I'm at a job interview and I smoked a little before I came. I thought it would make me less nervous. Boy was I wrong.
I woke up in what appears to be a taco bell graveyard in my bed.
when she said she was from California you started sobbing. You begged her not to melt your popsicle because you paid good money for it and you just wanted to eat it in peace.
I definitely hasselhoffed a taco bell burrito on my kitchen floor in front of my dad and little brother.
you're going to have to hot glue me into my dress tonight. there's no way out.
I feel like a food baby is going to burst from my stomach and eat all the leftovers until another food baby rips out of its stomach. And so on. It's truly a merry Christmas.
The ultimate Father's Day bonding experience: Both getting bailed out of jail by mom for mooning some shithead cop.
I'm hoping they send me home from work drunk.
If they weren't representing Obama and the White House, they definitely would've punched me in the face.
My only positive piece of news is that my roommate is moving home for the summer, so our stress-relief sex will be much easier to get away with.
I'll have to start mass sending dong pics to get the recognition I deserve
Bottom line; if I'm coming out of my bat cave to do the dishes and get a chicken wing and I have no pants or makeup on and my messy bun looks more like Santa got leprosy and crashed his sled into the back of my head then let me be. That's all I'm saying.
Pride log, day two. Noticing more bruises and scrapes. Liver functions probably very lowered.
That's just how I roll. I drink, then tell people I'm either not wearing underwear or I'm training to be a stripper.
I’m vetoing meatball margaritas right out the gate. We can’t have people throwing up again!
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