boyfriend with you and you feel better knowing everything wrong with my life is beyond me.
This isn't just a hangover. I can feel the blood moving through my veins, and it hurts.
Yeah. I mean it wasn't that awkward. I just made conversation like there was absolutely no lack of pants.
Note to self...boner negates all verbal agreements ...got it
do you ever wish you could like, jerk your heart off and be, like, emotionally satisfied? it'd feel like cuddling.
It's probably not healthy how legit bummed I am that my bottled of wine is gone.
Oh and apparently something happened that was related to "THIS IS SPARTA" but no one will tell me what I did.
So I'm going to blame my boobs hurting on that.
Question #1: Why am I on my living room floor? Question #2: Where did the bloody footprints come from? Question #3: Why are there two McChickens next to the wine bottle?
if you come you're not allowed to wear pants. if you arrive wearing pants you won't be wearing them long.
So, what my linguistics project should really be called is "I happen to sleep/makeout with a lot of bilinguals and am now using them to help me graduate"
Sorry about the nipples in that snapchat. It was meant for the Australian.
If I wasn't planning on spend the rest of my life with you I wouldn't send you so many nudes, so fucking appreciate it
my boobs just made me lose a game of beer pong. the balls hit them, bounced off and into the cup. twice. ive never been so disappointed in them.
Randomize
