womensweardaily:

Dubai Event Spotlights Regional Talents
Photo by Ian Gavan, Stuart Wilson-Getty Images
Amato by Furne One showcased a collection inspired by the travels of Alexander the Great.

womensweardaily:

Dubai Event Spotlights Regional Talents

Photo by Ian Gavan, Stuart Wilson-Getty Images

Amato by Furne One showcased a collection inspired by the travels of Alexander the Great.

142 notes
posted 13 hours ago (® womensweardaily)

Perfect Day - Hoku

9,771 plays
1,340 notes
posted 1 day ago (® throwbacksandjams)

Lady Gaga - Sexxx Dreams (feat. Rihanna)

(DOWNLOAD)

6,846 plays
724 notes
posted 3 days ago (® isthiswhattheboyslike)

Just got really angry because I always leave my stuff in the Dig office since, you know, there’s a lock on the door and I make sure it’s locked every time I leave, and I came back to the door propped wide open with absolutely no one in sight not once but twice today. When I went to the journalism department and asked if there was anything supposed to be going on with the office today, all they told me is that they think someone was going to remove the annoying box we complained about so much. Like, excuse me. The box YOU shit dicks put in there in a haphazard attempt to impress the accreditation team? The box that was loud as fuck and actually heated the room to a very uncomfortable temperature?? Don’t turn this around on me fuckwad. Someone came into our damn office and left it unattended for long periods of time TWICE, with both an iPad and a laptop in clear view for anyone to swoop by and take. I am so pissed that I didn’t get an actual apology and the journalism department is just so fucking stupid here. I hope my education I receive from this damn place means something because if the department’s smarts and behavior is any indication of my future opportunities based off of my completion of this program, I am very concerned.
Take your ungroomed crusty asses outta here.

0 notes
posted 6 days ago
When you go out into the woods and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever. And you look at the tree and you allow it. You appreciate it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree. The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. And you are constantly saying ‘You’re too this, or I’m too this.’ That judging mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.
- Ram Dass (via aurelle)
12,165 notes
posted 1 week ago (® the-starpilot-has-landed)
2,415 notes
posted 1 week ago (® joozy-juice)
8,981 notes
posted 1 week ago (® fiberopticunicorns)
205 notes
posted 1 week ago (® is2scream)
2,507 notes
posted 1 week ago (® anticachamel)

babeobaggins:

finally, a dance i can do

60,967 notes
posted 1 week ago (® juilan)
illumahottie:

illumahottie:

illumahottie:

I have been looking at this for the last 10 minutes and I have been cryin

I’m still upset abt this omg

Like I am ascending to another plain of existence

illumahottie:

illumahottie:

illumahottie:

I have been looking at this for the last 10 minutes and I have been cryin

I’m still upset abt this omg

Like I am ascending to another plain of existence

133,271 notes
posted 2 weeks ago (® gifak-net)

girlseatgirls:

making out is one of the most underrated things in the world of sex like one of the best feelings on earth is tongue on tongue, biting each other’s lips and pressing your bodies together and grinding your hips into each other while your breathing mixes and making out is just so ugh god

102,561 notes
posted 2 weeks ago (® girlseatgirls)

Julianne Moore as “Famous Works of Art” by Peter Linderbergh - for Harper’s Bazaar

Seated Woman With Bent Knee by Egon Schiele, La Grande Odalisque by Ingres, Saint Praxidis by Vermeer, The Cripple by John Currin, Les danseuses by Edgar Degas, Madame X by John Singer, Girl with a Pearl Earring by Vermeer, Woman With a Fan by Modigliani, Man Crazy Nurse #3 by Richard Prince, Adele Bloch Bauer I by Gustav Klimt.

