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i’m that rat type, concealed inside his hat type, control his every act type,

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A group of rough looking boys walked past me today and all I heard of their conversation was “he’s got that anxiety disorder bro so I went with him so he’d be more comfortable” and it made me realise the world isn’t all that bad

#this is team skull

The pet store I worked at had a pen with rabbits near the front door. On every side of the pen were huge signs saying “You can pet me, but don’t pick me up!”
One day two absolutely huge guys came in and one immediately reaches into the pen to grab a rabbit. Before i could say anything his friend grabbed his arm and asked him “did you see the sign?”
He said “yeah! it says that you can pick them up but don’t pet them!”
Then he went quiet for a moment and softly said “I didn’t read it right did I?”
And his friend just puts his arm on his shoulder and said “its ok, i know you’ve got that thing where words get mixed up. Let just pet these cute lil shits”
And I still haven’t gotten over that interaction.

I was walking my dog through Boston bc he likes the likes car rides. He’s a little thing tbh we call him short and long.
So this huge scary man with a full beard approaches me like “hey can my buddy and I pet your dog? He gets nervous around dogs but your’s is so small I think it’s a good place to start.”
Ofc I was like “yes he’s very friendly!” So this guy brings his equally big friend over and they sit on the floor while this man looks terrified of my tiny dog so big man number one asks “can I pick him up?” And i say yes so he picks him up and puts him on man number two’s lap and man number two is abt to freak out and his friend straight up just goes “hey man, it’s okay just relax I’d never let anything hurt you. He’s a good boy.” I’ll never forget it ever bc I know that man looked at me (5'3 , glasses, probably wearing a sweater vest) and my dog (kinda goofy looking little thing) and was like ‘ah yes the two least intimidating living things I’ve seen in Boston all day he’ll feel relaxed around them’ and went out of his way to help his friend. It makes me so happy

My husband had this Dungeons and Dragons group ages ago, and one of the guys was TERRIFIED of cats.  The moment he sees one he freezes up and can barely breathe.  Said guy is almost seven feet tall and solid wall of muscle.  Whenever he came over I’d put the cats in the bedroom and chill out with a book because my cats don’t like being shut away without one of us. 

One of my cats was pawing at the door and meowing loudly, an indication she REALLY needs to use the litter box.  I let her out and decide, hey, I’m hungry, and decide to the kitchen.  I forgot to shut the bedroom door. 

Next thing I hear is the group going completely silent.  My husband very calmly asks me to come over and help him gather our two cats up.  I go over to where the group is and my black cat, Cacoa, is rubbing up against the guy’s leg, purring, and doing her “let me on your lap” meow.  The other cat, Jasper, is sitting at the window, chilling out.  I go over and pick up Cacoa and tell the big dude she’s harmless, loves laps, and would be thrilled if he pet her.  Very slowly he touches my cat’s face, and she leans right into his hand.  He then pets her back and sighs because she’s really soft and purring like mad.  After a few minutes he asks how to pick her up and if it’s okay if she sits on his lap.

He spent the next six hours spoiling my cat.  The next week he showed up with cat treats and toys because he fell in love with the cats.  He told me he was doing some research on house cats, and even talked to a vet about them.  A couple months later he adopted two cats and was as thrilled and excited as a new parent. 

Oh no a new one!!!

Blessed post.

I used to work at this stable for icelandic horses and every now and then this man would turn up by the field to just watch the horses. One time I walked by him as I was going to get the horses inside, and he went ”I always wanted to learn how to ride but I’m afraid of horses because they’re so huge. If I could ride ponies like this, maybe I’d dare but now I’m too big and heavy for them.” You should have seen his face when I told them that actually they’re not ponies, just small horses and they could totally carry him. His face just lit up. Next thing I’m helping him to get on back. Today he knows how to ride.

A few years ago my sister and I were in Daytona Beach, and we saw this huge, burly biker. Looked like the stereotypical biker: big black beard, the goggles, leather, and a bandana. He also had a baby carrier, and in that baby carrier was a tiny little orange Pomeranian. We complimented his dog and he said, in one of the deepest voices I’ve ever heard, “thanks, his name’s Little Bear!” And he told us about how he’d take Little Bear out on his motorcycle everyday and how much the dog loved it.

Such a lovely post.

this is the best post I’ve ever seen

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writingwithcolor:

notice: racial and lgbt slurs mentioned from a woman within the groups.

I’m an author of YA fiction and long-time lurker on this page. Thank you so, so much for creating and maintaining this resource. I finally decided to submit my profile because IF I HAVE TO READ ONE MORE USE OF THE WORD “GYPPED” IN A PUBLISHED NOVEL, I WILL SCREAM.

Ahem. So.

