There is an age at which you no longer can binge drink vodka out of a plastic handle without suffering the most soul-crushing hangover of your life, and that age is approximately two weeks after you turn 22.
Apologized to my diary, an inanimate notebook, about how bad I’ve been about writing in it regularly.
The King of the Red Wines, Cabernet Sauvignon is bold and strong—which is why it’s perfect for cleansing your palate when you feel the bile building up upon realizing that Jason met his new girlfriend on Bumble.
Drunk arguments. Becoming a foodie. Passive-aggression.
I feel things. Like, really feel them. I am constantly feeling. If someone is crying in front of me, I cry harder and louder. I am always crying—metaphorically and literally. My soul is so, so old.
Wesley, 2.5/5 stars. Why he doesn’t have 0/5 stars: He put four of his business cards in the fishbowl to win a free happy hour and promised you were invited if he won.
You were way more emotionally invested in him than he was in you. Mostly because he didn’t know who you were. And also because you just fell in love with his Twitter.
Ignoring you and all other responsibilities is how I recharge. So you have to let me do it. And you can’t get mad at me.
They’re the best source of comfort to you during your lowest moments.
If guys can still wear fuckin’ cargo shorts, we 110% can wear pants with holes in them. Cargo shorts have 87 different sized pockets. Destroyed denim allows us the small victory of only needing to shave our knees.