Just being in this place makes me realize how mediocre my life back home is.
It feels nice to be appreciated for a change. And fuck, I can be myself… not apologize… and be loved more for it.
I am going to be so depressed when I go home. Seriously. There’s nothing back there for me anymore.
In a few days to visit family. Flight/Transit time? 34 hours. Blog status will be: On hold in the meanwhile? I don’t know how well my cousin’s internet works but girlfriend does not use dial-up. No fucking way. So if you don’t hear from me next week, it means that I’m too afraid to look for internet cafes.
I’m going for about three months…ish, depending how depressed I get by the street children… or how broke I get from giving all my money to the street children. Yeah, good stuff. Always love a visit back to the home country.
So I cut out the sentence “One singular sensation, one singular dream” from different magazines and posted it on cardboard to put into my journal. I can’t find “dream” and that was the hardest one to find in the mags. Although after further thought that sentence doesn’t seem all as impressive as I thought it would be. Well, what else. All I have to work with are BMW catalogues, Elle and the occasional Walmart flyer. FML.
… except aliens get to be skinny.
That’s not a metaphor. I’m being literal.
As in, I feel like E.T. No one understands what I’m trying to say.
This post has been building up inside me like a freaking volcano. I don’t know if it’s a rant or not. I hope that it will be legible and that someone will get something out of reading it because I am going to be completely honest and probably very politically incorrect.
I love you guys. You leave me comments telling me that skinny people have no soul and that they eat cotton balls and you make me smile. Also very politically incorrect but we laugh, right?
And I know I’ve been writing a lot of posts directed at thinner girl/women who think they know me (if becoming thin isn’t that hard then getting out of debt isn’t either, skinny. So get a freaking job, pay off those Pradas and stop criticizing my “unhealthy” and “sedentary”, read: actually low-carb and active, lifestyle).
Okay, I’m ‘fraid to say that this one is going to go along the same lines. Except it’s geared towards a different type of skinny girl. The defensive skinny girl. The being-fat-ain’t-so-bad-so-stop-trying-to-change-the-world skinny girl. You’d think that skinny girls would know the pitfalls of being fat. That’s why they’re so skinny, right? Not so much.
Fuck, this will be a story. I hope I’ll take the time to come back and read this one day. It’s not even about being understood. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adequately express how I feel being who I am right now through words or images or anything. Unless you can relate to me, you’ll never know. If you are anyone, a woman, a man, brown, black, white, whatever- and you have always been within the predominant barriers of what is… (how the hell do I say this?) normal to look like, then you won’t get it ever. But hopefully, you have an open mind and you’ll try.
I remember a few years ago, I stumbled across a classmate crying in the bathroom because a teacher asked her if she was anorexic. “Tara” had always been skinny, extremely skinny, but still looked nothing like the emaciated models I’m talking about. She cried a little, her friend comforted her and in a few minutes she was back in class going about her usual business. A few days later, I asked her if she was alright. She looked a little confused about what I was referring to and when I mentioned the incident, she just smiled nicely and replied that it just “gets me sometimes”. She adjusted her size 00 skirt and walked away, chattering to her friend about her new car.
The smile was frozen on my face.
I felt bad for her. I honestly still do. The other girls in the toilet looked affronted but I could see that the tears were genuine. I did feel bad. I feel bad for girls who are targeted because they are too thin. I feel bad for anyone who feels sensitive about something they can’t change. My friend always had a complex about her red hair, another one had a scar on her arm… but weight is a little different. Being overweight all my life, I know this. So that day, I asked my sister a question (who has a BMI that classifies her as underweight. Seriously, this girl has legs that go on forever). I asked her if she was ever hated on or called anorexic because of how skinny she was. Her response?
“Yeah but they’re usually just jealous and at least I’m not fat”
Like previously with Tara, I was surprised about her attitude. Was my sister overly self-confident? Not really. And Tara usually spent most of her time flaunting her waif-like body. Both girls were beautiful and if they didn’t think so, they sure did a hell of a job faking it.
I’m writing this post because I feel as if I am largely misunderstood. Any place I see articles criticizing underweight models and society’s obsession with looking stick thin, I see women angrily stating that they have always been underweight and that no one has a right to call them disgusting or anorexic. They say that they are sick of hearing how unappealing it is to be them and how tragic it is that they are looked down on by today’s society. It’s happened on my own posts too. I am not upset at the women who are upset because they have been prodded about their weight. I am upset at those women who think that because they have been victimized, it has levelled the playing field and now all of us fatties and too-skinnies can hold hands and sing kumbaya.
