Brooke. Twenty. Bartender. Melbourne.
my life is nothing but oxymorons.
everything and nothing all at once.
I have a few copies of “Playboy” from the 1970s stashed away somewhere. One of them has a letter where a guy writes in saying, “I met this really gorgeous, sweet woman, and we were planning to get married, but she sat me down yesterday and told me that she had a sex change before she met me. Mr. Hefner, should I marry someone who used to be a man?” and the response was, “So she had a sex change, big whoop. Would you be asking this question if she’d made any other change in her life before she met you? You love the woman she is now, and that’s all that should matter. If you want kids you can adopt or something.”
I feel so conflicted right now
drunk me is the me i really want to be. confident, hilarious and, most importantly, drunk.
I wish boobs did the bra thing without having to wear the bra
you put it into words
Having both cats and christmas tree. At your own risk…
This is amazing.
After last year in my house we can’t put actual decorations on the tree because we have cats. They make it lovely enough
If I ever get to have an Xmas tree again, it’s going to have to be like, anchored to wall, ceiling, and floor, because a certain furry somebody would probably knock it the fuck over within 10 minutes of it being up…
I framed this and gave it to my dad last year for Christmas