So, I woke up to an empty bottle of scotch and a dead car. The last thing I remember are the strippers being mad at me. Awesome night.
Feels good to be wearing underwear again though...
he doesn't care that i have a boyfriend so why should i?
logic in its finest
so how was last night?
got high and had our usual talk about the definition of cole slaw. then tried to call the ramen noodle company and convince them why my face should be on thier packages.
no they seem fine, they're doing push ups and waiting for a charging toy helicopter
I'm buying drugs in the library...And it's not even finals time. What has my life become?
Nobody has seen her in 3 days. Should we call the cops or hope this is just another drunk Carmen San Diego game she's playing?
That awesome feeling when you are pooping on the same toilet that nobel laureates have pooped on
found a better reason to procrastinate than the usual sunday-don't-give-no-fucks. literally every one of my textbooks is soaked in captain. can't turn a page without gagging.
I stood on the corner waiting to be picked up, dry heaving, and trying to block out the sun.
Just cried because I'm out of oreos. This post-molly depression can go fuck itself.
I had to switch coats with someone at work because you can see the giant sex choke bruise on my neck. Being kinky is hard.
Should I tell him how he got the bruise on his ass or just enjoy his theories?
He serenaded me say anything-style with Weird Al songs and then blew me on the beach. I'd say he's a keeper.
Having sex with him is like yoga. I do it in the morning and then can't walk for three days afterwards.
I have to charm this cab driver. Hold on.
Randomize
