People at work think my name is Lilly after seeing my desk. TSM.

Only sleeping with the top row of the composite. TSM.

Third degree burns on your fingers from perfecting little gifts with the glue gun. TSM.

We’re in a relationship. He just doesn’t know it yet. TSM.

T-shirt pick up has been moved to Thursday from 5:30 to 6:30 due to its previous conflict with Zumba. TSM.

Fake it till you make it. And once you make it, bitch about how much you hate when people are fake. TSM.

It’s not that I want him. I just don’t want her to have him. TSM.

I was having a bad day, then Daddy sent me a picture of my new car. TSM.

Billy Joel had it right. This Uptown girl definitely loves a Downtown man. TSM.

No officer, I was actually Facebooking and driving. TSM.

People frequently question whether I have pants on. TSM.

Roses are red, Facebook is blue, no mutual friends, who the hell are you? TSM.

Baking cupcakes to say you’re sorry for trying to puke in a beer bottle at a party. TSM.

Trying to swipe into the library with your American Express. TSM.

Keepin’ it classy, unless it’s at frat parties. TSM.

Always sober enough to walk in heels and drunk enough to not feel them. TSM.

Demanding an apology even when it’s your fault. TSM.

Celebrating my big’s 21st as though it were mine, because it kind of is. TSM.

Classy ladies never have one night stands. We just held auditions and you didn’t get a callback. TSM.

Feeling closer to your sorority sisters rather than your actual family members. TSM.