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Thoughts/DumankiThis will be a little different post, I suppose. I’ve noticed myself reacting more to discourse including Romani stereotypes. In part, I know it's to do with the fact that I feel as though I've fallen into a crevasse between traditional and non-traditional, between stereotypes, between Romani and non-Romani. I find it extremely hurtful when people reduce me to a trope. Yes, my grandmother sometimes told fortunes (because non-Romani begged her to do so). But, for my family she was a drabarnji .. a healer, a fortuneteller, a wise woman. She used playing cards, tea leaves, or palms. She was good at it, but only because she could read people like birds can read the stars. When I was small, I often begged her to read my cards. Please, Maami, just one time. She always refused, telling me it was mostly nonsense... until I was twelve years old. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Ravishly: Stop Trivializing Mental Illness & The People Who Benefit From Trigger Warnings4/25/2015
6 Reasons Not To Be A Jerk About Trigger Warnings
As you meander around the internet, you may occasionally encounter an article or video prefaced by a trigger warning (or the abbreviated version, TW). A trigger warning is a note that indicates potentially traumatic content. These notes applied to such varied topics as sexual assault, graphic violence, racism, transphobia, eating disorders and child abuse—basically any discussion that could cause a post-traumatic stress reaction for certain people.
Trigger warnings are an important and necessary tool for many people. For others, they are at worst a minor inconvenience. You would think this would mean that the inclusion of trigger warnings would be a no-brainer, yet some folks still insist on being nincompoops. In case you're in danger of becoming a nincompoop, here are six reasons not to be a jerk about trigger warnings: The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Hump Day No No's
Acting by Jeanne Joe Peronne and Ludovic Coutaud
Directed by Pierre Taisne QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Episode 1 is a part of a three-part series on Awkward Date's You Tube channel
#Real #Dating #HowNotToDate #Awkward #AwkwardDate #TwentySomethings #MillennialProblems
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Racism & The Legal Status of Cannabis
In the spirit of 4/20, I would like to remind everyone that #BlackLivesMatter. Marijuana’s illegality comes from a very ugly place. While the notion that Hearst paper manufacturers funded cannabis criminalization remains contested, a candid look at the history of anti-marijuana laws reveals that they are founded upon a racist smear campaign.
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What it's like to be Romani, According to Stock Photos!
Being Romani is, apparently, mystical, furry, and full of magic cats. Here are a few stock photos to show you our lifestyle:
We love to camp out in teepees while all of our girlfriends wearing nothing but fur and tons of jewelry. Of course, blankets, couch pillows and a guitar are a must!
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By The Bi Goes To Ireland!
By the Bi is making its European debut at The Dublin Gay Theatre Festival. On May 4 through 9, Blazing Change Players will be performing the play at the Teacher’s Club (Main). By the Bi brings bisexual awareness to the forefront of both the stage and the minds of an international audience in a way that cannot be ignored or silenced. Since bisexuals receive little to no representation anywhere, the fact that By the Bi is playing at world’s largest gay theatre festival is a huge step forward for bisexual visibility.
Those who wish to attend can purchase tickets online. Be sure to stay tuned via Facebook and Twitter! The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
White Fragility: Why It's So Hard To Talk To White People About Racism
White people have extremely low thresholds for enduring any discomfort associated with challenges to our racial worldviews.
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Rituals For Welcoming Spring
It’s April and it feels like Spring is finally coming around. Thank the universe. If you’re a New Yorker like me – you’ve been sick and tired of cold winds blasting you in the face and overall chilly temps to rain on your parade. How rude.
