I used to get very depressed as a kid...VERY depressed. Never spoke to anyone about it because I didn’t know that you could. It would keep me up at night, thinking about the future...every little thing weighed on me...the evil in the world and my hopelessness when thinking about how to change things. So I’d find…

Holy smokes, came here just to comment that, and you’ve already done it because you are A BETTER VERSION OF ME FROM THE FUTURE.

For some reason the rattail is what does it for me, which leads me to believe that guys with disgusting hair situations is my exact fetish.

See also: RiFF RAFF.

Woah. Sorry. I dozed off there for a SECOND and Shia’s rattail grew into a healthy BRAID and has possibly gained sentience.

I am trying to read this discreetly at work and have been giggling and snarfling uncontrollably under my breath with every line.

Even though I'm technically a grown person and have received TENS of wedding invites as everyone in my life stubbornly insists on inviting me to their pageant of joy it still took me scrolling to the bitter end of the comments section to come to the realization that STD stood for Save the Date and wasn't some super…

Just here for the Piles tumblr, need to feel like my piles are something to feel good about and not just wallow in my own #pileshame.

As obnoxious as that dumb thing would be to carry around, I would actually use one of those. For whatever reason, my body's go-to response when sleeping seated upright is to keel forward, even if I have the window seat. I've woken up from my head jerking out of freefall, banging my forehead on the seat in front of me,…

WHAT. Is happening here?

Real talk: I'm not a Gypsy and I'm over 25, but if I win a mega-lottery one of my splurges will be to fly myself and my bestie to Sondra Celli's Salon in Boston to get hers-and-hers dresses made by the Queen of Bling Herself.

Bucket list FOR SURE.

Unf. Lord Baelish. Don't even care if he's got nothing under those monastic robes. He could growl at my pussy and I'd be done. DONE.

MY CHILDHOOD.

My poor sweet boyfriend is named Gary, and every time two or more ladies are gathered together, we'll scream "OHMYGODGAAARY GET OUT OF HEAAARRR EAAAWWWWW!!"

...he's a very patient man.

I have always had what my mother loved to call, "A woman's body." I spent my teenage days coveting the Quicksilver 'kinis at PacSun and wondering why I couldn't ever get one to fit.

This dude needs to check his pancreas privilege. As a diabetic I will never know the sweet mysteries of cramming my gullet full of sugar-blasting peeps, and this is a painful reminder of my daily struggles.