So yesterday I was on craigslist and I saw a listing for a sofa-cum-bed. I knew what they meant...
my drunken desire to be gossip girl continues to ruin friendships for me
I feel like if I were on Intervention, I would have to be a season finale.
A relator touring our house this week saw the picture in our bathroom of steven passed out, yellow faced, with BALLS on his forehead, and had to ask "if that kid was alive or dead".
Thanks for sticking it out with old horseface last night... I owe you one buddy.
All i want to do is drink fuck and cry... you dont have to cater all three its more like the saddest choose your own adventure ever
I just laughed at the word pudding. I have no idea whats going on right now.
4:37 am. You're wearing underwear and carpet skates. Borderline crying. You want to punch Morgan. Have not stopped singing Give Your Heart a Break.
I tried to roll down the stairs in a ball. I have bruises, the pain is too much.
What the fuck, why would you ever do that?
Haven't you ever just wanted to be a ball?
I told him finishing at the same time would be a long-term project. Like flipping a house. A sexual house.
You know shit got weird when you watched another guy shove drugs up your wife's ass and it wasn't awkward for any of us....
Last night you broke a mirror, and then rolled around in the glass shards. Miraculously, there's not a scratch on you...
I wish the guy in the stall next to me would stop moaning while taking a dump.
I wish you'd stop texting me from the toilet.
I cannot believe I am seriously having a conversation about my best friend's sexual prowess as a dream lesbian.
He just kept going down on me. And he was all like, do you mind? No motha fucka, who would? All of his ex's, apparently. Whatever, he's a gem and I'm keeping him.
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