popculturesavvyangel
inthebeatleslife:

takemebackto70s80s:

“One night he was so drunk that I had to drag him away from the pub and bring him in a park to vomit. When he finished, he was upset so we sat on a bench. Still drunk and hesitant, he pointed his finger at a star straight above our heads and he said: “That is the star my mother dedicated to me and it has always been mine. But from now on it will be yours too, if you want. Its name is Mary Julia and every time you will look at it in any situation, any moment, you will know that I’m there near to you and laughing about how queer you are. I will always be there, I promise, I will look at you from Mary Julia. And even the contrary because it’s our star, just ours, a star that belongs to two idiots that strum and that every night lie on a bench full of alcohol.” I was flabbergasted and together we started to laugh. Some years later I looked at that star and I cried for a whole night. His laugh near me wasn’t enough to make me stop. But I realised that he kept his promise and it was beautiful.”
- Paul McCartney 

STop okay I’m crying

inthebeatleslife:

takemebackto70s80s:

“One night he was so drunk that I had to drag him away from the pub and bring him in a park to vomit. When he finished, he was upset so we sat on a bench. Still drunk and hesitant, he pointed his finger at a star straight above our heads and he said: “That is the star my mother dedicated to me and it has always been mine. But from now on it will be yours too, if you want. Its name is Mary Julia and every time you will look at it in any situation, any moment, you will know that I’m there near to you and laughing about how queer you are. I will always be there, I promise, I will look at you from Mary Julia. And even the contrary because it’s our star, just ours, a star that belongs to two idiots that strum and that every night lie on a bench full of alcohol.” I was flabbergasted and together we started to laugh. Some years later I looked at that star and I cried for a whole night. His laugh near me wasn’t enough to make me stop. But I realised that he kept his promise and it was beautiful.”

- Paul McCartney 

STop okay I’m crying

fionagallagherrr
dewgonair:

lockrocksandcoke:

131-di:

veggiebaker:

therunscape:

Heart attacks symptoms are different for women. I recently learned this. 

Everyone should know these things.

thanks to mainstream media and being unable to show breasts on TV, way too few people know about female signs of cardiac distress, and impending heart attacks. they only know about the “pain in the left arm” male symptom.

i had all these symptoms once and they sent me right to hospital
it was scary bc i didnt know these were the symptoms for female heart issues

Please, please, PLEASE, reblog this. i don’t know if I did save or called false alarm, with my boss’ life tonight. I felt I was being a bit paranoid, overreacting, but I told Mirage my thoughts and he, after reading over the article I showed him, immediately sprung into action and then shooed her off to the hospital. I don’t know if I did or not, but I knew she’d been super stressed. She’d off-handedly commented on her arm tingling and I asked her if she felt queasy on a hunch. I went to look at the symptoms and we went from there.

dewgonair:

lockrocksandcoke:

131-di:

veggiebaker:

therunscape:

Heart attacks symptoms are different for women. I recently learned this. 

Everyone should know these things.

thanks to mainstream media and being unable to show breasts on TV, way too few people know about female signs of cardiac distress, and impending heart attacks. they only know about the “pain in the left arm” male symptom.

i had all these symptoms once and they sent me right to hospital

it was scary bc i didnt know these were the symptoms for female heart issues

Please, please, PLEASE, reblog this. i don’t know if I did save or called false alarm, with my boss’ life tonight. I felt I was being a bit paranoid, overreacting, but I told Mirage my thoughts and he, after reading over the article I showed him, immediately sprung into action and then shooed her off to the hospital. I don’t know if I did or not, but I knew she’d been super stressed. She’d off-handedly commented on her arm tingling and I asked her if she felt queasy on a hunch. I went to look at the symptoms and we went from there.

straylazybones

unnecessarymagic:

IM SO PISSED OFF THAT WE DONT HAVE BALLS ANY MORE
I WANT TO WEAR A HUGE DRESS AND BE COURTED AND DANCE AROUND AND HAVE MY GOWN SWEEP THE FLOOR AND BE ALL ELEGANT AND GRACEFUL WITH GLOVES AND SHIT

BUT NO WE HAVE DUMB HOUSE PARTIES WITH CHEAP BEER AND RED CUPS AND HORNY TEENAGE BOYS WHO PUT THEIR HANDS UP MY SHIRT

i was confused at the word balls in the beginning until i finished it

i-only-speak-to-sailors

monobeartheater:

electric-inhale:

the-maple-meme:

hetalianbae:

tom-sits-like-a-whore:

benot-may:

bluesigma:

piikopoko:

you were either a winx 

image

or a w.i.t.c.h

image

this makes me feel old.

I was totally a spy

image

i was aLL THREE

was this the old superwholock? 

THIS IS THE OLD SUPERWHOLOCK

All three heck yes!

the old superwholock? Nah these shows all have examples of POC and well written diverse woman who do not rely on men to build their character

winterinthetardis

Undergrowth With Two Figures (1890) - Vincent Van Gogh

He dreams of the Doctor, in the months he has left (he knows it’s only months, knows it as the days go on, as the sunflowers outside his window wilt, and as the sun passes down beneath the horizon each night.) More and more often these dreams find their way on to canvases.

Vincent wakes in the middle of the night, with thoughts so potent he can only rid himself of them by making them tangible. So he creates them, with broad strokes and thick colors, plastering the canvas with his fears and his love for friends gone by.

One warm night, with sweat on his brow and blue paint stuck underneath his fingernails, he dreams of a man. This is a man he knows, but doesn’t know. Pinstriped, laughing eyes, and holding the hand of a golden-haired beauty, this man has eyes older than his own. Vincent recognizes the suffering and age of a man he’s met before, and in an instant knows this man to be the Doctor. 

The blue box was magnificent, and he’s seen wonders of the universe far beyond this. So he paints the figures with love and with reverence. They are a legend long past in history, but also a story that has not yet been woven. Vincent doesn’t recognize the woman beside the Doctor, but knows she is happiness and love and Vincent would like to paint her with flowers in her hands. Roses, maybe? He shakes the idea off for the morning, and returns his tired, bloodshot eyes to the canvas. 

In broad strokes, Vincent paints the Doctor’s unknown happiness, the life he gave to a golden girl, a universe away. As he paints, he weeps, and doesn’t know why.

Miles away and decades later, the Doctor’s lips tremble as he sees  a painting, hanging unpretentiously on a white wall. It’s surreptitiously placed around a corner, and he must have already walked by it four times without truly seeing it. His eyes water, but he dares not cry, for once he starts, there will be no stopping. The Doctor stares at the painting for several minutes, memorizing the strokes, the feeling, the impression.

Any other viewer would call the figures melancholy, and tell how they invoke “the feeling of loneliness.” But the Doctor knows better than any other, this is not loneliness. That is the Doctor, with Rose Tyler. He hopes that a universe away, his counterpart never feels as lonely as he does in this instant.