First of all, I want you to know what, in my mind, is classified as disgusting…
- Not Tara or my sister
- Not anyone who eats but has always been naturally skinny
- Someone who doesn’t eat and substitutes daily feedings with small amounts of nuts, Coca Cola, cocaine or anything unhealthy.
- Someone whose body fat is practically non existant and has their ribs, shoulder blades, kneecaps and various bones jutting out of their skin. Please don’t tell me that you are “naturally” skinny and exhibit all of those symptoms. We all know, short of being extremely ill, that’s not true.
So there you have it. Thatis what is disgusting to me. In terms of someone being naturally skinny, I will never say something insensitive like “omg you’re so skinny, I hateeee youuu!”. I will never tell a skinny girl that she looks too thin or sickly. Because in my opinion, naturally thin girls have gorgeous bodies.
Now here is where my issue lies… I understand that some of these naturally skinny girls may have been insulted by people with comments like these. I appreciate that they are hurtful and I am sorry that they felt demeaned by someone like that.
What I don’t appreciate is how they feel that they can relate that on an equal level to how a fat girl feels about her weight.
Before I say this, I want you to know that there are worse things than being fat and that many women find it in themselves to accept it. But for most, that answer doesn’t work. I guess I’ll explain more about it later.
I’ll tell you now because if you are thin, you may never know.
You will never ever ever know what it feels like to be overweight unless you have experienced it. You will feel things that you have never felt before, you will fall to an ultimate low and pick out flaws in yourself (mentally and physically) that you did not give a rat’s ass about before.
Being fat is not about an insensitive comment, a cry and then recovery. It isn’t apaper cut. It doesn’t heal. Being fat is like a constant disease. This is why I was surprised at my sister’s reaction. It wasn’t the “at least, I’m not fat” comment. It was the fact that she was so dismissive. If only I could be dismissive.
I can’t.
Because when you’re fat, it’s your life. Since about the time I was 8 and actually realized the implications of being overweight, I have devoted at least 20% of my thought process to my weight. And it’s not like I’ve been completely idle during the past 15 years, I’ve had plenty to do. When I didn’t have anything to do, I thought about it. And even while I am accomplishing my everyday tasks, the fact that I’m fat is always at the back of my mind. It’s sad really, even if I do lose weight, I don’t ever think I’ll get rid of it. It’s ingrained in me. Is this me having a pity party? God, no. I’m just stating facts. This is how I feel. We all have to play with the cards that we are dealt. I just got the fatty card. Go fish? I think not.
I’m not exaggerating though. A friend of mine who recently gained weight told me she couldn’t remember what her stomach looked like when she was skinny. She said when she was thin, she never worried about her weight unless someone mocked her small boobs or something… and that was usually forgotten about within an hour or however long it took to call the speaker a ho. Now, she couldn’t stop obsessing about her stomach flab and the shape of her thighs.
I’m glad I’m not alone.
The fact that I am fat will always be at the back of my brain.
Don’t eat that. Suck in your cheeks. Don’t look at him. Fix your shirt so it doesn’t stick in the fat rolls when you sit. Don’t picture yourself there. Try on a larger size. Steer away from the narrow door. Raise your head so you don’t get a double chin. Don’t walk by that group of guys sitting there. Make sure you pull your pants up. Try not to look forward to that party. Dance so your ass doesn’t jiggle. Stand at an angle. Don’t order anything to eat that may be embarassing. Wear something baggy. Don’t draw attention to yourself. No skirts above cellulite level. Keep your arms away from your sides. Don’t take the elevator. Eat the apple. Carry the binder in front of your stomach.
Why?
Because you’re fat.
These are worse than the compulsions I had when I had OCD. But they are my life. And not just mine, I have it on good faith that any of my friends who is a little overweight goes through these motions too. I wouldn’t be surprised if most people do.
Anyway, to get away, I started using this form of escapism in middle school. I still rely on it heavily now because it just makes me feel better. In my daydream, I’m skinny, beautiful, intelligent, funny and with a beautiful man at an event that takes place a few months from now (in which period, I have lost a significant amount of weight). He loves me, we go through a series of scenarios where we prove our devotion to each other and make all my enemies jealous with our perfectness. It sounds a little more extreme than it is, for the most part it’s just harmless fantasies about my hot bod and really awesome guys who would probably annoy the shit out of me in real life. Tinyland is my escape from fat land re: real life. In tinyland, I don’t worry about my back fat because it doesn’t exist.
