isteiro:

Senait Gidey at 3.1 Phillip Lim S/S 2014-15 backstage


jcoleknowsbest:

To uproot antiblackness would be to uproot modern society… but I’m sleep…

blackfemalepresident:

"i’m black and i’m not offe—"

image


merps:

fileextension:

here ill post these together!! luv this water brush

Because this didn’t come in my SAI and I bet it didn’t with other people’s, here’s a pack of more textures (including the lava one!!!). Go to your SAI folder and just dump the ones you’d like in the brushtex folder (or w/e you have it called)

dynastylnoire:

jspark3000:

Note to future self:
When you don’t get it right —
Apologize quickly and let go.
Don’t beat yourself up or defend yourself too long.
Humans are squishy with small brains.  We don’t get it right every time.
And that’s okay.  Being wrong is not the end of the world.
Learning this now.

— J

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Anonymous : so, what's your story?

moonstresss:

free-spearet:

heartbreakur:

parkingstrange:

Okay, so I normally answer this question with like a 2 minute sentence, but I feel you guys deserve a definitive answer so here we go.

Nicole and I met in 2011, how you may ask, where we met right here. Yup, right here on the same blue dashboard you’re likely reading this post on. We started talking and getting to know each other pretty well, so we moved over to facebook were our friendship escalated into something more.

Soon enough into our long distance relationship we started video chatting:


This went on for about 11 months until we would finally be able to be together.

This is me in an airport on my way to her for the first time:

It was probably the most terrifying moment of my life, personally, and I was incredibly nervous. 

This is us on the car ride back to her house:


She was really shy about being in pictures, so naturally I tried to take 300. 

Eventually she started giving in and took more pictures.

It was only a week, but it was the best week of my life.

Eventually we decided to start living together, I lived with her and her mom while I found a job in Michigan and made enough to get our own place.

Job hunting was fun

Not everything works out as planned though, and we ended up on the streets for 2 months trying to figure out what to do with our lives.

Looking pretty good for a homeless couple right?

When we realized things weren’t gonna work out in Michigan we decided to move to Florida with my family where things would be easier for us. 

I found a job right away.

And eventually Nicole even joined the crew.


Things were going really well for us, so we decided to save every penny we had and give it a go in Michigan again. We found a place that we liked and we were happily awaiting to move in in 2 months.

Things took somewhat of a dramatic turn when Nicoles depression (which she had been battling for a major part of her life) kicked in and she made an attempt at taking her own life.

Unfortunately her family thought I was to blame for it, and since we were still living under their house while the place we wanted was available  I had to go back to Florida to live with my family. We were separated for the first time in over a year.

BUT EVERYTHING CHANGED WHEN WE FOUND OUT NICOLE WAS PREGNANT

She dropped her life in Michigan and flew back to me ASAP

Our youtube channel and our blog had started to pick up a decent amount of followers, so when we asked for your help and put up a wishlist for Charlie things you guys did not disappoint.

Soon enough Nicoles belly started growing

Things had finally settled down, and we were able to enjoy ourselves for the first time, here’s the last Christmas we spent as a party of 2

Before we knew it February had rolled by and it was time for the baby.

And just like that we had conceived and brought a new life into this world.

As of May 2nd 2014 it’s been 3 months since Charlie was born.

She’s absolutely beautiful, and she’s become the center of our world. It’s been a long, hard, and sometimes stressful journey. It isn’t the most polished, or magical, or glamorous love story you will ever hear. But it is our love story, it is our journey, and we are grateful for every step of it we’ve been able to take side by side.

If you’re still following our blog after this huge post with our faces on it thank you so much, you’re awesome! <3

i”m so glad I follow them, they are my faves and I love their story. <3

Crying

oh my god can I just say how perfect they are and you should go follow them right now?


thesylverlining:

glockgal:

madlori:

Women firefighters douse flames during the Pearl Harbor attack.