I’m sorry this profile is so long, but I’m assuming the reader here is starting from zero. Romani are in a unique position in the United States right now. Our ethnicity and customs are treated like lifestyle choices. Even the most liberal, politically-correct allies think of us as unicorns.

A quick few quick notes about terminology:

“Romani” refers to the race—our people as a whole. “Roma” or “Romni” are the terms used for women, depending on your family tradition. (We use “Roma” in my family.) “Rom” is universally used for men—you would never call a man “Romni.” You will see people use “Roma” to refer to the entire race, and particularly to one extended family, because we’re a patriarchal society but a matrilineal people.

“Gypsy” is a word given to us by our oppressors. Like the word “Indian” for Native Americans, it assigned us a race that had nothing to do with us—Ancient Greeks and Romans once thought we were from Egypt. The word refers to both Romani peoples—of which there are hundreds of subcultures—and the Irish Travellers, who aren’t related to us ethnically or culturally.  We do use this word to describe ourselves, but that’s in an effort to reclaim its power.

In the USA, the word “Gypsy” is used like an adjective instead of a noun… whenever that happens, it’s racist. Just like using the word “Indian” or “Native” to describe a rug pattern, or using the words “African-style” to sell a dress made in China. There is no excuse for calling something Gypsy if it is not made by or related to a Romani or Traveller person. Remember: the dictionary has more than one meaning for “f**got,” too. These aren’t overt cruelties, but rather the casual racism we all fall prey to when we aren’t paying attention. It’s just gotten extreme because, in the United States, you’ve all forgotten that the noun form of “Gypsy” even exists.

About me

My mother is Sinti Roma and German. My father is English and German.

Ethnically, I am one quarter Roma (or thereabouts—it’s difficult to measure with so much intermarriage). Culturally, I’m half Roma as my mother was my Romani parent. If my father had been the Romani one, I would be considered “less Romani” than I am now. Biologically (according to my DNA test), I am 40% English/Welsh, 32% German, with the remaining divided up between Norway/Sweden, Ireland/Scotland, the Indian subcontinent, and Russia.

I have red-auburn hair and blue-gray eyes. My skin is extremely pale—paler than any of my relatives, on either side. I don’t freckle. I’m average height for an American and wear a US size 12 dress.

I identify as a cisgender female, and I am bisexual.

I’m 33 years old.

Beauty standards

I pass for white. I mean, I think I technically am “white,” since that word refers to color and not culture. My entire Romani family passes, and that is typical of our race. My ethnic heritage is Sinti Roma, which is a Central European group. My mother always says we are “white” the way Jews in America are white—we have defining features and practices, if you know what to look for, but the burden/blessing of identifying as “other” usually falls to us.

Romani don’t have one particular “look,” per say, because we have intermarried with our neighbors all over the world. This is a massive misconception in popular culture, where the “Esmerelda Look” is considered the standard of beauty for our women: tall, tan, svelte, with giant breasts and SO MUCH black hair. And incongruously blue eyes? Not that the combination is impossible—anything is possible—but I’ve never actually met a Roma person who looked like this.

Representation for all non-white races was limited in the 1980’s and 90’s, but for Roma women it was basically just Esmeralda, Scarlet Witch, and the mystical Trash Heap on Fraggle Rock.

While I was growing up, the “Esmeralda Look” became the absolute beauty standard for Roma in the USA. Women started dying their hair black, getting fake tans, wearing colored contacts. I know many with breast implants. If you’ve ever watched My Big Fat Gypsy anything, you’ll know exactly what look I mean. (If you haven’t seen it, please don’t seek it out. It’s the actual worst.) This is an example of the incredible and sometimes devastating power of representation. We had one—just one—positive role model in the media, and we were desperate to meet that standard.

I don’t. Never have. Other women in my family, though, have worked hard to get pretty damn close.

Of course, on top of all this, we aren’t immune to the universal standards of beauty in the countries where we live. I was born blonde and blue-eyed in a sea of dark-haired cousins, so I was the automatic beauty of the family, even though my hair shifted to gingery auburn in childhood. My reign lasted until my youngest cousin stole the title when she was born—you guessed it!—blonde and blue-eyed. Before the two of us, no woman in our Romani family tree had ever been naturally blonde. It was a Big Deal.

Despite being the baby beauty, my sibling and cousins are considered better looking by current American standards. There are almost all taller than I am, and they are all thinner. They mostly have dark hair and tan easily. Many people in my family, men and women, have tattoos—this includes my mother and my grandmother. My grandma got her eyeliner tattooed on! And they are all incredibly well dressed and immaculately groomed. I am the family “hippie” because I regularly go without makeup and nail polish.