Being fat, I think, is how hopeless and helpless anorexics feel. Except they fear being fat. We’re actually there. And we can’t control it. The difference is that they’re killing themselves. We’re just killing our own self worth.
So what do I do now? Stop? Tell myself I should just stop thinking about my weight. I can’t… because I am not beautiful. I don’t care who you want to fucking blame. Blame me, blame the media, blame society, blame everyone. Some bigger girls are pretty. Most aren’t- not to me in any case. You can tell me I’m wrong and I won’t argue with you. It’s just my opinion. I also don’t think Reese Witherspoon, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Jennifer Aniston are all that pretty either. It’s my own perception of beauty, right? You may call it warped, I call it a product of Today and my own personal preferences. Either way, regardless of what people say… I’m not pretty so long as I’m fat. It doesn’t matter if my features are nice or my cheekbones are high, doesn’t make much of a different if there’s a layer of fat over them. Call it what you may. This is me being honest. I can fake it with make up. I can’t fake myself into believing that I am. I don’t need a pep talk or a confidence boost, I have plenty of confidence in myself… just not my appearance. And once in a while, I’ll get dressed up and feel beautiful but that’s fine as long as the truth is there. I don’t want to live a life of self-deception.
But see, this is what I’m afraid of.
I’m nowhere near two hundred pounds (although I got close once) and my doctor tells me that due to my family history of obesity, I’ll probably never be skinny (this is my newer doctor by the way, the old one tried to get my mother to turn me into a vegan). He says my diet is perfect if a little extreme. He tells me to stop thinking that skinny is beautiful. But how can I stop thinking like that when the world thinks the same? When a guy I liked forever picks a girl with legs that could fit between my forefinger and thumb? When my little sister is constantly whistled and stared at? When my grandmother berates me for “growing horizontally and not vertically” like all my cousins on my mother’s (read: skinny) side? When I watch 7 shows a week and not one of the women on there weighs more than a hundred and twenty pounds?
I feel like I don’t belong here. Like I should be living in a different world. I should always be an extra running in the background and cut from the final scene.
This is what I’m afraid of.
That there will be another little girl like me who eats normally, acts normally and lives normally until she realizes that she is ten pounds heavier that anyone else. Then she realizes that none of those people on tv are ten pounds heavier than anyone else. That there is no one else. Just a bunch of thin people. Suddenly, the cheekpulls will stop and she won’t be hugged by her aunts because she’s cuddly. She’ll notice their hurtful comments. And how her baby fat isn’t melting off like it is on her best friends. How different everything is for her than it is for her skinnier counterparts. How she’s excluded out of cliques when others her age figure this out. She’ll go on diets, awful diets. She’ll skip meals. She’ll cry. She’ll be afraid. She’ll throw up. She’ll exercise… more than anyone. She’ll still be overweight. She’ll skip out on parties. She’ll think everyone is judging her. She’ll buy clothes for when she loses weight. She’ll put her future on hold until she does it. This will happen.
You can break out of it. I’m not sitting in every weekend but mentally, I am. Six months into the future, I’m always thin. In April 2010, I’m skinny.
Again, facts. Not pity. If I drop down to 110 lbs. I don’t think these feelings of inadequacy will ever change. That’s why it’s so important for the world to change. Like, now. Before y’all can influence them with more false ideas about what beauty is.
Beauty should never be something you can’t attain.
And this is what I mean, skinny girls. You are pretty. Those people who tell you that you are anorexic are just wrong or jealous. Wrong and jealous. Because at the present time, the world says you are pretty. No one takes a look at you and tells you you’d be pretty if you gained a few pounds. Yes, those comments are hurtful but they aren’t true. My body image is true. So please don’t compare us. Don’t pretend that your weight plagues you like it does mine.
And if your feelings are hurt because someone calls a starving model “disgusting” then I’m sorry because unless you look like that, you are not being referred to. You are beautiful. And just because I don’t want anymore people to be royally screwed over like I was doesn’t mean I’m insulting you or your weight. You are what pretty is right now. You don’t need to feel guilty. You didn’t ask be pretty. But let me have my own refuge. I think it’s time for you to figure out that you don’t know anything about me. And that a sharp comment to you about your weight will irritate you for a minute while one directed at me will add itself to a pile of hurtful shit that has been gathering all my life.
