Chelsea.
21.
Arizona.
College Junior

I need to eat but going in my living room makes me incredibly sad.

I don’t like this moving out business.

Noor Shirazie (via aestheticintrovert)
— Never again. (via bridgetoteranarnia)
nietodickens:

S o M a — N Y C  

South of Manhattan, New York, viewed from the Empire State Building Observatory. That slice on the right is 5th Avenue, and if you see closely, you can spot the Flatiron Building on 5th and Broadway. On the far left is the Williamsburg Bridge. #Manhattan #Brooklyn #NYC #architecture #photography  (at New York, New York)

nietodickens:

S o M a — N Y C

South of Manhattan, New York, viewed from the Empire State Building Observatory. That slice on the right is 5th Avenue, and if you see closely, you can spot the Flatiron Building on 5th and Broadway. On the far left is the Williamsburg Bridge. #Manhattan #Brooklyn #NYC #architecture #photography (at New York, New York)

newyorkcityfeelings:

Little Italy by kpstatz

newyorkcityfeelings:

Little Italy by kpstatz

runsleepygirl:

closer-each-day:

Sometimes I drink too much vodka or eat 3 servings of macaroni and cheese in one sitting, but by far the most unhealthy habit I have is comparing myself to others.

This is one of my favorite things I’ve ever read on tumblr

(Source: thegirlwhoglows)

casualcissexism:

darksungwyndolin:

jesus mario what is your damage

THIS IS THE MOST FUCKED UP THING IVE EVER SEEN

casualcissexism:

darksungwyndolin:

jesus mario what is your damage

THIS IS THE MOST FUCKED UP THING IVE EVER SEEN

(Source: e-n-o-n)

(Source: scienceandeggs)

riotsiren:

Next older person to complain about millennials has to pay off a random 20-something’s student loans

kingsleyyy:

i want a bf :/

and by bf i mean Benjamin Franklin as in a 100 dollar bill

(Source: infinimorr)

mangomamita:

u just gotta hav ur hand on ur boob sometimes

michaelpalin:

a plus-side to being my friend is that you can come to my house in your pajamas and i will not judge you because i will also be in my pajamas

koreedelray

(Source: owenhartofficial)

saturdaychores:

Saturday Chores #1, March 8, 2014
This was our very first counter-protest. It happened on a bit of a whim. There’s no big box hardware store very close to where we live, so Grayson and I were driving toward a suburb of Raleigh called Cary, which runs over with strip malls. I had gotten a gift card to Home Depot for my birthday, and we decided to get supplies for a garden box. We passed the clinic on the way.
Grayson and I both grew up not too far away, and we’ve seen the clinic in question hundreds of times. But for some reason, on this morning in particular, the protestors got under our skin a little more than normal. Grayson suggested that we make a sign that said “Weird Hobby” and point at one of the protestors. We tried to buy poster board at Home Depot, but they don’t carry it. As we were leaving, I ripped a vinyl sale sign off of a display and took a Sharpie to it. We posted the results to Instagram and Facebook, and people flipped. 
So, we vowed to continue our Saturday Chores. 

saturdaychores:

Saturday Chores #1, March 8, 2014

This was our very first counter-protest. It happened on a bit of a whim. There’s no big box hardware store very close to where we live, so Grayson and I were driving toward a suburb of Raleigh called Cary, which runs over with strip malls. I had gotten a gift card to Home Depot for my birthday, and we decided to get supplies for a garden box. We passed the clinic on the way.

Grayson and I both grew up not too far away, and we’ve seen the clinic in question hundreds of times. But for some reason, on this morning in particular, the protestors got under our skin a little more than normal. Grayson suggested that we make a sign that said “Weird Hobby” and point at one of the protestors. We tried to buy poster board at Home Depot, but they don’t carry it. As we were leaving, I ripped a vinyl sale sign off of a display and took a Sharpie to it. We posted the results to Instagram and Facebook, and people flipped. 

So, we vowed to continue our Saturday Chores. 

My fictional music festival is called “wait…are you SURE it’s not 1998?”

And I would sell everything I own, plus any organ I could not absolutely live without to attend. Then I would spend the following 4 days sobbing because my life probably would never get any better than that weekend.