Benefit of celebrating married man’s bday: you know he can’t take the cake home!

Benefit of celebrating married man’s bday: you know he can’t take the cake home!

When I get into office, my first decree will be that all the ladies get to stay at home in sweatpants on their periods. This is our compensation for the burden of reproducing the species and all that.
I’m not sure what office I need to be in to do that - probably like President or Queen or something. MINOR DETAILS.

In other news, I am currently hiding in my house because my GOP landlord is cutting the grass and I don’t want to give him the chance to confront me about the “Memphis Respects Sanitation Workers” sign I put in my yard (Teamsters are on strike, y’all!).

I just went night swimming at a republicans house in hernando ms.

Crotch a little wet, bathing suit crumpled in the bottom of a tie-dye bag, hands smell like cigarettes, a little too drunk to be making a 20-mile drive at 2am, satisfied beyond all reason, I think: this. THIS is precisely why I don’t have kids.

This is day 4 of my new life - no weed, no alcohol, no sex, no junk food. And I’m sitting in the gym parking lot, waiting for it to open so I can SWIM.
Definitely-probably headed towards Leslie Knope.

I do, however, reserve the right to go back to my old ways at any time.

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think “God, you know what would make this meeting/work/class better? DRUGS.”

I’ve been smoking weed almost daily for 10.5 years, minus a 6-month hiatus in 2008.

I left my pipe AND my herb in Jxn this weekend and I have a chemistry test on Wednesday, so no time for scrounging.

I think I might use this opportunity to quit for awhile and finally live up to that potential I’ve been hearing so much about.

I’ve always thought I would be like Leslie Knope if I could just stop getting blazed. Let’s test that hypothesis, shall we?

Last week I had sex with 4 different men and I can’t stop listening to Rihanna’s “Pour it Up.”

I would think this is a manic episode, but I’m ALWAYS like this.

H suggested I make a detailed infographic about my various lovers, but they’re all just slightly different shades of shitty. And old. And one’s married. And one’s Memphis-famous. On second thought, that might be the best infographic EVER.
My whole LIFE is thunder

I’ve been out with my college buddies in my old college town.

It’s now 7am on a Saturday and I’ve just woken up in what appears to be a frat house for 30-yr olds. I find my pants on the floor and they are covered in pube cuttings? I don’t even know.

Also in my possession is half a caramel cake shoved into an old pabst box. Maybe THAT’S the real story here.

I still exist, even when you don’t see me.

Last night some dude paid for my drinks at the bar while I shouted “Noooo …. Hashtag feminism! Hashtag feminism!”