Clothing/grooming

Romani traditions put a lot of emphasis on cleanliness and grooming. The stereotype of the unwashed gypsy couldn’t be falser—we are pretty much always the cleanest people in the room, because we have cultural rules about hygiene. Part of the reason that stereotype got started was because Romani were forced to live in the worst parts of town, where water wasn’t safe to drink or bathe in. That’s still true in many countries.

Roma women wear makeup, get their hair done, paint their nails. I’m generalizing, but that’s because we’re talking about “standards” here. Those are ours. I do very little of that on a daily basis, and ALL OF IT for big family events. I married a Gadjo (non-Romani), so his expectations of my appearance are very different from my family’s. I wear much nicer, fancier clothing when with my Romani relatives, and I make sure my daughter does, too. It’s important that my family see my husband as a good provider, and this is a major way to demonstrate that.

Religion/holidays

The ancient ancestors of Romani people were Hindu, and there are some who still practice. Every Romani I know in the United States is either Christian, Agnostic, or an Atheist, but that is because we live in the United States—there is no “Roma Religion,” and we are master chameleons. Most Romani people practice the dominant religion of the region they live in. We celebrate the same holidays, attend the same churches/temples/mosques, and our traditions look a lot like everyone else’s. My great-grandfather was a Presbyterian pastor.

The exceptions to this are cleanliness and generosity: They are the central tenets of our daily lives, and treated with the seriousness of religious practice. The home and person should clean at all times. The Romani kitchen is expected to be spotless (although not everyone lives up to this, myself included). You might notice that some Romani don’t shake hands upon greeting—this is because it’s considered unclean. Anything you have should be available to someone in need, but particularly food. We eat often and well, and sharing food is an important part of Romani life.

Culture/identity issues

The first rule of being Romani is: You do not talk about being Romani.

Secrecy and assimilation have, literally, kept us alive for thousands of years. There is no part of the world where Romani have settled that has welcomed them. There’s a misconception that Romani are travelers by choice, but the reality is that we had no other option for most of our history. We were major victims of slavery in the medieval era, forced into assimilation throughout the 17- and 1800s, and targeted for genocide during the European Holocaust.

In the modern era, our children have been taken by the state “for their own safety” at rates higher than any other ethnic group in the United Kingdom. Since the end of the Kosovo War, Romani communities in that country have been systemically annihilated. Our women have been forcibly sterilized as recently as the 1970s. In 2008, two Romani children died at a crowded Italian beach while onlookers stood around doing absolutely nothing. There were witnesses quoted saying things like, “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

France 2010: the government demolished at least 51 Romani communities because they planned to “repatriate” them—to send them back to their “countries of origin.” Except France was their country of origin. This led to years of violence and illegal deportation.

Why am I telling you all this?

Because I’m not going to tell you much about our culture. My family has spent their entire lives blending in with US mainstream culture, and blatantly lying about their ethnic origins. We don’t want you to be able to recognize us. We don’t want what happens to Romani in other parts of the world to start happening to us here. If you have a Romani friend or coworker, you probably do not know it. I’m considered a dangerous radical for even admitting I’m Roma to outsiders. 

If you’re interested in Romani cultural customs, I suggest reading/watching:

American Gypsy: A Memoir by Oksana Marafioti

We Are the Romani People by Ian F. Hancock

Ceija Stojka: Even Death Is Afraid of Auschwitz

That’ll be a good start.

Dating and relationships

Most of us date like any other American would, although I have noticed a tendency to marry younger. I married at 25, which was considered old in my family and very young in the rest of my community. I’d been with my husband for five years when we married, and this is also typical—we don’t “date around” as much as our Gadjo (non-Romani) neighbors. This has started to change in the new 20-somethings, I think, but my brother and similarly-aged cousins all followed this pattern.

I will mention that boys have more dating freedom than girls do, but less marital freedom. There is a lot more pressure for a boy to marry a “good Roma girl” than for a girl to marry a Rom. I think this is because Roma mothers handle most of the child-rearing, and therefore a child is thought to be “raised Romani” if its mother is Roma. (You can research the concept of “Romanipen” to understand this better.) That said, my brother married a non-Roma, and that was totally fine.

Divorce is really rare for traditional Romani couples, but not as uncommon if you marry an outsider. Probably about the same as the national average. For reference: My mother has only married Gadjo men, and she’s been married three times. HOWEVER, all three marriages occurred before she was 25, and she’s been with her third husband for 30 years. They actually lived in separate homes for years rather than divorce. There’s a strong stigma against it but, again, I think this is fading for the new generation.