See, when someone says you’re too skinny, you look at a billboard. You know it’s not true. You’re set.
Someone tells me I’m too fat, I look at a billboard. It’s true. It is depressing. Yeah, so some call the wambulance. Tell me I’m too sentimental. I don’t care. Just, please change it before little chubby girls end up like me.
I know you may have other problems even bigger than my superficial ones… but your weight is not a problem. It is for me and we need to get to place where it’s not a problem for anyone.
We all know inside us how superficial appearances are. In twenty years, it won’t matter but right now it’s destroying lives. Lives of young girls who should be doing their hair and getting ready to go our with friends to enjoy a night out worry-free. Why is weight so prominent in the world when it composes such a small part of our lives?
And like I said, there are worse things in life.
So it looks like the beautiful life is actually a beautiful letdown.
I guess it’s not just the fashion industry that’s getting ticked off by the coked-up, semi-starved images of supposed “super” models and their tough lives making it to the top (which looks like it’s straight out of Mischa Barton’s bio actually). Basically, all the models look the same unless they’re black. Of course, no plus-sized models to be seen anywhere (an obvious given) or actually no average joes whatsoever. It’s just filled with super tall, super pretty, super skinny people-things.
I was skeptical about it but like anyone who has missed the debut of some fabulous shows in the past few years, I decided to add it to my lineup which brought up the count of my officially watched telly shows to about 6. Of course, thanks to my PVR, that means I’m sitting in front of my TV at 2 AM on Thursday morning, watching everything from New York socialites to Vampires to housewives. Luckily, the CW chose to cut me a break and cancel The Beautiful Life after… two episodes. Ouch. Sorry about that, Ashton. I guess having a beautiful life is just damn boring and I’ll admit, I was wondering where the hell the show was going anyway. It’s really just combining bland acting with the same scenes over and over again. A room filled with beautiful people and their admirers, a clearly troubled supermodel creating a fuss, a slightly fresher model trying to be nice to her, a bitchy model with an accent and a newcomer homophobe model who has violent rages every few minutes to make sure we’re still watching.
So peace out, The Beautiful Life. I’d like to say I’ll miss you but I’ll probably forget about you in the next six minutes.
With that note, it’s off to Season 6 of Desperate Housewives woohoo!
P.S. I have to hand it to the network, naming a show The Beautiful Life is just fucking asking for it. Can you ask for a name that could get made fun of more? Especially after it’s axed. Seriously, a paps dream.
It is what it is
How can so little change in a year?
When writing a reply to comments on a previous post, consider writing a new entry when it starts exceeding 500 words to spare the inboxes of those who don’t actually give a shit.
So contrary to popular belief, my vagina is not a man-magnet. It is not psychic, it cannot transfer the powers of Christ unto me and it really can’t make a decent tuna sandwich either. Also, my v-card doesn’t double as a bus pass… or a credit card to my own disappointment. Sadly, neither are useful tools to find a boyfriend although one is pretty helpful when substituting as a can opener (don’t guess which).
Re: Being in a relationship. I realize that relationships are shit.
Mine will probably be shit. But once in a while, I’ll find a couple that are perfect for each other. I realize that my chances of being in a relationship are not so good in the first place, forget an ideal one, but my simple brain somehow still believes that when I find a guy, he’ll be **the one**** (just going to keep adding stars to emphasize the oneness of him) I don’t know why I’ve deluded myself into thinking this. Blame Disney y’know… when all else fails.
But yeah, you guys are right. I do need to learn how to throw a brother a bone- as flesh-packed as my bones are- if I ever want to get laid I guess (which I don’t really but everyone else seems really fixated on it). It’s just that every time I’ve hooked up with a guy, no matter how friendly or well we got on, I always feel grossed out the next day. On the same train of thought though, I’ve never hooked up with a friend so I don’t know if it would feel better. If anything, it would be more awkward the next day but at least I wouldn’t feel like a skank. I know my friends are trying to help but it just seems a little degrading, the way they’re treating it these days. Oh poor G will never get a chance, maybe this time it’ll work? I guess they don’t understand that I’m not like them and I can’t treat a romantic encounter very casually- as lame as it may make me sound. I’m just straight up uncomfortable.
