Amanda, 20 @benedicts-arse - Tumblr Blog

Emma, NO.

A biography by Julian Blackthorn, co-authored by Cristina Rosales, with introduction and annotations written by Diana Wrayburn and the entire Clave. (via incorrecttdaquotes)

#tda #lady midnight

filmchrist

#orange is the new black #red

insqire

I fell in love with Chris Pratt.

#Chris pratt

introvert-enthusiastic

#taron egerton

gonewiththegershwind-deactivate

Do you ever just watch a musician perform and it’s so good that you get a little turned on?

ladynovelist

FUN FACT: THE SAME HORMONES THAT ARE INVOLVED WITH THE SEXY THINGIES ARE ALSO THE SAME ONES INVOLVED WITH OUR RESPONSE TO THE MUSIC WE LIKE.

tinyoperadiva-deactivated-6-2-1

Reasons to date a musician 101

#true

cumberbum

benedicts-arse

An Edit a Day - Benedict Cumberbatch - [425/?]

#benedict cumberbatch

cumberbum

An Edit a Day ⚜ Benedict Cumberbatch ⚜ [15/?]

#benedict cumberbatch

freeorcsofappalachia

#a:tla #Avatar The Last Airbender

colourfulpantsandarainbowhat-de

WHY DO PEOPLE CALL IT FUCK, MARRY, KILL WHEN THEY COULD CALL IT BED, WED, BEHEAD

ichanic

Or, as King Henry VIII likes to call it, a productive evening.

wretchedoftheearth

Society, however, does not see all fat as being equal. A man can be much, much fatter than a woman and still be viewed as comfortably within the standard deviation; most department stores carry men’s pants up to a size 42, which is the rough equivalent of a women’s size 24—a size that a woman would have to visit a specialty big-girl store or “Women’s” department to find. Men are comfortable on beaches with their beach-ball bellies hanging over their swimsuit waistbands, bronzing their fat in the sun, whereas my fat women friends struggle to find swimwear that does not feature a skirt. So me, I’m transgendered. It means that the gender I present in the world is not congruent with the sex that I was assigned at birth; in practical terms, I mostly look like a man but have a body that some would consider physiologically female. Even though I don’t identify as a man (I am a butch, which is its own gender), I am taken for a man about two-thirds of the time. And when I am taken for a man, I am not fat. As a man, I’m a big dude, but not outside the norm for such things. I am just barely fat enough to shop at what I call The Big Fat Tall Guy Store, and can sometimes find my size in your usual boy-upholstery emporia. Major clothing labels, like Levi Strauss, make nice things in my size, and I am never forced to wear anything that appears to have been manufactured at Mendel the Tentmaker’s House o’ Fashion. (Although those things do exist for men, too. Those terrycloth shirts with the waistbands? Oy.) I can order extra salad dressing or ice cream or anything else in a restaurant and have it arrive without comment; I can eat it in public without anyone taking a bit of notice, even if I am shoving it into my mouth while walking down a crowded street and getting crumbs all over my chest in the process. I can run for a bus or train without anyone making a snide remark. As a big guy, I’m big enough to make miscreants or troublemakers decide to take their hostility elsewhere. As a woman, I am revolting. I am not only unattractively mannish but also grossly fat. The clothes I can fit into at the local big-girl stores tend to fit around the neck and then get bigger as they go downward, which results in a festive butch-in-a-bag look—all the rage nowhere, ever. No matter how clearly I order a Coke in a restaurant I must be on a diet, and so I get a Diet Coke—usually with a lemon floating in it accusatorily, looking up at me as if to say, “This is as good as it’s going to get, lardass.” Wait staff develop selective amnesia about my side of fries or my request for butter, and G-d help me if I get caught eating (or even shopping) in public as a woman.

S. Bear Bergman, “Part-Time Fatso” (via wretchedoftheearth)

#true