sassy-hook:

pleasant-trees:

aprilsvigil:

manticoreimaginary:

Watching this (and fearing broken ankles with each loop) I can’t helping thinking about that old quote Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in high heels.

But no, if you watch closely you’ll see she doesn’t even step on the last chair. That means she had to trust that fucker to lift her gently to the ground while he was spinning down onto that chair. That takes major guts. I’d be pissing myself and fearing a broken neck if I were in her place. Kudos to her. 

I can’t stop watching this. 

#I watched this for too long to not reblog

sassy-hook:

pleasant-trees:

aprilsvigil:

manticoreimaginary:

Watching this (and fearing broken ankles with each loop) I can’t helping thinking about that old quote Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in high heels.

But no, if you watch closely you’ll see she doesn’t even step on the last chair. That means she had to trust that fucker to lift her gently to the ground while he was spinning down onto that chair. That takes major guts. I’d be pissing myself and fearing a broken neck if I were in her place. Kudos to her. 

I can’t stop watching this. 

(via bridgettelizabeth)


(via brickfr0g)


1 year, 1 month, and a handful of days ago, I bought a shitty pair of running shoes and went for the first voluntary run in my life. What a lot of people don’t know, is that I did it for you. I was at my heaviest and my confidence at it’s lowest. You were everything I ever dreamed I would want. You were tall, you were funny, you were charming, you were ~oh so handsome~. And you wanted ME. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. But I let it happen. And I was embarrassed. I was shy. I was scared. I didn’t want you to see me naked. I knew other girls you had slept with, I was the opposite. I heard one of your friends say, “she’s not your type”.  I knew what that meant. So I tried to be your type. I joined a gym, I started working out 6 days a week, I changed my diet. I sweat, I cried, I pushed harder, worked longer, sacrificed more, just so I could be better. For you. So you would be proud of me, proud to be seen with me. I worked for that title, that ever so elusive title I always strive for, but never seem to receive. I wanted to be your “girlfriend”. I wanted to hear that word come from your lips when you introduced me to your family. The more I worked, the more I wanted it, the more I loved you and everything about you. You were, and still are, so difficult to love. But I have so much(SO MUCH) love to give, and you let me in little by little. I worked harder, dedicated myself more. I worked harder so that when your son came over, I could keep up with him. I kept up with him and then some. Have you ever had a 5 year old ask you when you were moving into their house? Or if you were going to marry their dad? It’s not fun. Especially because I knew the answer was no. He was verbalizing what I wanted, what I was working for. A 5 year old could see it. You just weren’t ready for it. And then I found out every detail of what you did to me. How you betrayed me. How you ignored and separated every single weekend I spent with you and your son. You ignored every meal I made for you, every load of laundry I washed and folded. You ignored every head scratch and back tickle. Every time I fed your fish or went food shopping for you. Every test I helped you study for, every holiday I spent at your families house, the Christmas tree I poured my heart into to make your house look like a home for your son. It wasn’t enough for you. But that was 6 months ago and now you’re back. It’s the third time you’ve tried to sneak back in. It’s the third time you tried to tell me how sorry you were, how much you miss me, how you never should’ve treated me like that. The only problem is I’m in a different state now. I fled the state, our state, because of what you did. I don’t ever want to go back. I’m not ready to let you love me again. You’re not ready to love me again. I see you taking the steps, putting the effort in, trying to change. But it’s still so new, the cuts are still too deep. The sound of your sons voice still makes me cry, I still have nightmares of you breaking my heart again. My constant has been running. You have made me run for over a year. At different times for different reasons. But it has been my therapy since I left. Every step forward is another away from you. Every sharp pain in my rib cage is a reminder to not stop. Every breath I gasp for is to push you out of my body. I think about you, I think about us, I think about what happened when I run. It is the only physical activity that hurts enough to mentally process it. To slowly get over it. Breathe in the good, the strong, the trust, breathe out the bad, the betrayal, the hurt. I am slowly getting over it, but not you. You are somehow back in my life. You pushed and prodded and wedged yourself back in. To a point where I realized I missed you. You were my best friend. I loved you (and still do)more than anyone I have ever loved in my lifetime. I was in it to win it. I know you see that now, and I know it’s what you want. You want to settle down soonish, you want to have a family again, I think you’re getting tired of playing Peter Pan. There are so many things and so many years between where we are now and that conversation happening. I don’t believe in soul mates, I don’t know if I believe in love like I felt with you anymore. But I do know when I hear your voice my heart swells. And when I see your face my knees go weak. When I see you laugh at my joke and tell me you miss me, my walls break down a little bit more. You are there, you are back, you’re are chiseling at my defenses. I am scared of you. I am scared of how nice you are now. I am scared of how much I still am, and probably will always be head over heels in love with you. So I run some more. Breathe in, breathe out.

