TEAL is the new BLACK.

tardis-mind-palace:

The three stages of doing homework

heros-of-the-bluebox:

sluttyoliveoil:

cough

rough

though

through

why dont these words rhyme

but for some god forsaken reason pony and bologna do

crimsonkitty:

andypettittesbitch:

I don’t see how anyone dislikes Queen

the dude sang rock operas about his bicycle while wearing white spandex overalls and it totally fucking worked

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ribboneesta:

some feelings

  • entering a warm room after being out in the cold
  • peeling off your socks after a long day
  • the “boom” in your heart when you hear a firework explode
  • having someone brush your hair
  • the buzz of your fingers opening a package you’ve been waiting for
  • writing with a new pen
  • the funny feeling in your stomach when you see the sun outside your window and realize you’ve stayed up all night

cityofathena:

honk-honk-its-gamzee:

moistchunkyslurp:

annabellebanna:

omg i am laughing so hard at the Miss Universe costume category

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you got poland lookin nice

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Namibia workin it

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Costa Rica goin big, what did you expect

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Haiti fuckin rockin it

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Great Britain got damn

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Switzerland hell yeah

and then

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….Miss USA.

we had to be a fucking transformer

is this real life

reblogging this again just to add
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canada HAD TO BE a fuckign mountie are you kidding me

but did you guys see this: 

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DAMN MÉXICO

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is eight years old, she’s got pink cheeks that her grandmother calls chubby. She wants a second cookie but her aunt says “you’ll get huge if you keep eating.” She wants a dress and the woman in the changing room says “she’ll probably need a large in that.” She wants to have dessert and her waiter says “After all that dinner you just had? You must be really hungry!” and her parents laugh.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is eleven and she is picked second-to-last in gym class. She watches a cartoon and sees that everyone who is annoying is drawn with a big wide body, all sweaty and panting. At night she dreams she is swelling like the ocean over seabeds. When she wakes up, she skips school.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is thirteen and her friends are stick-thin ballerinas with valleys between their hipbones. She is instead developing the wide curves of her mother. She says she is thick but her friends argue that she’s “muscular” and for some reason this hurts worse than just admitting that she jiggles when she walks and she’ll never be a dancer. Eating seconds of anything feels like she’s breaking some unspoken rule. The word “indulgent” starts to go along with “food.”

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is fourteen and she has stopped drinking soda and juice because they bloat you. She always takes the stairs. She fidgets when she has to sit still. Whenever she goes out for ice cream, she leaves half at the bottom - but someone else always leaves more and she feels like she’s falling. She pretends to like salad more than she does. She feels eyes burrowing through her body while she eats lunch. Kate Moss tells her nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, but she just feels like she is wilting.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is fifteen the first time her father says “you’re getting gaunt.” She rolls her eyes. She eats one meal a day but thinks she stays the same size. Every time she picks up a brownie she thinks of the people she sees on t.v. and every time she has cake, she thinks of the one million magazine articles on restricting calories. She used to have no idea a flat stomach was supposed to be beautiful until she saw advice on how to achieve it. She cuts back on everything. She controls. They tell her she’s getting too thin but she doesn’t believe it.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is sixteen and tearing herself into shreds in order for a thigh gap big enough to hush the screams in her head. She doesn’t “indulge,” ever. She can’t go out with friends, they expect her to eat. She damns her sweet tooth directly to hell. It’s coffee for breakfast and tea for lunch and if there’s dance that evening, two cups of water and then maybe an apple. She lies all the time until she thinks the words will rot her teeth. She dreams about food when she sleeps. Her aunt begs her to eat anything, even just a small cookie. They say, “One bite won’t make you fat, will it, darling?”

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is seventeen and too sick to go to prom because she can’t stand up for very long. She thinks she wouldn’t look good in a dress anyway. Her nails are blue and not because they are painted. Her hair is too thin to do anything with. She’s tired all the time and always distracted. She once absently mentions the caloric value of grapes to the boy she is with and he looks at her like she’s gone insane and in that moment she realizes most people don’t have numbers constantly scrolling in their heads. She swallows hard and tries to figure out where it all went wrong, why more than a granola bar for a meal makes her feel sick, why she tastes disease and courts with death. She misses sleep. She misses being able to dream. She misses being herself instead of just being empty.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is twenty and writes poetry and is a healthy weight and still fights down the voices every single day. She puts food in her mouth and sometimes cries about it but more and more often feels good, feels balanced. Her cheeks are pink and they are chubby and soft and no longer growing slight fur. Her hair is long and it is beautiful. She still picks herself apart in the mirror, but she’s starting to get better about it. She wears the dress she likes even if it only fits her in a large and she doesn’t feel like a failure for it. She is falling in love with the fat on her hips.

She is eating out with friends and not worrying about finding the lowest calorie item on the menu when she hears a mother tell her four year old daughter “You can’t have ice cream, we just had dinner.
You don’t want to end up as a fat little girl.”

Why do we constantly do this to our children? /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

smallcitysecrets:

pizza-party-in-the-tardis:

thebloggerbloggerfun:

smallcitysecrets:

I simultaneously feel like I’m a toddler and a thousand years old.

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I can’t believe this happened to me.

This semester in a nutshell.

Mountview Academy of Theatre Arts’ production of Spring Awakening in London, England.

forsmithsandgiggles:

lewdmangabey:

maybe i’m a goddamn bleeding heart hippie liberal but i’m totally down with paying an extra .50 cents for a thing of fries if the person who makes me those fries doesn’t have to work 3 jobs just to survive.

most studies show that prices would only have to go up by 1 to 3 cents in order to raise employee wages significantly

or, you know, the ceo’s could take pay cuts but that would be so hard for the poor multimillionaires