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I gave up on my aspirations to be on the cover of Parenting Magazine the moment I heard my 4 year old call the dog a douchebag.
"We really should move this into the bedroom, y'know, to get more comfortable." - me to my laptop and pint of ice cream.
That's funny, I don't remember having a complete fucking mental breakdown scheduled for today. And in public, no less.
I'm completely drunk and still knew the difference between they're/their/there, what's your excuse?
If this bottle of Bacardi had a face, I'd put my finger up to it's lips and say "shhh, don't talk, just let me love you..."
At some point I will believe myself when I say it's just another day and it doesn't really matter.
Dear Gym Crush:
I would really appreciate it if you checked out my ass for a little longer than usual.
Been a rough morning.
xo,
Biz
I'm just a girl, sitting in front of a drink, asking it to jump into my mouth, because I'm too lazy to pick it up.
Sometimes I wish I were a dad so that I could sleep in and then go sit on the toilet for half an hour.