Sentences with phrase «skinned girl thing»

I wonder if it's a pale skinned girl thing... my complexion is similar to yours, and I find adjustments on my eye make - up always look so dramatic.

Not exact matches

Look — We're all done with keeping up with the Kardashians or whatever flash of skin is being flaunted on red carpets — when there are little girls being devoured on bare concrete floors and we will keep company with Jesus and be the ones who do something about the things that breaks His heart.

(Yes, not only is this thing grading girls, but Beyonce gets a «B.») «C Girls» are African Americans «with a weave» and «medium to light skin tone.&rgirls, but Beyonce gets a «B.») «C Girls» are African Americans «with a weave» and «medium to light skin tone.&rGirls» are African Americans «with a weave» and «medium to light skin tone.»

It was one of the only things that worked for my girls» sensitive skin, and I use it still for minor burns, cuts, scrapes, and more.

With it came a temple (the small mountain she climbed each day), a set of rites (a song she sung combining positive affirmations from her favorite authors, followed by meditation and reading at the summit), and a hallowed set of clothes and talismen that accompanied her on the journey (a walking stick, a leather belt for strapping things to, a headscarf or large brim hat, a white blouse and flowing skirt to protect her sensitive skin from the sun but also conjure up her days as a farm girl, and a spiritual text to extract a message from).

After testing and trying, I came to realize the girl at Sephora really knew her thing when suggesting the Urban Decay Naked Skin Foundation which apparently is one of the few bases with the biggest range of colours for all skin toSkin Foundation which apparently is one of the few bases with the biggest range of colours for all skin toskin tones!

Just like French girls change their skin care routines when traveling, they also know the importance of changing things for the seasons.

You can choose to be a girl or a boy, and customize things like skin color, hair color and eye color.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,