I’m not even going to try lying about how much I love this song.
My sister was in university and she heard it for the first time on the radio and made me listen to it. I was about 9 or 10 or something, and didn’t care for it. I decided to listen to it properly when I was fourteen, and it’s been in my list of songs I would shank someone for if they interrupted it ever since. I bought two of her albums in a snap just because of that one song and I do not do that.
1. i don’t think ava gardner is that pretty, and definitely not the most beautiful woman of old hollywood
2. CARLEY I HATE YOU akjsahjsajksj well its your opinion here goes…
Marilyn Monroe is overrated. She wasn’t, but she is now. Because now everybody and their mother knows her acting was overlooked and that she was more than just a pretty face and blahblahOtherStuffRomanticisingEveryone’sPerceptionsOfHerblah etc. so all there is to hear now are fans the world over peeing their pants about how intelligent and thought-provoking and deep she actually was. She was smart and whatnot, we get it. Everyone. Gets It. :|
Also, Rebel Without A Cause eye-candy: Sal Mineo > James Dean
I just army-crawled from the kitchen to the dining room.
THERE WERE FOOTSTEPS.
I really want to call out for my mum, but I’m afraid of what they’ll do if they hear/see her coming down the stairs through the glass in the door.
I only wanted a glass of water.
It is 4.16am. I came downstairs for a glass of water an hour and ten minutes ago, and have spent the past fifty-five minutes wedged between the kitchen doorframe and the oven, on the floor, knees drawn in close.
THERE IS SOMEBODY OUTSIDE.
I heard a noise right outside the front door - my kitchen is like a continuation of the hallway, so you can see straight through it when you’re standing in the front doorway; I had the light on so it would have been obvious I was in there from outside.
I tried to kid myself it was a fox or stray cat but those were the sounds OF KILLERS.
I’m starting to cramp up but if I walk into dining room, they’ll see and make their move.
Doctor Who’s Sarah Jane Smith, also playing the same role in the spin-off show: The Sarah Jane Adventures.
I’m in shock. I didn’t think I would be (I had no idea she was ill, but I just wouldn’t have expected it’d be this difficult to get my head around). I loved her in Doctor Who. I really hope there’s some sort of tribute done by the BBC, even just an ‘in memory of’.
I really, really hate when people equate being trusting to being naive. And not necessarily the trust you’d give a person, but trust in general. Having a completely sincere belief that people are good, and the majority of things aren’t intrinsically bad, I mean.
It’s not that I don’t understand that certain people have had experiences that make them doubt it. It’d be stupid for me to say it’s never justified regardless of a person’s situation, but they’re not who I’m talking about. What gets me the most is the type of person I hear it from, people who wear their skepticism as some sort of badge.
I don’t understand what’s gained from it. You don’t sound worldly and experienced, which I’m guessing is the desired effect given the sort of condescending tone phrases like “I always lose my faith in humanity” are spoken in. Which is the worst for me, actually. People sighing about how much better their ideal of the world is, and how everything’s going downhill.
I find it completely thoughtless at times. I know it’s often said as a joke, but for those who say it with genuine conviction, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t often feel like humanity’s wasted on them at certain points. Because really, one instance of cruelty or stupidity, and the millions of good things people do every day are just magically cancelled out? Maybe it’s the fact it’s so easy to pay attention to crap and let it mould you that I find sad. I just get so tired of people acting like a distinctively good deed is a surprise, as if - as a whole - we don’t try to progress.
It’s not a sign of naivety to trust something and to look around and decide that a fraction of bad doesn’t define the entire thing. If anything, it’s difficult and in need of effort that requires so much more thought than the amount ”naivety” implies. Anything but.
It looks a little bit like a burn, and I can’t help but feel that it’s a sign* telling me to stop revising so hard**.
* It’s on my left hand and I’m right-handed, but we can gloss over that for now. ** I made a giant table for English Lit. quotations, filled in three boxes (out of twenty-one) and stared forlornly at my Psychology and History textbooks. There was some effort there, more than I feel comfortable with.
This time two years ago, I was free. I was making plans to spend these two weeks off sleeping over at friends’ houses, going out, being a lazy idiot and whatnot. Right now?
TEXTBOOKS WILL END ME.
Things I will do today, study-wise: - Draw out a huge table for English Lit. quotations on some A3 card. - Make a bunch of cards to stick up around the house (Psychology). - Brief read/note-taking for the first few pages of background information for History.
