THERE IS SO MUCH GOOD FANFICTION IN THIS WORLD
SO GOD DAMN MUCH
SO MANY FICS THAT I WOULD CUT OFF MY LEFT ARM TO SEE PLAYED OUT
AND PEOPLE CHOOSE FIFTY SHADES OF GREY
July 28th, 2014: Out and about in New York City
im gonna fuckin throw up
Okay, okay calm down, people.
While you are all losing your mind over ‘cultural appropriation” of an Indian dress, nobody actually consulted THE INDIANS.
In our country, if a foreigner wears an Indian saree, we actually appreciate it. It shows that the foreigner respects us enough to try our clothes. And the saree, mind you, is not a religious thing. Hindus can wear sarees, Muslims can wear sarees, Sikh’s can wear sarees, Jain’s can wear sarees and so on.
Like Americans have short dresses, compare that with sarees. Going to a party? Saree. Going to temple? Saree, and so on.
Some Indians wear it, some don’t. Some hate it and think its oppressing, some love embracing the unique style.
Point is, don’t hate on her for wearing this. Don’t hate on anyone for wearing sarees or any variations of sarees. We love to see others embracing our culture. Why do you think we open our gates to allow everyone to practice yoga and fins spiritual meaning?
Culture is not meant to be kept within four walls, it should be spread.
Remember how when Capaldi was chosen as the twelfth doctor everyone had this feeble hope that he would bring Doctor Who back to what it was because he was a film director and not the mysoginistic Moffat kind
AND THEN WE HEAR THAT HE’S REFUSING TO FLIRT WITH CLARA AND IS GOING TO BRING “a bit more gravity” BACK TO DOCTOR WHO AND "I didn’t want to be Doctor Who in a Doctor Who I didn’t like,"
I am punching the air right now.
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.
So kindly fuck off if you think otherwise.
Ballet is the most hardcore thing ever. People are all like “Oh football players are so tough!” Pbbbbt. Ballet dancers can dance through pain that would make a football player cry like a bitch.
This is true guys I attended a professional russian ballet school for 10 years of my life it’s so fucking true
people think that because its so sweet and graceful, it must be such an easy, effortless thing. its just dancing right? but blood sweat and tears go into making each and every step look as effortless as they seem. oh look, they’re smiling, they must feel so carefree. uh uh. those smiles are damn fucking difficult to keep up when you’re trying to focus on so many other things.
Heartbreaking Moments: 6/7 ~ The Iron Giant Sacrificing Himself (The Iron Giant)
Spider-Man talked Wiccan into playing World of Warcraft, and they are in the same guild.
exhibit 72936 of why the marvel vs dc argument is stupid: both let rob liefield draw actual comics for them that actual real life people bought
there are no winners here
That moment in your childhood when you realize that Diagon Alley is just the word diagonally….
And the Mirror of Erised is just the word desire backwards.
Didn’t even realize. Does that mean Knockturn Alley is nocturnally (dark/night)?
Yes, and Grimmauld Place is a play on grim old place.
And Dumbledore is just a dumb old door
They say the pussy has the power,
well my vagina has the velocity, the viscosity,
and the vanity to make you drop to your knees.
My stretch marks are evidence
of my body’s noble effort to hold
so much sensuality,
and boldness, and grace
into 5 feet 6 inches of flesh.
It’s like trying to contain our entire galaxy
in a water bottle.
My thighs are strong enough
to kill a man,
and he’d die happy too.
My breasts are security blanket,
cup holder, wallet, food saver,
buffet, air bags, flotation device,
jewelry box, something to cry into when you’re scared,
pillow, no- fuck pillow- whole mattress,
and pacifier for the whiny male all rolled into two!
My natural hair is glorious,
you could lose your fingers in its curls,
it’s bigger than your dick,
thicker than your wallet,
and it never gets greasy.
Fun fact: there is a use for calculus after graduation,
and it is to measure the curves of my legs.
The width of my hips that can birth nations.
It’s to discover the infinite possibility
and softness and beauty.
of this body I was sat on a couch and taught to hate.
You know, there was a time that I was in awe
that someone would actually want to see me naked.
But now I look at myself, arcs, bounce, and rawness
and think “who the fuck wouldn’t”?
I am Venus de of-your-fucking dreams,
I am Athena, birthed from your thoughts and desire.
Always unable to leave your mind.
And like most goddesses,
I learned never to love anything
more than myself.
Why do most of my OCs end up being lesbians?