My brain says no but my pants say off.
oh vodka. i could write you a sonnet.
It's noon and i am somehow drinking by myself in a jazz tent in broad daylight.
he wanted to have me eat skittles off of his body. he mad gay sex even gayer.
Either way you look at it, I'm a slut. But either way I look at it, I'm having a fucking blast.
I cannot tell if the couch is cold or I spilled beer. THAT kind of night.
I've never been to a "going away to jail" cookout. do we bring a present?
He got too drunk... he threw up ON the closed toilet.
It's a Jersey thing
I don't know how to reply to him. 'I'm glad the ecstasy my friend tricked you into taking wore off'...? It just doesn't seem sincere
Hey, if a dude can't randomly belt out Whitney Houston tunes from time to time, is life really worth living??
If it exists, I've probably pregamed it.
We will discuss everything tomorrow i presume. Including the sweaty naked tango.
Lesson Learned: It's not a party until someone pisses their pants.
It doesn't matter if it's only been 3 days since you last changed your sheets. If your fuck buddy comments on how your bed smells like sex, it's time to change them again.
There's a difference tho. *I* drink at seven in the morning because I work graveyards. YOU drink at seven in the morning cause you're an alcoholic.
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