1 year, 1 month, and a handful of days ago, I bought a shitty pair of running shoes and went for the first voluntary run in my life. What a lot of people don’t know, is that I did it for you. I was at my heaviest and my confidence at it’s lowest. You were everything I ever dreamed I would want. You were tall, you were funny, you were charming, you were ~oh so handsome~. And you wanted ME. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. But I let it happen. And I was embarrassed. I was shy. I was scared. I didn’t want you to see me naked. I knew other girls you had slept with, I was the opposite. I heard one of your friends say, “she’s not your type”. I knew what that meant. So I tried to be your type. I joined a gym, I started working out 6 days a week, I changed my diet. I sweat, I cried, I pushed harder, worked longer, sacrificed more, just so I could be better. For you. So you would be proud of me, proud to be seen with me. I worked for that title, that ever so elusive title I always strive for, but never seem to receive. I wanted to be your “girlfriend”. I wanted to hear that word come from your lips when you introduced me to your family. The more I worked, the more I wanted it, the more I loved you and everything about you. You were, and still are, so difficult to love. But I have so much(SO MUCH) love to give, and you let me in little by little. I worked harder, dedicated myself more. I worked harder so that when your son came over, I could keep up with him. I kept up with him and then some. Have you ever had a 5 year old ask you when you were moving into their house? Or if you were going to marry their dad? It’s not fun. Especially because I knew the answer was no. He was verbalizing what I wanted, what I was working for. A 5 year old could see it. You just weren’t ready for it. And then I found out every detail of what you did to me. How you betrayed me. How you ignored and separated every single weekend I spent with you and your son. You ignored every meal I made for you, every load of laundry I washed and folded. You ignored every head scratch and back tickle. Every time I fed your fish or went food shopping for you. Every test I helped you study for, every holiday I spent at your families house, the Christmas tree I poured my heart into to make your house look like a home for your son. It wasn’t enough for you. But that was 6 months ago and now you’re back. It’s the third time you’ve tried to sneak back in. It’s the third time you tried to tell me how sorry you were, how much you miss me, how you never should’ve treated me like that. The only problem is I’m in a different state now. I fled the state, our state, because of what you did. I don’t ever want to go back. I’m not ready to let you love me again. You’re not ready to love me again. I see you taking the steps, putting the effort in, trying to change. But it’s still so new, the cuts are still too deep. The sound of your sons voice still makes me cry, I still have nightmares of you breaking my heart again. My constant has been running. You have made me run for over a year. At different times for different reasons. But it has been my therapy since I left. Every step forward is another away from you. Every sharp pain in my rib cage is a reminder to not stop. Every breath I gasp for is to push you out of my body. I think about you, I think about us, I think about what happened when I run. It is the only physical activity that hurts enough to mentally process it. To slowly get over it. Breathe in the good, the strong, the trust, breathe out the bad, the betrayal, the hurt. I am slowly getting over it, but not you. You are somehow back in my life. You pushed and prodded and wedged yourself back in. To a point where I realized I missed you. You were my best friend. I loved you (and still do)more than anyone I have ever loved in my lifetime. I was in it to win it. I know you see that now, and I know it’s what you want. You want to settle down soonish, you want to have a family again, I think you’re getting tired of playing Peter Pan. There are so many things and so many years between where we are now and that conversation happening. I don’t believe in soul mates, I don’t know if I believe in love like I felt with you anymore. But I do know when I hear your voice my heart swells. And when I see your face my knees go weak. When I see you laugh at my joke and tell me you miss me, my walls break down a little bit more. You are there, you are back, you’re are chiseling at my defenses. I am scared of you. I am scared of how nice you are now. I am scared of how much I still am, and probably will always be head over heels in love with you. So I run some more. Breathe in, breathe out.


Be still my heart.

Be still my heart.

(via yourfavoriteredhead)


sharenitynow:

I don’t post much about my fitness coaching on here because for some reason people like it when I complain and hate life rather than when I talk about how happy or successful I am but I can’t not share this shit. My cousin Carlos, who’s in his 40’s, has been struggling with his weight ever since I could remember. He’d try every diet and gym routine and was never able to *really* make a change. I feel so honored and it brings me to tears that I was able to provide him with the tools he needed to finally accomplish his goals with a healthy, long term approach. It’s never too late and he’s living proof.

I am so proud and so honored to be teammates with this babe who is so full of inspiration and motivation on a daily basis it blows my mind.

sharenitynow:

I don’t post much about my fitness coaching on here because for some reason people like it when I complain and hate life rather than when I talk about how happy or successful I am but I can’t not share this shit. My cousin Carlos, who’s in his 40’s, has been struggling with his weight ever since I could remember. He’d try every diet and gym routine and was never able to *really* make a change. I feel so honored and it brings me to tears that I was able to provide him with the tools he needed to finally accomplish his goals with a healthy, long term approach. It’s never too late and he’s living proof.

I am so proud and so honored to be teammates with this babe who is so full of inspiration and motivation on a daily basis it blows my mind.


(via perardgique)


84emojis:

azucarcult:

emiliogorgeous:

Drake trickin on Nicki at a bodega.

Is this not me and my baby daddy or nah

im screaming

sharenitynow I had a dream that i met drake in a 7-11 last night so IT IS HAPPENING SOON. Get the booty shorts ready.

(via perardgique)


Missing you today, my sweepiest bubbs. #nationaldogday

Missing you today, my sweepiest bubbs. #nationaldogday



We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls, ‘You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise you will threaten the man.’ Because I am female, I am expected to aspire to marriage. I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support. But why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors – not for jobs or for accomplishments, which I think can be a good thing, but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are.

We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls, ‘You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise you will threaten the man.’ Because I am female, I am expected to aspire to marriage. I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support. But why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors – not for jobs or for accomplishments, which I think can be a good thing, but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are.

(via thingslikestuff)


 [yox]

[yox]

(via jermainia)