‘Cause people seem to only post the 20-something Audrey Hepburn.
Audrey Hepburn was the granddaughter of a baron, the daughter of a nazi sympathizer, spent her teens doing ballet to secretly raise money for the dutch resistance against the nazis, and spent her post-film career as a goodwill ambassador of UNICEF, winning the presidential medal of freedom for her efforts.
…and history remembers her as pretty.
AND HISTORY REMEMBERS HER AS PRETTY
all I can say is thankyou
life in prep
this is my new shoe we’re bbfs fo life
oh shoe, you so funny
ugh her sister is sooo annoying
i luv you shoe xoxoxox
what fake foot
I KNEW YOU WERE CHEATING ON ME.
I’M SO SORRY I DIDN’T KNOW
HOW COULD YOU? I FEEL SO BETRAYED
DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS?
do you know how much fucking money yahoo paid for this fUCKING WEBSITE?
speaking of art history
this is Undine by Chauncey Bradley Ives. she’s at the Smithsonian.
and this is her from the back
that is marble, y’all.
carved so thin you can SEE THE LIGHT THROUGH IT.
fucking art, y’all.
the realism of thin fabric folding and draping over a freaking perfectly sculpted body is killing me
futurama is one of those shows that lures you in by being funny and then rips your fucking heart out
If you didn’t know the hand was her father, the squid thing her mother, her parents left her at an orphanage when she was a baby but in reality were looking out for her all her life
what makes it even sadder is the reason they left her in an orphanage. they didn’t want her to know she was a mutant. they wanted her to live a normal human life so they gave her up while they live in the sewers as mutants.
Here’s the mini I made for Genghis Con! It came from a joke I made on twitter a while back about dogs and wi-fi.
I still have some physical copies of the book left so if you’re interested in buying one, send me a message or email or something. There are a lot of ways to contact me.
how utterly delightful!
based on a true story
Pin curls…making an effort on the off chance I have to leave the house tomorrow, haha!
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me
My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.
On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls’ phone numbers.
When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks —
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.
Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.
He tells me he loves me with the lights on.
I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.
The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.
The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a fucking novelty.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me
Rachel Wiley (via dickdickdickdickdickdickdickdick)
This is beautiful