So yesterday I was on craigslist and I saw a listing for a sofa-cum-bed. I knew what they meant...
my periods are so regular now that they are sync-ed with my subscriptions of vogue.
Last night I got a napkin with 4 names & numbers: Katie, Ellen, Kylie...and Brandon.
Getting blown during the Cavs game doesn't make it any less depressing.
Seriously just heard: "we need some good ass wine. how bout this swa-vig-non blank"
hahahaha. Oh virginia: where the south begins
She's the barista slut.
I think my cats understand what porn is. And it's all my fault.
I'm covered in egg mcmuffin wrappers and my room smells like dead hooker.
You stumbled in at 10am, half-clothed and still drunk from last night and yelled "well, its not called a walk of pride!", then passed out on the couch.
There's a bag in my room with garbage, a thong, fritos, and an electrical cord. I'm assuming it's yours
........yyyyyyeah that's me
Also I can show up hungover, fall asleep at my desk, and smell like a bottle of whiskey, and they still like me more then my shitty co worker
Dude fuck drugs. It's 4am and I'm eating mushroom ravioli fantasizing about jumping on a trampoline
If muffins & morning blowjobs don't make him happy, frankly, I don't think anything will.
My mom added me on Snapchat which means I am officially done with Snapchat.
IT'S PERFEFT
... what?
HIS DICK. IT'S PERFECT. BYE.
Randomize
