"I think it’s funny that guys tried to write you letters on type writers to woo you. All I did was try to lick your elbow without you noticing."
My Husband (via mustardseedtrees)
Lately the size of my ass has shocked even me. I walk past a store window, catch my reflection, and jump back agahst at the size of my back porch. I know I should work on this. I’ve inquired about memberships at two different gyms. I’m taking steps. All in good time.
Tonight I walked home from the boyfriend’s house and it seemed that most of Fulton Street was decidedly horny for me. Two car honks, one u-turn, and at least four heyhowyoudoinbabywhatup’s. Not to stereotype, but these were all African-American males and I do have the curves to which stereotypists claim these men are attracted. I realize that I’m one of the few white females in this neighborhood who doesn’t float the hipster bitch vibe. I’m too uncool to avoid eye contact. But still. The honks and hellos were a little much tonight.
As I approached my front door I reached back to dig for my keys realized that my brand new horsey backpack has betrayed me in a terrible way. The entire lower portion of my dress is bunched up under the pack and pretty much exposing all of my big beautiful, tights-wearing ass. All. Yeah, when you have an ass as big as mine, you can’t wear backpacks + dress because of some scientific law that I didn’t learn in high school. I didn’t notice because it was a bit windy out, but I’ve been practicing in the house with multiple dresses and it’s pretty much a fact. Something about friction and paths of least resistance.
I need to lose weight.
So that I can wear a backpack.
Hyperbole and a Half recently returned with a comic detailing her recent bouts with severe depression, and I’ve seen no less than a dozen people reposting and saying something akin to “Exactly how I feel!” It makes me wonder how many people I know have actually contemplated/attempted suicide and how many people still just think mental illness is hip and trendy.
Like, I’m all for open dialogue about mental health, but have you people no shame? Seriously, is nothing sacred?
Because admitting to your suicidal ideations on facebook via a comic strip just seems a touch too flippant to me.Do it on tumblr where that shit belongs, bozos.
Baby goat conquers human
Going to a tiny animal farm in two weeks and I really hope this happens to one of us.
It’s gonna be me or you, babe. Both if we all get lucky.
NO REALLY WE ARE GOING TO A TINY ANIMAL FARM (because dreams do come true)
"Wish I could fuck, smoke weed, and sleep all day but I gotta get this money."
Overdoz. (via mysectionis90)
My most-liked Instagram photos from the past 3 weeks.
Uploaded via autosets.
feeling less weary
but still feeling a little old, in a a neutral way. last night it occurred to me that the rap concert i was at would perhaps be a lot more fun if i got a lot more drunk, but i just didn’t have the wherewithal to do such a thing. getting drunk requires money and time and feeling like shit the next day (oh no no no i am no longer twenty one, dammit). besides it was a bunch of dude bros, and getting drunk now is only fun when i’m with people i can cuddle and people with whom i am not embarrassed to eat amusingly noxious late night fast food. plus, bars. terrible places in general after ten o’clock. i like my whiskey at seven, maybe eight pm. the rest is neutralizing too, which is nice. i still criticize my thighs and and arms and wonder if my knees are getting fat, and sometimes notice that my boobs end up in my armpits when i’m lying on my back, but who really cares but me anyway. still got blatantly eye-fucked by a 23 year old last night so i feel pretty alright on my game. (even when you throw an old flannel over it, an decent lbd still usually works in one’s favor.) and today i am wearing no clothes that match or even appear to be clean. lately, i have a hungover vibe, without the hangover which secretly makes me feel kind of cool, but also just kind of careless. i’ve stopped washing my hair but once a week. it’s too much trouble, and undone natural texture is this season’s soft waves. trends are working in my favor, at least.
it still occurs to me that i am very loud and very eager when it comes to socializing, but it also occurs to me that perhaps i’m not as bad as i think. again, neutral. i think i mostly want to read books and write bullshit and turn up for air every now and then. go dance in a crowd of sweaty bodies now and then.
Christopher Meloni won Mayorship of Babe City something like 14 years ago.
Something I do sometimes is listen to the radio on Sunday morning and just flip through the stations looking for church services. I don’t stick around much for the preaching, but I like church music, the praise and worship part so long as it’s not labeled “contemporary.” The black evangelical or pentecostal churches are most fun. There’s a lot of fire in most of them, and the reverend or pastor is often a little bit more than a tiny bit like James Brown. I like the restraint in Methodist’s choirs, and I imagine the entire congregation seatbelted into each pew, just for safety. Church of God is always very melodramatic, and the self-assuredness of Baptists never ever relents. It is sometimes charming, the Baptist’s conviction that they are the only ones doing it right, but only very rarely and then only during the singing parts of service.
Now I don’t have much to say for Mormonism because I just read Under the Banner of Heaven, which you should read but steel yourself because it’s very upsetting.
But I will say, their tabernacle choir really does it for me when it comes to hymns.
How To Tell Someone That You Have A Crush On Them
- start aggressively tapdancing in front of them without saying anything
- continue doing this until they ask you why you are doing this
- fall to their feet and start crying
This is a better idea than the time I sang “You Belong to Me” quietly in its entirety to a guy on a sidewalk in front of a bar.