Things I will do today, vaguely relevant to aforementioned studying: - Vow to never read a single word again, novel or otherwise, after having messed up a quotation when copying it out. - Work self into panic after copying information from Psychology textbook out onto cards, and realising that no, I really don’t know anything I’ve (supposedly) learnt all year. - Remember that I have no hope for History. Which will be followed by remembering I’ve applied to do it (alongside English) at university. Which will be followed by a long, hard, pitiful look at myself in the mirror. There will be a clear sense of questioning and doubt in my eyes; “Why must you be so thick at times?”, “Surely you have the capability of not being so thick?” and so on and so forth.
Mind you, I have Gilmore Girls at 2.30 and some chocolate to placate me.
I came across this ages ago and noticed a lot of people noting which ones they had read. There’s no way this would be my personal top 100, at least, not in this order. Even so, I did perk up a bit when I heard about it.
Bold: Read Italics: Started and not finished. And that means a substantial part read, not like, “lololol page 2, SPARKNOTES”.
1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien 2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen 3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman 4. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams 5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling 6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee 7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne 8. Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell 9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis 10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë 11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller 12. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë 13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks 14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier 15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger 16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame 17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens 18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott 19. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres 20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy 21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell 22. Harry Potter And The Philosopher’s Stone, JK Rowling 23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling 24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling 25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien 26. Tess Of The D’Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy 27. Middlemarch, George Eliot 28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving 29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck 30. Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll 31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson 32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez 33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett 34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens 35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl 36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson 37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute 38. Persuasion, Jane Austen 39. Dune, Frank Herbert 40. Emma, Jane Austen 41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery 42. Watership Down, Richard Adams 43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald 44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas 45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh 46. Animal Farm, George Orwell 47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens 48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy 49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian 50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher 51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett 52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck 53. The Stand, Stephen King 54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy 55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth 56. The BFG, Roald Dahl 57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome 58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell 59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer 60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky 61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman 62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden 63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens 64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough 65. Mort, Terry Pratchett 66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton 67. The Magus, John Fowles 68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman 69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett 70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding 71. Perfume, Patrick Süskind 72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell 73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett 74. Matilda, Roald Dahl 75. Bridget Jones’s Diary, Helen Fielding 76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt 77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins 78. Ulysses, James Joyce 79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens 80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson 81. The Twits, Roald Dahl 82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith 83. Holes, Louis Sachar 84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake 85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy 86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson 87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley 88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons 89. Magician, Raymond E Feist 90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac 91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo 92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel 93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett 94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho 95. Katherine, Anya Seton 96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer 97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez 98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson 99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot 100. Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie
I’m more surprised at how many I’ve started and not finished; I can’t stand getting far into a book and not returning to it.
But I’ve been wanting to get a word in for a while. So, for those who say - completely sincerely, and I really don’t mean the ones who say it lightheartedly and acknowledge the following factors - “I wish I lived back then”:
The clothes and make-up were really pretty. Though, of course, you’ll probably be wearing something slightly frumpier and more suited to home and work wear, because living back then won’t necessarily make you a movie star. Also, pencil skirts and seamed stockings and red lipstick put you in one of the trend minorities today, but you really will be dressed more or less like everybody else. Don’t expect the novelty factor to stick.
The segregation issue is one well addressed here when people argue against the above statement, so I’ll just leave this point as it is. And I’m taking into account discrimination based around gender and sexuality, not just race.
Y’know something that’s probably even more important than the fact you get to put your hair in pincurls and flirt with dapper young folk? The medical/surgical advancements of today you’ll be without.
I want my computer and mobile and iPod, thank-you. I understand how lovely old television sets and radios can be, really, but I want today’s technology.
I’m guessing the desired years reach a cut-off point before certain musicians came along. I could put up with tunes from yester-year for a bit, but considering I know what that last minute of Jeff Buckley’s Grace sounds like, and the entire Off The Wall album, and Florence Welch’s voice, I’m not turning back.
As beautiful as Rita Hayworth was the way she's usually presented,
I do find it quite sad that people rarely mention the hairline electrolysis and skin lightening (though I think the latter is debatable? I heard it somewhere, but I’ve heard plenty of arguments against it, so I’m not sure). I have very little against cosmetic surgery/permanent makeovers, and I do find it irritating when people imply that you can’t be considered beautiful if your features aren’t natural. With that said, I do wish there was more recognition of what she went through to get herself from Margarita Carmen Cansino to Rita Hayworth. She was pretty. The undertones of deliberate ethnic makeovers and standards of beauty aren’t.