70,710 notes
posted 2 weeks ago (® marthajefferson)
harinef:


90 Days and 90 Nights by Hari Nef
Here’s what happened:
On day 14, I didn’t have sex with the businessman visiting from Israel who wanted to stick his hand down the front of my jeans but didn’t want to look at me.
On day 16, I didn’t have sex with the guy who’d slept with at least three of my best friends because it seemed too easy.
On day 18, I didn’t have sex with the man I kissed in the lounge because he might have given me chlamydia last year.
On day 50, I didn’t have sex with the straight guy who vanished from campus last year who greeted me by telling me I looked beautiful and that he hadn’t had sex in a very long time and that was really eating him lately.
On day 50, I also didn’t have sex with the net artist I met on Tinder who strictly wanted to collaborate.
On day 68, I didn’t have sex with the well-read swimmer I met in the undergraduate dean of Columbia’s boardroom.
On day 78, I didn’t have sex with the very handsome young man who seemed to like me (I got drunk off the Moët opened bar and demanded his intentions).
On day 85, I once again didn’t have sex with my ex-partner after we shot these photos for the first installment of my sex column, which I would happen to file after not having sex for 90 days.
Early in the day, Zak texted me, trying to get a sense for my angle:
Lolol ok
Coul u re iterate what your gonna be talking about
 _____________________________________________
hari and men fall 2k13 loll
seeing, being seen
being more available and more untouchable than ever
hating men worshipping men etc
negotiating the ways i can snatch validation from them
 _____________________________________________
Ok
Cool thank you
These have been the 90 days since the end of the 370 days I dated Zak. The past 510 days have been crazy:
I turned 20, then I turned 21.
Waxed my chest four times, and lasered it twice.
Smoked 16 ounces of weed.
Mourned three deaths.
Lost 20 pounds.
Gained 4,000 followers on 2 social media platforms.
Worked three internships and got fired from one.
Backed out on the better part of one gender.
The 90 days have not made sense of themselves. They sent mixed messages about what I wanted and what I could get. They drove me out of my dorm room and right back into it. They taught me about the blood work and the hormones. They closed my body up. They turned me out. They exalted me. 
I counted each day ardently, stubbornly, sobbing into a bong and knowing my beauty. I sent one-word scorchers to contacts with no surnames. I scoffed at proposals for threesomes and I never missed rehearsals. Tinder and OKCupid sent me daily alerts of compatible pairings. They lay untouched by either party.
Zak answers me when I text him. I’ve texted him seven times since we broke up. Jokes come first, compliments. I blossom from the contact. I ask him how he is; I bury him in my latest triumph. But then I get weird. I  switch to lower case letters. I solar-print myself in the image of a romcom heroine, smiling through tears:
yeah mom told me I was nicer when i had a boyfriend if u can believe that
at least people have stopped coming up to me IN THE CLUB being like
“did you and zak break up”
i can’t decide whether i’m like “that’s funny” or “that’s depressing”
probably both lol
But I’m no match for him. He knows how to handle me. He’ll send back some single word, lurid and kind. Zak is good at not wanting me anymore. He lets me down easy. I’m always thinking about how mean I was to him, and how good he felt on top of me. Zak was my first or second love. I love Zak.
He showed up 32 minutes late and set up his camera equipment.  He watched me get naked and wrap myself up in a dusty black sheet. I never looked into the lens; I counted my powers. I asked him if he’d had sex with anyone since we broke up. He told me he had. I asked if he’d noticed that I’d lost weight. He told me people had been talking about it. The battery died and he went over to change it. I took my phone out and found Zak’s new lover on Facebook within 10 seconds.
I threw myself on a rusty old bed; I moved my body and touched it. I gave him what I thought he deserved, and what I thought I deserved. I wanted to push a safety pin into my throat.
Photography by Zak Krevitt
Hari Nef is an actress, writer, and casting director living in New York City.

Check out the first installment of my sex column for Adult Magazine. 

harinef:

90 Days and 90 Nights by Hari Nef

Here’s what happened:

On day 14, I didn’t have sex with the businessman visiting from Israel who wanted to stick his hand down the front of my jeans but didn’t want to look at me.

