I just did the scooter of shame. New levels of embarrassment have now opened.
I'm sitting in the drive through at Mcdonalds right now watching the workers pressure wash the vomit I left from last night.
had a guy just try to take his underwear off in the middle of the bar w o taking his pants off. That kind of Sunday afternoon
It involved homemade coconut rum, a waterfall, and street signs. I'll leave the rest to your capable imagination.
He waited exactly 18 minutes to booty call me after his break up.
its the kind of pain that only someone with a fucking elephant on their head would understand. I'm never drinking again.
hey this is Madison. you gave me your number last night and asked me to remind you that you didn't fuck anyone. you okay?
I mean you can't really blame him. He's named after whiskey and I don't get along with pants.
He was very considerate of my needs, he offered me pizza before and after.
Just remember: We don't tell our English professor about our fetishes unless she specifically asks about them.
We could have mediocre awkward sex or mediocre stunted/awkward/uncomfortable banter. The possilities are relatively finite
You've hit rock bottom, swam around the ocean floor, and brought back silverware from the titanic.
Quit bitching. I brought you a muffin.
Double-fisting ice cream and wine. Do not send help.
The whole country is going to hell in a handbasket but I got a grade A fucking and don't particularly care.
Randomize