Too blessed to be stressed. TSM.

That clicking sound of acryllics against the keyboard. TSM.

It’s fine, I’m not wearing letters. TSM.

Wait, let me find a better picture of him… TSM.

The passive-aggressive Facebook “de-friend.” TSM.

Using my Pinterest as my Christmas list. If I pin it, I get it. TSM.

My Senior Superlatives: Best Smile, Hottest Wheels, and Two Peas in a Pod with my lifelong best friend turned sorority sister. TSM.

Seeing a girl walk by in letters and thinking, “How the hell did she get into that house?” TSM.

Above your tax bracket and out of your league. TSM.

You say tanorexic like it’s a bad thing. TSM.

It’s totes okay to drink your feelings. TSM.

Open books, not legs. Blow minds, not guys. TSM.

Sometimes recruitment sucks, but blackballing the girl who slept with your ex somehow makes it worth it. TSM.

Procrastinating studying for finals by helping the big pick out a bridesmaids dress for the gbig’s wedding. TSM.

That 8am phone call you get when your Little is doing a walk of shame. TSM.

I drink to celebrate major events…like Friday. TSM.

Finals Week brought to you by coffee and Cabernet. TSM.

‘Tis the season to wear sequins. TSM.

“Santa, baby, I want a yacht and really that’s not a lot.” TSM.

I love everyone when I’m drunk and hate everyone when I’m sober. Except geeds, I always hate them. TSM.