I just saw a girl walking home wearing a tshirt, boxers, and cowboy boots. Thanks for having the decency to drive me to my car.
The last thing I remember is him grabbing my ass and telling me he knew where the jello shots were, so I followed him.
There was a staple in my grits at waffle house last night. My knees are bruised as hell. And I puked pink all over my bathroom. Gooood night.
He was fucking her while he was wiping my tears.
After a couple hours you decided you were going to walk home but ten minutes later you called and said you'd puked by the side of the road and you needed us to drive you to the art museum.
She's the drunk girl with the air-horn and sunflower seeds.
There were midgets. And vodka. If you don't appreciate the awesomeness of that sentence, read it again.
On a lighter note, my mom and I were playing scattergories, and for "things that you keep hidden" we both put dildo. Proof that we really are related.
The guy at the Apple store said the warranty does NOT cover getting cum out of the keyboard. I can't believe I believed you.
Nothing says "we're never gonna bone" like "nice haircut, it makes you look like my cousin"
So, I have realized that I am kryptonite for married men. I'm not sure how to feel about this sober, but drunk me accepts her destiny.
Apparently I was telling them, "I AM A STRONG INDEPENDENT WOMAN AND I DON'T NEED YOU TO HOLD MY HAIR," and I pulled my hair back and puked.
Well I just masturbated while reading a recipe for Alfredo sauce so I guess you could say I’m growing up
tell him if he brings over dinner you might let him see your left boob...or right, whichever you prefer. But under no circumstances do you let him see both...unless he brings a good desert...like coffee ice cream or something
I ate cake in bed. Felt great
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