My dog and I share bows. TSM.

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

Well…it seemed like a good idea at the time. TSM.

Red lips, red soles, and red in the polls. TSM.

Every day I thank God and my plastic surgeon for making me the way I am. TSM.

Shacking the night before your early morning flight to convention. TSM.

I don’t want no scrubs – but if I marry a surgeon I’ll totes do his laundry. TSM.

Using leftover vodka to clean glitter off the walls. TSM.

Walking across the quad fratstars look me up and down as I pass. GDI’s know to just look down. TSM.

My resume is pink and scented. TSM.