College Junior


Photos of famous landmarks while they were still under construction.

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— Kate Winslet (via littlefoxpaws)

(Source: wrists)

This morning as I attempted to get dressed, I stopped and sat on my bed in my underwear and cried because I was overcome with hatred for my body and my appearance.

And I cried for 15 minutes straight. And then I had to force myself to stop. I had
To tell myself that this feeling I was feeling of ugliness and insecurity were not real. I am only crying because I don’t fit in to a box that the world has told me I need to fit in to be beautiful, adequate and worth anything. And that box is not real. It’s not real. What’s real is who I am as a human being and how I treat other humans and how i feel about myself as a human. That is real. That is tangible. And that matters.

I got dressed eventually all the while stewing in anger about why at 22 years old I still inspect my body with same critical lens that I looked at it with when I was 13.

And it is fucked up. It’s not me that’s wrong, it’s the world I live in. It’s the society that tells me I am only of value if I am beautiful and I’m beautiful if I look a certain away. It’s these ideals that are so deeply engrained in me. And how fucked up is that?

I may not be skinny but there is nothing wrong with my body. I am healthy, (as my doctor informed me of just yesterday) and I am beautiful and beyond that and most importantly, I’m a decent, caring, intelligent, strong, good human being. And that is real.

It’s just hard to bridge the gap in my brain sometimes.





Why can’t there be a male hooter’s equivalent where male servers are shirtless and highly sexualized for their bodies and looks

Male Strip clubs. You’re thinking of male strip clubs.

No. Not a male strip club. A…

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(Source: evenidontknowwhatimdoinghere)


If you don’t strategically eat your food so that the last bites to go in your mouth are the tastiest look at your choices





— irishjulienne’s, saying i love you is not a habit (via themeanbetweenextremes)

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— A ten word story  (via letsmakeitwe)

(Source: prettylittletmi)

My grandma thought he had lost it. One day I got in trouble for fighting with my sister, because she’s a freak. And as a punishment my mom made me help my grandpa at fixing up the Pontiac. But it turned out to not to be a punishment. It turned out to be just about the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I learned all about cars when cars were still cars, as my grandpa would say. I got to hear so many stories from my grandpa about Vietnam, and how the Oakland A’s screwed up their chances to become the best team in history. He also taught me the five strategies guaranteed to get a girl to say yes to a date. We’re almost finished with the Pontiac now. It looks beautiful, like the prettiest girl at the prom, my grandpa would say. I know it should really make me happy and proud of what we’ve accomplished, but the truth is, it makes me kind of sad. Because that car has taken a really hard year for me and made it pretty decent. I guess the good news is, grandpa’s got an eye on a ‘68 Mustang that he guarantees will do nothing less than rock my world, and I can’t wait. 

(Source: parenthood-gifs)

(Source: notsafenomore)