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It's Only Fear, Dear
Words by Gretchen Gales
Artwork by Bailey Biggs QuailBellMagazine.com Author/Editor's Note: I have an anxiety disorder, though now it is much more controlled thanks to patience and understanding from family and friends. This particular story was about one of my most severe panic attacks in New York City. Keep in mind, it was not until a year later that I even knew what I had experienced. This has been republished from On the Grid Zine. It was a trip to New York organized by the middle and high school music departments. Chorus, band, and strings were all invited. I was thirteen at the time and was thrilled to see the big city. New York is known for its glamour and glitz, and what could be more exciting than seeing it with friends? The glitz and glamour I had imagined was distorted by the reality of big city life. Panhandlers, street performers, curses, blaring horns, the smell of big business all around me. I was tightly compacted between a mass of pedestrians, grasping group members’ hands. That day we were going to be visiting the Empire State Building. “Everyone have their tickets to see the Empire State Building, yes?” Everyone nodded. I was nervous to go because I have a severe fear of heights. I hinted at not wanting to go up, but my friends and chaperones insisted I would be okay. We stood in line and I began to shake. Everyone still kept telling me it would be okay, and the only thing I had to fear was fear itself. I asked if I could just stay at the bottom and wait for everyone. The chaperones said it wasn't allowed unless another chaperone stayed with me. I knew no one was going to give up seeing a breathtaking view of New York for a jumpy, scared kid. I felt my eyes burn and my throat tighten. The elevator ascended from the ground floor, to the fifteenth, to the fortieth, to the eighty-sixth where the observatory platform was placed. We walked off the elevator. I look out the window and only saw blue. I began to feel dizzy. But once I got out on to the platform and could spot the easily distinguishable Chrysler Building and the State of Liberty off in the distance, I saw the true grandeur of NYC. Though moments later I looked too far down and wobbled back towards the wall. After the gift shop we returned to the ground and walked towards Time Square. Then it struck. I remember a time when I was younger and my family went to the beach. I held my father’s hand as we went farther and farther out to the ocean. We jumped over or moved our bodies with the current to avoid being knocked over by the waves. I briefly looked down into the water for a moment and watched as I saw something glitter. I stared at it, enchanted by its green glimmer. Not even a second later, I felt a cold, sharp sting of the ocean slap me and knocked me down. I was submerged underwater. I flailed my legs and tried to desperately find something to hold on to, some security. In Times Square, I felt sheer terror ripping and clawing into me. That twinge of fear suddenly turned into a flood of fear that smacked my face and submerged me into a world that I can only compare to being dangled over the edge of Hell. My breathing became ragged. My arms became nub. My throat felt like someone’s hands had latched on and kept squeezing tighter and tighter. I gasped for air. I felt like I had been damned to Dante’s purgatory to pay for my sins. I lasted for three hours during the Broadway show. Then I begged to call my parents and go home. I told them I was homesick and began bawling from the pain and from how scared I was. The next day they came and got me. In class people whispered and pointed at me, retelling the story of how I, a thirteen year old, pleaded to come home to Mommy and Daddy. Two years later, I was still ridiculed. They knew not to give me an interest paper for the next big field trip. But being called a wuss was better than being called the freak I knew I was.
#Real #PersonalEssay #PanicDisorder #PanicAttacks #MentalHealthAwareness #OnTheGridZine #NYC
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Just Past the Windmill
It was about two years ago when I was officially enrolled at Virginia Commonwealth University. Many questioned my decision, even after the 2011 Final Four run brought national attention and prestige to the university. The only "good schools" around were still UVA, JMU, GMU, Virginia Tech, etc. To put it in the words of one of my old high school teachers, to people in my hometown, VCU is the "Big Kid J. Sargeant Reynolds" of the academic world. Let's set the record straight now that there is nothing wrong with going to community college, but we'll get to that later. So I applied to the standard number of colleges, and when it came time, I chose VCU. But more importantly, I chose Richmond.
But let's leave Richmond alone for just a moment. Now, if you live in, have lived in, or have just passed through Virginia, then you're aware of how within a half hour, you'll pass through cities and suburbs. All of the sudden, you'll end up in a dead-zone next to grass-grazing cows and buzzards pecking at freshly squished skunk. Where I live, the smell of manure and bonfires are accompanied by the sound of gunshots by the neighbors practicing target shooting. This place I’ve grown up in is Mechanicsville (or as we affectionately call it, MechanHICKSville). It is an interesting mix of rural and suburban cultures. More than likely, you have no clue where it is. But between here and Richmond, it's really not that far away. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
10 Reasons to Consider Having Casual Sex TonightIn the spirit of #SexySaturday, I feel as though it is important to reflect upon the finer points of casual sex and all of the reasons why casual sex might be a good idea for safe and consenting adults. What’s a foxy individual like yourself doing in front of a computer screen like this? All of this talk about hook-up culture and its painful pleasures has put me in a saucy mood. A lot of people like sex for sex’s sake. Women are no different. If you’re not in a sexually-exclusive relationship, then you might want to consider NSA sex as a constructive way of spending your time. Let’s face it: now is the best time to have casual sex. I’m not going to explain all of the risks that come along with casual sex or show you scary STD pictures. If you’re a consenting adult who understands these risks, then why pass up a great time? If you score high on the sociosexual orientation inventory, then you’re 1 of the lucky people who get the most out of casual sex. No-strings-attached sex just might be a great idea because it does the following: The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Ravishly: Rand Paul's Statement & Ableist Discrimination Against People With "Invisible Illnesses"4/10/2015
Rand Paul is Running On Ableism
Earlier this week, Rand Paul officially announced his bid for the 2016 presidential election. And, while there are many solid reasons not to vote for him, his demonization of the disabled should be of primary importance to anyone who suffers from a disability or knows someone who does.