As a bisexual Roma, I didn’t come out to my parents until after I married my cisgender male husband. HOWEVER, this wasn’t because I thought my parents would react badly—the only girl I was romantically involved with in high school was deeply closeted, and it would’ve immediately outed our relationship if I were known to like women. I kept quiet to protect her. When I did tell my parents, they were supportive and sad that I’d waited so long to tell them. None of my aunts, uncles, or cousins cared at all. Some of my extended family are bigots, sure, but definitely not more than in non-Romani families.

Daily struggles

People wear my race as a costume EVERY FUCKING YEAR. At my neighborhood Halloween party, the storyteller told my daughter she’d dressed as a “Gypsy Roma"—complete with coin belt and head scarf. She said this to a Roma child. Not that she knew that. I honestly wonder if she’d care?

Every Gypsy I’ve ever seen on TV or in movies is either a) magical or b) a criminal. Sometimes both. That’s a really hard thing to take in as an adult, and heartbreaking to explain to my child.

Country music really sucks for us. We are blamed for everybody else’s shitty behavior. Remember that Zac Brown song? “You gotta gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leaving.” That’s the usual sentiment.

Because my family doesn’t want to be outed to their communities, I’m under pressure to keep quiet about my race. That means, as a writer, that I can’t openly call myself a Roma in my biographies or press releases—if I do, I out my entire family. People still lose jobs over being Romani. They still have their families targeted by Child Protective Services. And, of course, most of my relatives have been lying to the people around them about their ethnicity for years. If they’re caught at it, it will only reinforce the stereotype that Romani people can’t be trusted.

Secrecy is always a struggle. It’s hard to bite your tongue as a kid when people mock and denigrate your family, without even realizing they’re talking about you. We don’t educate ignorant outsiders, the way I’m trying to do now. We don’t tell our own stories. Most of us don’t even want to.

Micro-aggressions

1)      The word “gypped.” This is a word meaning “cheated or swindled,” and it is a racial slur. STOP USING THIS FUCKING WORD.

2)      Seeing the word “Gypsy” slapped on everything from travel trailers to face wash, none of which is EVER being created or sold by a Romani or Traveller person. I cannot fathom an actual Gypsy putting that word on their products, unless they were an author or entertainer of some kind.

3)      “Can you tell fortunes? Was your grandmother a psychic?”

4)      When non-Romani people wax rhapsodic about their “Gypsy souls.”

5)      “Do you live in a caravan?” Ugh. Some people do, sure. I never have, but my grandfather did for a while. My great-great grandparents lived in a traditional wagon, or “vardo”—they were forced to live in them from birth to death because it was illegal for my ancestors to buy property pretty much anywhere in Europe.

6)      So, bonus micro-aggression: Seeking to recreate a “Gypsy wagon” for fun is racist.

7)      People name their pets Gypsy all the time. When is the last time you met a dog named Chinese?

8)      Assuming our elders (parents, grandparents) are racists, homophobes, or under-educated.

Things I’d like to see less of

1)      The MAGICAL GYPSY WOMAN™

2)      Similarly, The ROUGISH GYPSY CRIMINALS™

3)      Romani living in caravans—the majority of us live in permanent homes and travel for fun

4)      Anything where we steal/find/get handed a baby that isn’t ours

5)      Undereducated Romani children

6)      Romani women who sleep around or walk out on relationships—everybody’s an individual but, culturally, Romani are expected to be virgin brides and grooms, and divorce is frowned upon

7)      Super-hot Romani men and women in revealing outfits, dancing

8)      Roma child marriages—yes, they happen, but this is a VERY OLD-FASHIONED practice that makes most Romani cringe, and the “children” are 16-19

9)      Our incredible singing voices and instrument playing (although, full disclosure: my family is extremely musical, and I don’t personally know any Romani people who aren’t)

10)   Submissive Roma brides and domineering Rom men

11)   Violent Romani athletes—particularly in regards to boxing, which was something Rom did in the past as a way to make money in communities where they couldn’t legally work

Things I’d like to see more of

1)      College-educated Romani

2)      Romani characters married to non-Romani (we call them “Gadjo”)

3)      Romani love interests who aren’t Manic Pixie Dream Gypsies (I see you, Johnny Depp)

4)      Unmarried adult Romani

5)      Romani working in fields other than physical labor or the arts—science, for example, or education; hell, even a coffee shop

6)      Modern Romani who are mixed-race (as most of us are)

7)      Romani with horses! Because that’s a real, significant cultural legacy!

8)      Romani leaders of non-Romani people

9)      LGBTQA+ Romani (we exist! And our families don’t hate us!)

10)   Teenage Romani exploring their own culture and history

Check out more POC Profiles here or submit your own.

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soloveitchik:

soloveitchik:

soloveitchik:

I love seeing like… animals that are vicious predators being huge babies. That is my favorite genre of animal photo

Inside every animal is the capacity To Be Bæbey

Look at these vicious absolute Babies

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