Oh hay look women of colour were an integral part of the ‘cool’ part of history too, how about that.  They were like. Doing stuff that supposedly only heroic white dudes had done. That makes women valid participants in collective history now, right? Right? This is in high school history books now, right? Right? Huh?

It reminds me of that one famous painting/sculpture of the soldiers raising the flag

I like this one a lot better.


waallkkeerr:

flutterbye-5:

You see these fuckers? They’re my pointe shoes. Now, I don’t know how much you guys know about ballet, but pointe is a style of ballet where the dancer dances on their toes. There’s a wooden box like thing on the tips, and is flat on the front, which makes us able to dance on our toes like we do. It’s called the box or platform. These shoes need to be the perfect size, otherwise the dancer can easily seriously hurt themselves. If the shoes are too small, their toes could break, but if they’re too big, they could snap their ankles. No two pairs of shoes are the same, so you can’t borrow anyone else’s. They need to be yours because otherwise the shoes won’t fit with your foot and how you dance. 

These shoes range from 50-85 dollars, depending on where you get them and what they’re made out of. They’re stiff as a board when you first get them, so you need to break them in. Breaking them in takes months. You have to dance in stiff, hard boxes until the shank and vamp finally takes to your foot. You will bleed. Some people actually cry because the pain of breaking the shoes in is so bad. Once they’re finally broken in, dancing in them is wonderful, even if it still hurts a little. But when they’re broken in, they only last a few more months until they fall apart completely. Then you need to get a new pair and break those in. 

In order to dance on these shoes, you need the proper cushioning for your toes, whether it be cotton, a soft gel slip over your toes, or wool. Your toenails need to be as short as you can make them, so that your nail can’t splinter and dig into your skin as you go up. Sometimes it happens anyway. Before a dancer can even consider dancing on the floor away from the bar, they need to practice for months, perfecting their balance, the set of their core, where their shoulders need to be, and how to go up. 

Going up is key to staying safe while dancing pointe. If you go up wrong, theres a 95% chance you will hurt yourself. To go up, you need to roll up from your heels to the tips of your toes, flat, and with precision. If you hop up, you’ll break your ankle. If you roll the wrong way, you’ll break your ankle. It literally needs to be perfect. Before leaving the bar, you need to be able to balance for about sixty seconds, to assure your instructor and yourself that you will be save doing forte turns and pirouettes, as well as gran-jete, glissade, leaps, and even waltzes. 

The next step is grace. You can’t blunder across the stage. You need to glide, flowing from each step to the other. The dance needs to look like a single step, moving continuously from each pose to another. Fingers need to be extended, necks elongated, shoulders down, chin up, stomach and butt tense and in, legs and back straight and toes pointed and turned out. The dance must always continue, even if you hurt yourself. If you can still move, you can still dance. If you’re bleeding in your shoe, there is no stopping and fixing it. You finish the dance and when it’s over you patch yourself up in the dressing room and continue on with your next dance if you have one. If you fall, you make it look like it was supposed to be in the dance. Your facial expressions and body need to reflect the music, so if you have a melancholy song, you must look forlorn, and depict it through your body and eyes, as well as the set of your mouth. Same as if your number was happy and upbeat, you need to reflect that. 

There are two major styles of ballet: Russian and Italian. An ideal ballerina knows both forms, and can tell the difference between the two. A dancer must follow the song with it’s beat as well, and the tempo can go from counts of four to sixteenth counts. 

Pointe dancers sometimes need to put resin on their shoes so that they don’t slip and risk breaking an arm, or even their neck. But if you put too much resin on, your shoes will stick, and you’ll fall while trying to turn. 

In conclusion, DANCE IS A FUCKING SPORT, OKAY? ESPECIALLY BALLET. WE RISK OURSELVES EVERY PRACTICE AND SHOW, SO DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING TELL ME THAT WHAT I DO ISN’T A SPORT. I PRACTICE FOR HOURS, JUST AS EVERY OTHER PERSON WHO PLAYS SOCCER OR FOOTBALL OR LACROSSE. I GET HURT AND I FALL AND I GET BRUISED AND I BREAK THINGS, JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE WHO PLAYS ALL THOSE OTHER FUCKING SPORTS. 