This year JULY has 5 Fridays, 5 Saturdays and 5 Sundays. This happens once every 823 years. This is called money bags. So Copy this to your status and money will arrive within 4 days. Based on Chinese Feng Shui, the one who does not copy, will be without money. Figured I'd pass this on!!
Only reblogging because I’m a greedy bitch who wants money.
MORE MONEY FOR MY TATTOO, BITCHES
MONEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. lol the gifs
I like MONEY.
might as well.
FOR THE MONEY
REBLOGGING FOR THE MONEY
lol to the gifs xD
REBLOGGING FOR THE GIFS :L
Reblogging for that last GIF :’) It’s so awesome hahaha
money, money, money
This is called money bags idiotic. There will be five Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays in 2016, 2022, 2033 and so on and so forth. Or maybe it’s easier to reblog and wait around for money than to check a calendar.
Also, lol at “based on Chinese Feng Shui”. Rather, take something the majority of those reblogging probably know very little about, but that has a title that sounds all mysterious-in-its-Eastern-ways~~!!~~ enough to pass off as even the slightest bit viable in association.
GUYS, THERE WILL BE 29 DAYS IN FEBRUARY NEXT YEAR. THIS HAPPENS ONCE EVERY FOUR YEARS. THIS IS CALLED LeapyearOVE-CARTS. Reblog this and you will meet your one true love within six weeks. It’s based on like, Ayurveda and whatnot, so you’re all good.
And let’s face it, if you do find money within four days, you sure as hell aren’t going to be thanking those five weekends, it’ll be yourself for working for it or whoever handed it to you (/you stole it from).
NEW DELHI: Anna Hazare’s crusade against corruption is believed to have won the battle on Friday with the government relenting to the demands made by the veteran social activist, TV reports said.
However, Hazare on Friday night announced that his fast has not ended and further added that he will take a final decision on Saturday and that the deadlock over the anti-corruption bill is likely to end after that.
I have officially been struck down by a fluey cold. I’m not angry. It’s not like I was hoping this would be the first summer I’ve not been ill, with that suffocating feeling of sinus issues + hot weather. It’s not like I need to really focus on revision and that’s impossible to do when you need to reach for a tissue or some antibiotics every ten seconds. It’s not like I didn’t try to avoid the ones with colds. It’s not like I’m considering breathing heavily into some envelopes and sending them around to various people’s houses.
Sniffles are my thing. Snifflesnifflesniffle, constantly. I was just really hoping that for the first time in about sixth months, they could hold off for a little while, not get worse. And they did disappear for the tiniest fraction of time quite recently, too. False hope. All the faith I had in my immune system has been stolen from me like:
I went to get into bed yesterday night and found the most hideous looking bug crawling across the edge of my mattress. There was a tiny gap between that side and the wall, and in a blinding episode of I-THINK-NOT-KIND-SIR-ity, I pulled the mattress back to stop it from slipping down and getting out of my sight. It started climbing up the wall-side of the mattress that had been newly exposed, and to avoid it crawling under the cover, I had to pull that (along with my duvet and pillow to be on the safe side) off completely. Checking throughout that the little scumball was still, I proceeded to flail my arms around wildly, effectively rolling up my bed covers into a ball so deeply interwoven that not even my mother’s disappointed stare could penetrate it.
Ball of bed matter was flung across room.
I high-kicked the mattress, screaming ‘REVEAL YOURSELF’ (I prodded it meekly and squeaked) but it was no use. I slept in my sister’s room instead.
So today, I got back from school (sixth form, whichever) and charged into my room. I’ll be damned if I let a creepy-crawly dictate the quality of my sleep. I moved the entire mattress, moved the BED ITSELF, hoovered like there was no tomorrow, and all in time to watch Gilmore Girls.
And now I’m in bed, convinced that any faint itch marks THE RETURN OF THING, completely unable to relax.
I put what I think was a baby snail back into the garden yesterday afternoon. (I couldn’t find the key to the back door so I sort of dropped it out of the window a foot above my head and hoped for the best, but even so.) I don’t deserve this.
“And yet, I have a tremendous amount of faith and belief in humanity. When it comes to folks outside of the power schemes I might even trust people too much. I am ruthlessly idealistic, hopelessly optimistic. I believe the best in people. That’s why I have to do something, because I feel that if people knew the truth, they would feel the same as I do. They would feel that something has to be done. They would care and things would change.”—Jon Foreman