There’s a T-shirt for that. TSM.

BJ and a Sandwich. I call it the “Combo Meal”. TSM.

After shacking, turned down the first T-shirt he offered me because it didn’t have a frocket. TSM.

I carry my Starbucks and Blackberry in the same hand. TSM.

Driving home from Sunday brunch, and seeing your grandlittle on her walk of shame. TSM.

You can tell a lot about a guy by his position in the house. TSM.

Snuck my fratdaddy’s flask of beam into Death Valley in my bra. Then proceeded to drink it myself. TSM.

Hey GDI, black and brown never go together. Unless of course you’re talking about my tortoise Ray Bans. TSM.

No, sweetheart, it’s not because you didn’t get to know us well enough. You didn’t get a bid because you’re fugly. TSM.

Not making decisions, letting sisters make them for me. TSM.