DANCE.

IS.

A.

SPORT.

So kindly fuck off if you think otherwise. 

ballerinas are so fucking metal

diadria:

m45c:

being black and putting on your white voice at the drop of a dime is akin to being bilingual

Okkkkaaaayyyy!!!!!


spinneretsystems:

ask-gallows-callibrator:

timemistressofthetardis:

theodd1sout:

I cannot stress this enough, it’s the only requirement to be my friend. 

Full image Facebook Twitter

This took a pleasant turn

so wait 
are you saying atheists have a weird belief type thing for spaghetti with eyeballs?
WHAT DOES THAT PICTURE EVEN MEAN IM REALLY CONCERNED AND CONFUSED  

It’s the Flying Spaghetti Monster, the deity of Pastafarianism.



betterthankanyebitch:

tamaratunie:

Beyoncé on the VMA red carpet

In Luke 19:41 as Jesus approaches Jerusalem, he looks at the city and weeps over it (an event known as Flevit super illam in Latin), foretelling the suffering that awaits the city.[1][3]

The Gospels go on to recount how Jesus rode into Jerusalem, and how the people there lay down their cloaks in front of him, and also lay down small branches of trees.

S T O P

Why do white people own so many pets?
Because we’re not allowed to own people anymore.
*****
What is the scariest thing about a white person in prison?
You know he did it.
*****
how many Chicago cops does it take to change a light bulb? None, they just beat the room for being black.”
*****
A good looking 50 year old white man is trying to get laid on reality TV. What show are you watching?
To catch a predator.
*****
Why do white girls travel in groups of three or five?
They can’t even
*****
What do you call 64 white people in a room? A full blooded Cherokee.
-

from various reddit threads

at dinner last night, a coworker was talking about hanging out with his white friends and getting fed up with the racist jokes, and asked them to tell a white people joke.  nobody had any, so he googled and found these. after a few of them, people were a lot less comfortable.

white folks, next time you hear a racist joke, maybe lead with one of these in response.  tag this “I’m white” when you reblog it, if you are.

(via cuterpillar)

I find it fascinating that there aren’t more ‘white people’ jokes being told out there. I grew up in Moscow, where people told ethnic jokes all the time, about everyone. Every nation/ethnicity had some kind of exploitable stereotype. You just knew that if you were telling a Ukrainian joke, pork back fat was going to be involved; Estonian/Finnish jokes meant the  protagonist was sloooooooooow; Georgian jokes involved black market wheeling and dealing; and a Frenchman was automatically a horndog. A small Siberian ethnicity called Chukchas found fame as the stereotypical backwater rube lost in the big city. There was a category of jokes called “Armenian radio”, which responded to innocuous questions with clever innuendoes. Jewish jokes were a universe onto themselves, and were told primarily by Jews to other Jews.

But the thing is, Russians also told jokes about Russians. A Russian was not the ‘default’ or ‘normal’ person in a joke, one to measure against. If there was a Russian in a joke, he was invariably the punchline. Russians in Russian jokes are belligerent, spiteful, and a curious combination of stupid and cunning. 

In America though, all the ethnic jokes seem to carry a great degree of malice towards the ethnicity in question. It’s hard to imagine Polish people in America telling jokes about themselves to each other the way Jews did in Russia…

(And then there’s ethnic meta-jokes, like this one I heard a couple of years ago, already in America, from a Russian Jewish emigrant:

"Why is it that when you tell a Chukcha joke to a Chukcha, he won’t understand you; when you tell a Russian joke to a Russian, he’ll not understand you but punch you anyway; and when you tell a Jewish jokes to a Jew, he’ll interrupt you halfway and offer his own version of the punchline?")