Author: alexisrichter

jehovahhthickness:

mazapanlesbian:

Growing up fat, you get made fun of for everything you do, even basic shit like eating and laughing and breathing are funny when you do it because youre fat! And its so hard to not carry that with you as you get older, like I’m still embarassed to eat or dance in front of people or smile in pictures and its ridiculous and I hate it and I wish I was treated with more humanity

Anyone that responds to this post with “Maybe you should lose some weight”

loutrem:

doodlemeimpressed:

sussura:

megasonger:

emiria:

adulthoodisokay:

oh my god this vid from a /ck/ thread is incredible

my kinda diet

What

This video looks like how it feels when youre crying in your bed at 3 am out of anxiety and youre trying to cheer yourself up by watching videos but all it does is make your brain feel more erratic.

sapphic-snafu:

ennui-girl:

witch-of-habonim-dror:

you all have permission to come to my funeral and give wildly conflicting accounts of my life

Please. I want nothing more than to be shrouded in a confusing mesh of myth and fact

Okay but this actually happened to me at my grandmother’s funeral.

There I was, consumed by grief, standing by her coffin with my brother when all of a sudden this couple I had never seen before in my life walked up to us.

Without introduction, they asked me if I knew Vittoria. I said yes, she was my grandmother. The woman looked me right in the eye and said, “Y’know your grandmother was really brave. Not many people would have helped a member of the mafia.”

To which. My brother and I just. Stood there??? Like what do you say to that.

But this lady didn’t stop, oh no. She told us the story of how years and years ago, the local mafia held their annual spaghetti sauce contest and one of their members didn’t have a recipe to compete with. So he called my grandmother and asked for her recipe and she gave it to him, secret ingredient and all. And that guy won the sauce contest.

After this little spiel, my brother and I are still in shock, literally standing over my grandmother’s dead body while this woman tells this tale. And then they just. Left? They disappeared into the void. I never saw them again.

After the funeral, my brother and I were on our way out of the cemetery when he turned to me and asked, “So what do you think the secret ingredient was? That won the contest.”

And I just. Cracked up laughing. Doubled over in the middle of a cemetery. Because I already knew. I’d seen my grandmother make that sauce with her recipe, and I’d watched my dad make the same one for years.

I looked my poor brother in the eyes and said, “It was a jar of Ragu.”