they are in the Shake It Out comment section practically masturbating to Naya, saying she is so good and she harmonizes well……but forget the two people she harmonizes with and the fact this is one of the few times Jenna gets a major part in a song fuck yall
Put this under things that cease to surprise me but never cease to infuriate me.
I’m going to assume that you are doing what you truly think is best for fat people. Normally I can see where many different points of view are valid, but in this matter you are just wrong. Shaming is never the way to go and here is why:
People don’t take care of things they hate and that includes their bodies. When you encourage people to be ashamed of their bodies, you decrease the chances that they will believe that they are worthy of care.
Shaming may actually create the problems that it’s purported to solve: Peter Muennig from Columbia found that the stress of stigma and shame were correlated with the same diseases with which obesity is correlated. So every time you make someone feel bad about themselves, you put their health at risk.
Muennig’s research also found that women who were concerned about their weight had more mental and physical illnesses than those who were fine with their size, regardless of their weight. So telling a fat woman to be concerned about her weight is dangerous.
When doctors are told to shame fat people for their weight, it leads to fat people not going to the doctor, they miss out on preventative care, and they end up not getting treatment until an issue is very advanced (which gives them even less time to wade through doctors who ignore their actual health issues and just tell them to lose weight to get actual evidence-based healthcare.).
I feel like Nash has probably thrown shade at Chord about dead eyez when they are home.
I believe in this theory…
I co-sign this.
I mean Nash Overstreet isn’t the type to hold punches, literally, so I know some sly ass shit has come out of his mouth about his brothers g/f ESPECIALLY if any of that shit is true about how she treats him.
I hope I do this right. If not, I’m sorry. I’m like half awake right now. This is my first quote-related prompt. It’s going to be VERY long. VERY VERY long. And I apologize for any spelling/grammar errors.
It was the same thing every night. Mercedes would lounge at the bar in her slinkiest dress, one leg crossed seductively over the other, and watch the patrons carefully. This wasn’t just any old corner pub. On the contrary, it was one of the most high class lounges in Westchester County. Few that made below six-figures could weasel their way past the security guards and through the heavy golden double doors. So how was Mercedes, an intelligent, quick witted, 18 year old girl able to make her way inside?
Simple. She knew a guy.
The dimly lit room was filled with empty cocktail chatter and the jazz band played softly, providing easy background music. Tonight was one of the better nights, because it was a Friday, and people wanted to go out rather than stay in with their whiny wives and lazy husbands, or their clingy girlfriends and obnoxious boyfriends. The county’s upper class mingled, and Mercedes’ dark eyes scanned the crowd for a potential suitor. In a moment’s time, she caught the eye of one dark haired man sitting across the room. His gray eyes locked onto hers, and she shot him a seductive smile, silently urging him to approach her.
Prompt: “Notebook” Chrisette Michele (M has been in love with her BFF S 4 years & while helping her pack 4 college he finds a notebook filled with all her confessions) - cariosity
Oh my God. I swear I’m going to explode. He gave me that look today. You know the one where his eyes get that dark green and he smirks. Then he told me how fun LA was gonna be in that voice. I call it the Sam Evans Sex Whisper. He could be asking for me to pass the ketchup and I still get wet instantly. Lord help me.
Sam pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, staring at the words in the journal in his hands. Mercedes wasn’t paying attention to him. She was bouncing around the room and folding clothes while her iPod dock played some upbeat R&B song. He was over to help her pack and he opened her bedside drawer to find the thing. He thought he’d be sneaky and read it, finding something embarrassing to tease her about later and make her get angry then laugh; the best combination in his opinion. He didn’t expect this, though. She continued packing and he turned a page.
This one…was a doozy because my “bright” idea to combine the two started kickin’ my booty. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy and please forgive any lingering errors.
The worst decision Sam Evans had ever made in his eighty-five years of living was to be a white man. Mary Evans couldn’t have children and Dwight Evans couldn’t stay away from Gertrude Freeman; so when the Evans family maid had born a blond child with green eyes and pale skin, the Evanses had given her a stipend that could more than support her other two boys by a dead husband so long as she kept her mouth shut and never looked upon Samson Evans without all the proper deference a colored person would show a white one.
“When I was in school I took a class with Cornel West, who’s this amazing African-American Studies professor, and he would say that in America there’s this sort of racism against Asians where they say, “Oh, you know, they all look alike.” He believed the reason is that Americans don’t take enough time to look. Yet that’s actually proved beneficial because you can play someone who’s Japanese, as you do in Memoirs of a Geisha.”—
In a true teachable moment, I realized my students needed to have access to the language used to express the unfairness they see in the world, and at that point, I brought in Peggy McIntosh’s famous 1988 article, “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack” and had the students read from it. Some of the ideas, like being targeted by police or being called “a credit to their race,” they were familiar with. Some of the ideas, like not being able to find a bandaid that was the color of their flesh, got them thinking about how deep white privilege truly goes. The scariest realization for them was that this is not a thing of the past, but very much something we deal with in the present.
“Brandi, a transwoman, was murdered last night, shot at 12th and Franklin in Downtown Oakland after an altercation with a man who became enraged and shot her when he realized she was trans. An amazing #oo comrade tried to keep her alive with training learned from the People’s Community Medics, but the cops walked away and the ambulance came too late”
Everyone please spread this as widely as possible and please show out tonight to stand up against transphobic violence!
No news stories yet on the situation but will try and keep this updated with info
jesus this is fucking scary- a night before this a friend and i were out on 17th and some dude started fallowing us and screaming at us cuz he read us as a lez couple then relized i was a trans woman and started threatening rape and that he was going to kill me and just a day before a friend of my barely escaped getting beaten or worse by a group of dudes only cuz they were able to convince them that they were a cis woman and not a trans woman/faggot. It could have been any of us- were all just a moment away from encountering the wrong man/men on the wrong street. Fuck this world, kill men, die cis scum.
A close friend of mine was told “stay the fuck away, I don’t like faggots like you around me” despite keeping 5 feet of distance on the Amtrak platform. Sometimes I have to remind myself that the Bay Area is still part of a larger social fabric — a tainted and moldy social fabric that often responds to queerness with threats and violence :/
Another trans* womyn murdered… right in my neighborhood…
I’m so sick of this… I don’t know why I bother or what the point is… This is the reality of being a trans* womyn… constant violence.
She was the only reason he came to work every day. He used to tell himself over and over to quit this job and ‘follow his dreams’, but when she started working at the diner a year ago, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
He could never work up the courage to really talk to her though. Every so often, she’d bump into him and say sorry, or he’d say good morning when he came in, but he had no idea what she was like. Just that she was quiet and scary. Scary, like when someone would accidently break a plate, she would jump five feet in the air and grip something nearby, terrified. Everyone would always look at her, wondering why she was so shaken at loud noises but thought nothing of it.
Now it seemed like God was finally giving him a chance to be alone with her, as they’d been left to lock up. He’d hit a bump in the road, however, because he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Can you stop staring at me?” she asked, looking up from wiping down the counter. His cheeks turned pink and he looked down at the table he was wiping down himself.