Really wanted to go to Target but I didn't want to shower and get dressed so anybody need anything from Walmart?

So cute how you guys tweet about "plans" and "going out" today. Like I don't know you're actually still in bed covered in Cheetos crumbs.

I can't get a tattoo because I change my mind too often and too quickly. I should maybe go with "I love cheese" - that hasn't changed.

Today's forecast: Lazy with a chance of napping.

There are only two explanations for why I become super quiet:

1. I died.
2. I'm thinking of ways for you to die.

So apparently, yelling "UNFOLLOW" at a friend in real life when they say something stupid means absolutely nothing. WTF?

Nice try British lady at Target. You can't make me call heels "pumps" and those aren't "Wellies," they're rain boots. WE HAD A WAR FOR THIS.

I have a soft spot for nerds. Many, many soft spots.

Please don't be nice to me. Then I have to be nice back and that's just too fucking exhausting.

There are about a dozen things I have to do tonight which is why I'm watching this baby panda on YouTube sneeze again.

I miss the old days when a lady could just show some ankle and men would propose on the spot. Now they're all "How's your credit score?"

I don't tweet about blowjobs or have a sexy picture. I want you guys to like me because I'm nice, witty, and have boobs... I mean, brains.

Friend: "Party time at the club bitch!"
Me: "No thanks and you forgot to draw your eyebrows back on..."

I suck at being friends with girls.

My skinny jeans just tried to kill me.

Dear people who follow me after reading just the one tweet they liked, I'm just as disappointed as you that the rest suck balls.

You know how people say they're "party animals" but they actually mean "drinking alone and crying"? No?

Anyways, I'm a party animal.

Relax brain. You had a good tweet two days ago. It'll happen again. Maybe. Or you've peaked and just RT for the rest of your life and cry.

Wrote 2,000 tweets before I realized Twitter wasn't my diary and that other people were reading it. The next 2K was just me forgetting that.

When I star your tweet, it means I laughed, snorted, agreed, sympathized, was disgusted, and loved it. When I RT, it was all of the above.

Forgot the password to my bank account which prompted them to call me to see if I was being hacked. Now they know I'm poor and stupid.