On day 16, I didn’t have sex with the guy who’d slept with at least three of my best friends because it seemed too easy.

On day 18, I didn’t have sex with the man I kissed in the lounge because he might have given me chlamydia last year.

On day 50, I didn’t have sex with the straight guy who vanished from campus last year who greeted me by telling me I looked beautiful and that he hadn’t had sex in a very long time and that was really eating him lately.

On day 50, I also didn’t have sex with the net artist I met on Tinder who strictly wanted to collaborate.

On day 68, I didn’t have sex with the well-read swimmer I met in the undergraduate dean of Columbia’s boardroom.

On day 78, I didn’t have sex with the very handsome young man who seemed to like me (I got drunk off the Moët opened bar and demanded his intentions).

On day 85, I once again didn’t have sex with my ex-partner after we shot these photos for the first installment of my sex column, which I would happen to file after not having sex for 90 days.

Early in the day, Zak texted me, trying to get a sense for my angle:

Lolol ok

Coul u re iterate what your gonna be talking about

 _____________________________________________

hari and men fall 2k13 loll

seeing, being seen

being more available and more untouchable than ever

hating men worshipping men etc

negotiating the ways i can snatch validation from them

 _____________________________________________

Ok

Cool thank you

These have been the 90 days since the end of the 370 days I dated Zak. The past 510 days have been crazy:

I turned 20, then I turned 21.

Waxed my chest four times, and lasered it twice.

Smoked 16 ounces of weed.

Mourned three deaths.

Lost 20 pounds.

Gained 4,000 followers on 2 social media platforms.

Worked three internships and got fired from one.

Backed out on the better part of one gender.

The 90 days have not made sense of themselves. They sent mixed messages about what I wanted and what I could get. They drove me out of my dorm room and right back into it. They taught me about the blood work and the hormones. They closed my body up. They turned me out. They exalted me. 

I counted each day ardently, stubbornly, sobbing into a bong and knowing my beauty. I sent one-word scorchers to contacts with no surnames. I scoffed at proposals for threesomes and I never missed rehearsals. Tinder and OKCupid sent me daily alerts of compatible pairings. They lay untouched by either party.

Zak answers me when I text him. I’ve texted him seven times since we broke up. Jokes come first, compliments. I blossom from the contact. I ask him how he is; I bury him in my latest triumph. But then I get weird. I  switch to lower case letters. I solar-print myself in the image of a romcom heroine, smiling through tears:

yeah mom told me I was nicer when i had a boyfriend if u can believe that

at least people have stopped coming up to me IN THE CLUB being like

“did you and zak break up”

i can’t decide whether i’m like “that’s funny” or “that’s depressing”

probably both lol

But I’m no match for him. He knows how to handle me. He’ll send back some single word, lurid and kind. Zak is good at not wanting me anymore. He lets me down easy. I’m always thinking about how mean I was to him, and how good he felt on top of me. Zak was my first or second love. I love Zak.

He showed up 32 minutes late and set up his camera equipment.  He watched me get naked and wrap myself up in a dusty black sheet. I never looked into the lens; I counted my powers. I asked him if he’d had sex with anyone since we broke up. He told me he had. I asked if he’d noticed that I’d lost weight. He told me people had been talking about it. The battery died and he went over to change it. I took my phone out and found Zak’s new lover on Facebook within 10 seconds.

I threw myself on a rusty old bed; I moved my body and touched it. I gave him what I thought he deserved, and what I thought I deserved. I wanted to push a safety pin into my throat.

Photography by Zak Krevitt

Hari Nef is an actress, writer, and casting director living in New York City.

Check out the first installment of my sex column for Adult Magazine

788 notes
posted 2 weeks ago (® harinef)

death-rebirth-senshi:

sexecutive-outcums:

ooodle:

wat

what the everliving fuck

Why do people sexualize boobs when we could be doing this with them

235,464 notes
posted 3 weeks ago (® onlylolgifs)

Quantcast