...so i touched it.
You know the @ sign on twitter? i wish there was one of those in real life so that the smokin' hot guy at the bar would know the slutty unbuttoning of my shirt was directed @ him, not @ his friend who looks like Mickey Rourke post-face melting
well i was about to unbutton his pants but then i realized they had an elastic waste-band, so no, that didnt happen
Changed my mind. Wearing a dress. Casual, with a side of breasts.
Starting drinking whiskey at eight. Already had ten girls looking up my kilt to make sure I'm wearing it right.
Did we fight the bathroom girl ? She just wanted to give us lotion and condoms.
I thought that wasn't a thing ever since she showed you her vag on the dance floor
Today's walk of shame includes last nights hair and make up, an 8 hour shift, me leading a meeting and me throwing up in a parking lot on my way to work. Dear world, you're welcome.
I discovered a new stretch mark. DONE. LITERALLY DONE.
It's Reggie from Taco Bell, send me a pic.
A million fucking miles away, and the sun still manages to fuck my hungover mornings up.
Noted. Next time you want to get fried chicken and cocaine.
Ok. That just sounds baller.
my mom talks about my drinking like its a problem and yet this morning she fills me a solo cup with champagne for the shower.
I should never have to text my best friend asking if she eloped again last night.
Well, if you do die, I'll bedazzle your coffin.
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