I think I might be in your shoes. Except they are actually my shoes. Either way these shoes are wasted.
The fact that both my ribs are severely bruised from shoving flasks in my bra might be a validation of my mothers alcoholic accusation
I'm not really sure what went on in my mouth last night but right now it tastes like what I can only imagine is a mixture of astroglide and peanut butter. You hungry?
I love that your last three texts to me were "Drunk." "Getting laid." "In the hospital."
Nothing like cleaning dried puke off your floor to make you feel like you've failed as an adult.
OH GOD NOT SANTA BABY. NO NO NO. YOU'RE LIKE 85. OMG MULTIPLE WOMEN. NO NO NO STAHP.
You can fuck me but I'm keeping my parka on.
Literally too hungover to pull out of the driveway. Tried 3 times and failed. I'm going back to bed.
AND I JUST BURNT MY BACON. WTF MONDAY. SCREW YOU TOO
Come over. And we'll put iced coffee in the bong.
Okay so it turns out that my bf keeps a log of every time I sleep-fart. It's dated back to 2013.
It's volleyball. Just do it. You want to look sporty. Save sexy librarian for another day.
I am high playing guitar hero naked. Please don't let me die this way
I'm drunk still and I cried and now I'm watching Whitney Houston singing the national anthem and I'm crying more
Yupp. He's definitely a screamer.
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