Conclusion from last night: Sometimes being classy isn't as fun as making out with a guy on a pooltable in a bar. Happy birthday, Canada.
the best part was when he threw his debit card on the table, looked at everyone and said "turn this into pizza!" It felt like a scene in a 'coming of age' teen comedy.
my grandma just put on bowling shoes, to play wii bowling.
Just puked in the monkey exhibit at the zoo. They ate it. I don't want a pet monkey anymore.
You kept hugging the big bouncer & feeling the other ones beard
We stuck the straw in the bourbon as a joke, you saw it as a challenge.
I feel like this is the moment of high where you have to write these texts down to remember to text them and feel that somehow this is important to the continuity of the world.
I made a Russian puke. I outdrank a Russian. I am unstoppable.
Oh, and apparently I was butt ass naked and walked into the room where anna was skyping her dude in afghanistan and said "This is happening."
Someone sharpied "COCK HUNGRY" on my butt cheeks last night. When the fuck did I have my ass out?
I'm going to try and loofah my hangover away.
Update: It didn't work
Lesson learned. No more vodka and toaster strudel
I was shitfaced. I filled my contact case WITH TANNING LOTION
Already doing pt exercises by picking my margarita up off the night stand. Fuck yeah.
because nothing says “let’s fucking rage” like getting a compensation letter and some company stock
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