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Alive You Took Them, Alive We Want Them Back!The group is called the Caravana 43. Family members of the missing have joined together to promote civil rights and to better inform American citizens of the systematic violence happening in Mexico. There is currently a tour throughout the U.S. of the parents that have traveled everywhere from Portland to New York. The organization is divided into 3 “caravans” that make their tour across America: the Atlantic, Pacific, and Central regions. The Atlantic region of the Caravana 43 visited both Virginia Commonwealth University on April 3rd. The room was filled with students, professors, and cameras all eager to hear their stories. Spray-painted signs were placed in the front of the room, which are showcased around each campus they visit to promote the event. A spokesperson thanked the parents for their courage and their willingness to come to the university to talk and for having the courage to speak out. There were translators prepared to quickly relay the message back to the English speaking students and faculty. The first speaker was Anayeli Guerrero de la Cruz, the sister of Oshivani Guerrero de la Cruz, one of the 43 students abducted last fall. “Maybe some of you don’t know why we’re here…the reason is because we want to share and re-frame the information that has been said from the media.” she began. “Three of them were killed and one of them was skinned alive by the police….And maybe some of you don’t know, but we notice you young people have here what the students back home [at their colleges] don’t have.” The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
How You Can Feel Good About Exercising, Even When You're Not Getting The Results You Want
Like many people, I’m not naturally thin. No, the Gods of Chanel and Charles Frederick Worth did not open the skies for me and say a blessing upon my birth that declared I would have a fast metabolism. The truth is, I’ve never had a completely flat stomach. This was especially true in high school, where at my unhealthiest I weighed 145 lbs. and had barely any muscle on my modest (but adorable!), 5”2 frame.
In college, I was determined to change my snacking habits and overall laziness. Pusheen the cat is my everything but I just do not look as cute when I’m passed out eating a cupcake. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Pop-up Easter Egg Hunt
Words and Image by Gretchen Gales
QuailBellMagazine.com
Easter Sunday about two years ago, I was teaching Sunday school to an elementary level class at my church. I brought adorable Noah’s Ark eggs I had purchased for the kids as a treat. I’m certain I taught a lesson about the Resurrection. The problem was I taught an early morning class with a small amount of students. Therefore, the amount of eggs left over was absolutely ridiculous.
The last thing I needed was more clutter around the house. At the same time, I wasn’t going to waste those eggs. Then I got one of my legendary brilliant ideas. I took the leftover eggs and drove over to my friend Sarah’s house. By now, she and her family were used to being the target of odd shenanigans, especially from me. I knew they were probably still at church, so I parked my car in the driveway and took the eggs out of my car. At first I tried to strategically hide them. I lined some up on the porch steps, in the crevices of the oak tree in the front, within the flowers, anywhere. Then I just got lazy and threw them haphazardly on the ground and hoped the squirrels wouldn’t eat the Smarties and Double Bubble inside some of the eggs. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Six-Day Irish Rebellion
By Fay Funk
The house my grandparents owned when I was a child was full of thought-provoking things. There were about five ancient Mac computers upstairs. Music boxes filled with trinkets decorated all corners of my grandparent’s bedroom. One of the most engrossing things they owned was a very old globe of the world. I liked put my finger down and spin the globe around, to see what country I would land on.
One day I went to visit my grandparents with my father, and went right to playing my favorite game with the globe. I spun it around, my finger close to the top of the world. The globe slowed, and my finger landed on and island. “England!” I shouted excitedly. My father looked over to where I was pointing. “No,” he said very pointedly. “That’s Ireland. It’s a different country.” “I thought they were the same place. They both speak English, and they’re right next to each other,” I said. “That’s true, but they are not the same country, they are two independent nations,” my father responded, then paused. “It’s complicated, “ he said, and that was that. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Spring Has Sprung And It's Suicide Weather
“It was a spring day, the sort of thing that gives people hope: all soft winds and delicate smells of warm earth. Suicide weather.” -- Susanna Kaysen, Girl Interrupted
I was a teenager the first time I read Kaysen's work. She was part of this Depressed Women Writers reading curriculum I was creating for myself, along with Sylvia Plath, Lauren Slater and Elizabeth Wurtzel. I'd struggled with my own mental health since, oh, probably forever, and for the first time I was reading work that resonated with what I felt. I remember the gut punch of that sentence, and the two conflicting tugs of emotion I felt afterwards: on the one hand, I wondered how that springtime rush of hope could ever be anything other than marvelously good, but on another, deeper level I knew exactly what she meant. |
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