Geraldine Hoff Doyle, was a 17 years (in 1942) while she was working at the American Broach & Machine Co. when a photographer snapped a pic of her on the job.
That image used by J. Howard Miller for the “We Can Do It!” poster, released during World War II.
Oh shit, that’s the real “Rosie the Riveter” ?
BAMF INDEED. This woman deserves all the respect in the universe!
I need this on my blog.
this should have way more notes
Step aside, people, Rosie the fucking Riveter is on your dash!
unless your teachers are abusive assholes there is no fucking reason to disrespect them
they are literally trying their hardest to get you an education
teachers have every right to complain about rude students or the amount of papers they have to grade because their salary is low as shit
oh wow, your math teacher yelled at you because you were ignoring the lesson and talking to your friend
i wonder why
jesus christ teachers have it hard enough dont be an asshole
Lemme hear you say HEY MS CARTER.
My friends decided to take a lovely pic for the Westboro Baptist Church. They’re not gay but they support gay rights
Splash Mountain Photos
It’s funnier everytime I see it.
I like human beings.
|—||And “bitch” is attacking women for their right to call you on it. (via madgay)|
THINGS U SHOULDNT SAY TO AN ARTIST WHILE THEYRE DRAWING
SEE ALSO “WHY IS HE/SHE NAKED” iM NO T DONE YE T SMARTASS
"OMG WHY DOES IT HAVE BOOBS YOU PERV"
IT’S A GIRL I’M DRAWING A FUCKI GN GIRL.
"Why isn’t the rest of it shaded?" BECAUSE I’M STILL SHADING THE FUCKING FACE FUCK NUGGET
"Hey you missed that bit" DOES IT LOOK LIKE IM FCKINGNSM FINISHED U NIPPLE WANK
This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.
I just cried at this
you are allowed to terminate toxic relationships
you are allowed to walk away from people who hurt you
you are allowed to be angry and selfish and unforgiving
you don’t owe anyone an explanation for taking care of yourself
people need to get this.
i literally think about this scene all the time i swear