party started at 10. cops are coming to shut us down now and its 11. i already lostmy underwear and im wearing a sparkly thong on my haed. this has to be some kinda record.
my mom just asked me, concerned, if I swallowed.
Oh shit. The kids are pole dancing on a broom. It's like I'm seeing my future offspring before my eyes.
and then they started calling me 'Shitshow Shandra', which apparently i took as a compliment.
He gave me his business card. It was a Justin Bieber trading card with his number written in sharpie. I have to call him don't I?
I bruised my spine.. Jungle gyms were clearly not meant for sex.
I'm gonna be a few minutes late, some asshole just fell off the ferry so we had to stop.
I think I reached some stage of aging, have a sore/injured shoulder from sex, next up carpal tunnel from sexting.
The drug dealer had chickens in his house so I know it was good stuff.
Going through Bojangles drive thru chanting "KFC" hammered at 8:00 was the highlight.
party devolved into two exes battling with Cal's tiki torches, and the lawn being set on fire kinda sorta and then we all hula'ed... hulaed?
Jamie's fucking a senior citizen and I'm eating chips and salsa in the shower at 2am, so whatever you're doing it can't be worse.
I'm not drinking for the rest of the week. I need discipline, celery, dick, and a bible.
Nothing screams "crazy cat lady" like a nursery in your house when you're over 30, single and have no kids.
It was funny for a while but 3 days later I still can't walk and I've constructed a diaper-like contraption to hold the ice pack on my vagina.
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