He just randomly started talking about Haiti and Conan O'Brien and his grandpa's hip replacement operation. It was the worst phone sex I've ever had.
Stumbled into class and into a desk. When I fell my bottle broke in my backpack. I had to leave there was vodka everywhere.
Also, my drunkenly packed sleepover kit consisted of a singular sock, my uncharged laptop, and a pack of post-it notes.
He made me eat donuts off his dick. donuts, jen. DONUTS.
I've decided he is effectively a mouth, hands and cock held together by bad ideas and compliments, and I'm OK with that.
This is that think about life weed. Thank god I'm in American lit this semester. I can actually write papers in this vat of introspective stoned.
Current dream situation- Gordon Ramsey is my Uber driver and he's hauling around a backseat filled with chocolate covered açai berries. I'm good for eternity.
Just a suggestion, don't apricot scrub your vagina.
Being a fine ass woman in a world full of fuckboys is the realest struggle I've ever known.
He totally sucks at sexting. He sent me a clothed shot of his ass captioned "I know this gets you going." What?
We were fucking in the boat on the lake when another boat saw us and honked their appreciation.
On your day off do you wanna get wine drunk and take a few episodes of Jerry Springer way too seriously with me?
I'm drinking vodka out of a water bottle at work. Am I really the best person to come to for life advice?
I'm kind of upset that he wanted to have sex instead of watch Harry Potter. I mean it's Harry fucking potter.
She was sitting on the couch in his tux jacket...no pants, eating cold vegetable lasagna. Yet I'm the weirdo?
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