I mean, he's dancing back and forth between pathetically sad and massively fucking creepy.
Tonight i am praying for god to turn my pussy into apple pie because i cant count the number of times bruce chooses food over sex.
My drunk body wants to fuck you so bad, but my high mind is telling me it's too much work. I think I'm just gonna stay home and eat some Mac and cheese. Sorry.
It's like playing clue with my own life. I have to piece together what I did, where I was, how I did it, and who I did it to
I'm doing laundry in pjs and heels, home alone with my margarita bucket.
$1 margaritas. This happy hour needs to end.
You've slept with me you know how lazy I am in bed.
Not sure. No solid plans. Just tanning nude.
You kept telling me how warm your bag of vomit was and asked me if i wanted to feel.
Well. It was around 3 or 4 in the morning. He ran into the woods. Wearing moccasins. Holding an extension cord. He was trying to catch a deer. That about sums up the awesomeness of the night.
You called me at 3 am and I rode my flat ass bike that I dug out of my garage in the dark to meet you at dunkin donuts for a 10 minute convo about your mother and you didn't drive me home.
you owe me a blunt and a bottle of moscato.
IM WAITING BITCH. ANSWER ME.
I had to puke in a ditch beside a cow pasture and like 50 cows just stood there and watched. I could feel the judgment.
I noticed while having sex on Friday that I have great endurance. CrossFit works.
Which is worse that I came in public or that no one noticed?
Your english degree would kill itself if it could read that text.
maybe a couloe typos.. noooooooooo big deal
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