Is this Colleen Moore? I think it is, but I am not sure.
She made the fairy castle at the Museum of Science and Industry!
It was always my favorite exhibit, other than the pickled fœtuses.
Is this Colleen Moore? I think it is, but I am not sure.
She made the fairy castle at the Museum of Science and Industry!
It was always my favorite exhibit, other than the pickled fœtuses.
(Source: nymphoworm, via tehvee)
HE HAD IT COMING!
HE HAD IT COMING!
HE ONLY HAD HIMSELF TO BLAME!
I didn’t do it
but if I’d done it
how could you tell me that I was wrong?
(Source: acruelultimatum, via zombieporno)
(via thelittlestmoon)
(via thelittlestmoon)
This, unfortunately, is pretty much my life most of the time.
At least I have gotten to a point where I recognize it, and understand how destructive this thought pattern is.
There is so much cognitive dissonance in my attitude towards myself and my body. Intellectually I know that I am not only attractive, but also on the thin side, if not downright skinny. Sure, I am more of an hourglass than a stick, but I am more of an elongated egg-timer hourglass than the squat witch’s hourglass from The Wizard of Oz.
I understand these things, and I understand that starvation-induced bones are not as beautiful as the lush curves of the women whose bodies I admire, and aspire to resemble. I want to look more like Rita Hayworth, Christina Hendricks, or Marilyn Monroe than Kate Moss or Gemma Ward, and yet when I begin to approximate their shapes, I look in the mirror, and all I see is fat, fat, fat.
I see rolls where there are the shapes of bones, and bulges where there is just a flat expanse of skin. I do not want to see this. I want to see reality, but for some reason I cannot.
Maybe one day.
(Source: o-cean-sprayy, via xanthoma)
I have a strict no wire hangers ever policy for my wardrobe.
(Source: joeydeangelis, via itsdelovely)
I never look this pretty when touching up my lipstick.
(Source: iwantsomethingidontbelievein, via thelittlestmoon)
(Source: queencersei, via zombieporno)