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The string of my sweatpants has disappeared into the waistband. Well there goes the rest of my day.
There are still watered-down bottles of alcohol in my parents' liquor cabinet like ticking time bombs.
Boyfriend acts like he doesn't enjoy me reading the tweets on my TL out loud then poking him in the face with my phone if he doesn't react.
It's my mother's birthday. She is an angel. I don't even think she poops; she just goes to the bathroom periodically to refold the towels.
Boyfriend bought chicken hotdogs. Chicken. I wish we were married so that I could divorce him.
Once you figure out that you can make a microwave cake in a mug in under two minutes, you're pretty much never going to be skinny again.
I'm still kinda a trophy wife. Just one of the larger trophies. Like, I am the Stanley Cup of trophy wives.
So glad I hurt my left hand and not the right. Ever tried to wipe your ass with the wrong hand? You might as well go straight to the shower.
Thats right folks- Yesterday I talked poo ad nauseam, today Miami Vice. Tune in tomorrow when I'll tweet about parrots I've loved to death.
If scientists can somehow make guys' gonads release stem cells, ladies will line up for facials that actually work.
I grew up in a loving home with supportive parents. It's been very creatively limiting.
It's unnatural to give a fuck what Kirk Cameron thinks.