fighting downstairs. join me tonight to hear their makeup sex. also, let's make skittles vodka.
literally every day that goes by where he doesn't talk to me makes me more determined to get him to have sex with me
You called me at 2am singing 'happy birthday' while screaming 'I fucking love you' verses, all while eating a burrito and taking a piss off your apartment balcony
Yeah I know, the people below me already told me
I just had to dig under a pile of condoms in my desk drawer to get to a blue book. Summer is officially over.
If this outfit doesn't get me pregnant tonight I don't know what will...
#1- I went to button my shirt only to find they were all mising. #2- I'm so fu@king sore I feel like I was sweating to the oldies all night. #3- this pounding headache I have, I blame solely on Jennifer. Everyone sounds like Billy Mays when they talk. I remember nothing from last night, I'm concerned.
I masterbate to the thought of you. You totally aren't just a booty call.
This is America. Deny every slut accusation or own up to it
I'm working on finding a bottomless situation. Both pants and mimosas.
Your heart is a swirling cauldron of blackness that does not pump blood but rather a sludgey mixture of evil and broken dreams.
Apparently I pulled that girl's number while I was trying to insist my drivers license had enough money on it to cover the tab.
It's 5AM and I just stirred weed butter into ramen noodles. This is not where I expected to be at 30. ...But, hey, getting high off noodles.
Lost my pants last night. Really need to stop taking shots of whiskey like I'm eating skittles.
I’m not washing my pussy with handsoap.
I turn 40 next week. I deserve to celebrate the end of my 30’s with a 21 year old dick
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