While I was in Vegas, I kind of stole this guy’s VIP table. He seemed really cool with it though but he was also drunk as hell and 30. His situation was something straight out of The Hangover, he was at a friend’s stag and one of their party was in prison. They had all left them there. So I kind of adopted him into our group and danced with him, he protected me from these psychos having a fight etc. Later on, my friend told me that we were acting so cute and that we should have made out. Okay, I’ll give her the fact that he seemed more my type than any other guy I’ve ever talked to at a club but I don’t know- I was pretty drunk too but I didn’t want to take advantage of the poor sap and secondly, yeah he was too old. I told her that I just “wasn’t like that”. I guess that applies to everything. “It’s just not me”, “I’m not that kind of girl”, I guess I really am not but like, so what if I hooked up with him? Why do I need to put so much pressure on one little thing? Because I’ll regret it? Because he’ll regret it? I was never ever going to see this guy again and I still wasn’t down.
I like, define the word: frigid bitch.
…has been really getting to me recently.
I’m 21. Isn’t it about time that I go and be sexually active- oh right, I’m against having sex without there being any long-term love/commitment thing going on. Well, how about hooking up? Or hell, even dancing.
I was at a bar this weekend and this reasonably cute guy was trying to dance with me. He was so persistent. I kept giving my girlfriends the no look. They just sat back and gave me satisfied smiles. And he even told me to stop looking at them and to just dance. I was flustered as usual. He was drunk and it’s easy to blame it all on the alcohol. He really wanted to dance with me and I brushed it off. I acted like I had just wanted him to go away.
While I was in Vegas, I was bothered by the fact that all my girlfriends were getting hit on more often than me (you’d think I’d be used to it by now) but it was mostly for their sake. I didn’t want them to think I was their little loser friend that no one wanted. I’m starting to realize that it isn’t the case. My friends see me get hit on enough times and they see me deflect them too. I’m just not the type of girl to get with a guy in a club, or a bar, or anywhere really.
It’s not that I’m not funny or flirty. I can be plenty funny and flirty with my male friends. Just not around people I don’t know.
I thought it was because my standards are too high. Apparently, they’re just as good as any self-respecting girl should have. I’m just defensive. He can’t be good enough or cute enough or charming enough or intelligent enough. And if he is then I’m too fat (or ugly or stupid or uninteresting). And if he is interested, well then… I’m either just fooling myself or there’s something wrong with him.
If the hottest, smartest, funniest guy walked up to me and tried to buy me a drink, I’d make him feel like an idiot. I’m just a freak, I guess. Does this mean I have issues?
I was telling my friend about this (she’s been going out with the same guy since she was 15) and she insisted that I’m normal. She said that if her boyfriend wanted to call it quits, she wouldn’t know how to act around guys. She wouldn’t know how to deal with guys who would approach her.
Yeah okay, that sounds reasonable. If I were to ever date a guy, it would probably have to be someone I was already comfortable with first.
Except here’s my problem…
1) This year, I’ll probably be able to interact in some form or other with about 200 guys while I’m out – maybe out of those guys, half a dozen will be actually interested in me.
2) This year, I’ll probably be able to be truly comfortable around 10 guys maximum in a friend-based setting – if my math is right, about .3% of those 10 will be actually interested in me.
So since my prefered option of meeting a guy (#2) is not going to happen… well, do I really have to force myself to be comfortable around random strangers (#1?). I’ve never had a problem approaching strangers when I’m drunk but I rarely drink and god- it’s always been so awkward in the first place. I don’t want to experiment with yet another night and wake up in the morning wondering wtf was wrong with me last night.
Okay, so where am I going with this? Fine, I’m ready to admit it now because it is actually true.
I want a boyfriend
I’ve started to accept that my stupid asshole sonovabitch highschool crush has a stupid skanky ugly anorexic bitch of a girlfriend.
It’s not revenge. I just feel like I’ve started to accept that it’s not going to work (3 years after graduation, you’d think I’d have figured it out by now). I’m ready to move on with my life. I think. Maybe it’s loneliness? I don’t know what it is.
I just.. I don’t want to want a boyfriend. I’m sick of looking at every guy who spends two minutes talking to me as a “potential”. What the hell, a potential? How desperate is that. I’m not a 67 year old widow.
