my weekend in 10 words or less: hot friend of a friend, open bar, beach house, sore. In that order too.
You know it's time to leave Spain when you are back and forth between Skype and a Spanish dictionary trying to figure out out to say "I can still smell you on my skin."
I called the bar to ask if they found my Id and credit card and they remembered me as 'the girl who signed her receipt in blood'
good thing vaginas are great cup holders
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Home. Barefoot. Drunk. Crying. Puked. Brushed teeth. Washed face. Dying. Need Cuddle.
I wish a box of wine came w a hose. It'd be so much easier to drink from.
He's trying to marry me, when is the appropriate time to tell him my real name and that Dallas is a completely fictitious slutty alter ego? I need the advice of someone with morals.
He ran over from the bar to give me more singles because the stripper was doing gymnastics on me. He is a really great friend, just probably not the best boyfriend.
Well, it's a fine line between people-watching and boob-staring. It's a gray area. But we're in Paris. Let's leave it at that.
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He said I took his samurai sword off his wall and proceeded to jump off his porch at people coming home from the bar.
We were wearing togas. So having sex was really easy to do without taking any clothes off.
HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE TROPHY HUSBAND! I WAS GOING TO BE THE SUCCESSFUL ONE!
When you wake up to a porn star on your couch telling you, you better tell your boyfriend about last night.
I'm too drunk to make ramen. What the fuck is this.
There's a fuckload of syrup all over the floor.
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