I'm okay, they said the swelling should go down in a week. But next time I'm shitwrecked, please make sure to remind me that I can't open a champagne bottle with corkscrew.
Of all the things I am low enough to do, how could you even doubt if that was one of them?
Remind me tomorrow to take that ball-gag out of my purse.
Is it bad that my only regret is fucking on the bathroom floor and not the sink?
I may or may not have shit out a layer of my liver after that weekend.
I don't know at which point last night turned terribly, terribly wrong, but it was somewhere around Motel 6, specifically the parking lot.
It's tough not drinking when the bartender adds rum to your coke without telling you, and doesn't charge you
I'm surprised I don't have a permanent face imprint between my boobs.
I am a figure skater. You should know better than to let me get drunk near any patches of ice during Olympics season.
Just cried because I'm out of oreos. This post-molly depression can go fuck itself.
It's 5am and I have yet to fall asleep. At what point do we just accept that I run on vodka?
Here's an unsolicited pic of my tits, because you almost died last night.
Just come home. We will have sex and Taco Bell. I'm feeling wild, I put on temporary tattoos.
You were giving me all the reasons why being the big spoon is such a responsibility, and how you wish you were a girl cause the little spoon does nothing
Let's just say, I'm pretty sure you're banned from Skype.... like, forever.
Randomize