I just can’t pick out the lesser evil. Wanting a boyfriend and not having a boyfriend? Not wanting a boyfriend and not having a boyfriend?
God, why do boys have to make everything so complicated? And why do I have to keep telling myself it’ll change when I’m thinner. I’m setting myself up for failure right now.
If I never lose the weight, I’m unhappy… if I lose the weight and it doesn’t solve all of life’s problems (which it won’t, obviously), I’m unhappy.
I’m frustrated.
Also because there is another potential who is a good friend and I’m bad at reading signals (or am I?) and he’s seeing someone and I don’t want to ruin it and I don’t even know if he’s actually into me and I keep bombarding him with texts one day then ignoring his texts the next day when I realize how I’m acting and… I’m just a mess basically. If I was him, I’d be confused. If I was him, I don’t know if I’d be into someone like me. Ugh I just don’t know. Okay, that’s it. This is a story for another day.
I wasn’t going to write a blog entry tonight but it’s 4:08 AM and it wanted to come out. I can’t believe I’ve been typing this since 3:07 AM. It does not take this long to type. What is going on in my life?? I need to get it together 
Recently, I’ve recieved a lot of comments on a particular post. Some are downright rude, others actually attempt to make a point. I’m not going to address that crap here (laziness… I’m fat, remember?) but I am going to say something.
So I’m not sure if you guys are confused about my “skinny bitches who have the cure” post but just to clarify
1. I don’t hate you because you’re skinny
2. All my friends are skinny, I don’t hate them
3. I hate you because you’re a bitch
4. and because you think you have the cure
5. By the way, you don’t have the cure. Sorry.
As many as 2,000 names on no-fly list: Cannon
Updated Tue. Jun. 19 2007 7:55 AM ET
CTV.ca News Staff
As many as 2,000 people have secretly been declared security threats and will be denied airplane boarding passes as a result of the Canadian no-fly list, according to a report.
Transportation Minister Lawrence Cannon told The Globe and Mail there are “roughly between 500 and maybe 2,000″ on the list, which went into effect on Monday. Security experts had guessed the file contained no more than 1,000 names.
When compared to the U.S. no-fly list, which was created after the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, “ours is much more limited in terms of the criteria,” Cannon told the newspaper.
More than 100,000 people are on the U.S. no-fly list, including pre-schoolers, peace activists and — for a time — at least two Canadian MPs and U.S. Senator Ted Kennedy.
Canada’s new program, called Passenger Protect, passed its first full day Monday without any problems, Cannon said.
The minister said the anti-terror measure has been thoroughly assessed to ensure it does not violate any civil liberties and rights guaranteed under the Constitution.
“I’m quite satisfied that the regulations that were published are the right regulations,” Cannon told The Globe.
But critics and human rights groups believe the list isn’t necessary and could ground innocent travellers. Officials also believe the Canadian list might eventually be merged with the U.S. one.
The Canadian Council on American-Islamic Relations has called for the Specified Persons list to be scrapped until some of its fundamental flaws are fixed.
The group fears the measure could lead to racial and religious profiling and the blacklisting of innocent people.
There have been countless incidents in the U.S. where passengers were mistakenly grounded as a result of the security check.
Beginning Monday, the names of passengers at Canadian airports are now cross-checked with the no-fly list, which has been compiled by Transport Canada with the help of CSIS and the RCMP.
The criteria for the list includes a person who is or has been involved in a terrorist group, a person who has been convicted of life-threatening crimes against aviation or a person who has been convicted of one or more serious offences who may attack an air carrier.
Passengers over the age of 18 must carry one piece of government-issue photo ID or two pieces of non-photo ID. Starting Sept. 18, anyone who appears older than 12 must be carrying ID.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I did not know about this. Seriously, I hate these stupid lists where you’re discriminated against because your name matches a zoophile with daddy issues or because at one time, you told a border official to fuck off (P.S. I did not do anything like this and have no reason to be on the no-fly list, you big brother fuckers and I have a flight leaving in a month so if by some chance you stumble upon this post, don’t you dare put me on it).
It’s ridiculous. Seriously. You’ll be on the U.S.A.’s list if you’re a hippie. And we’re in Canada, we’re all left-wing hippies. So it’s safe to say that we should all be on this list. Senators, teachers, 2 year olds, whistleblowers… there are at least a million people on the U.S. no-fly list.
Fuck my life, where are the watchdogs when you need them?
