How To Be A Vancouverite (by IFHT)
Miss Frizzle and Mary Poppins, Lady Time Lords.
I ship it to the moon.
The Teacher and The Nanny. The Magic School Bus is a TARDIS, and Mary’s bag is bigger on the inside. No one will ever convince me that this is not true. Oh, and I ship it.
For crying out loud, the Magic School Bus actually does travel through time and space, easily changes it’s form like a Chameleon Circuit, and is casually ALIVE in certain ways. It’s a friggin’ TARDIS in all but name!
Sometimes I’m confused by Canadian stereotypes but then I realize that we literally dump maple syrup onto the snow, wait for it to get gooey and then scoop it up with a stick and eat it
you better not be fucking with me canada is this for real
it is all too real
This is you. This is where all your thoughts are kept. Every other part of your body is used to protect and sustain this.
I want to cry
it’s weirdly comforting to know that all of the meaningless bullshit society judges me on is just a meatsuit made to support the terrifying tentacle beast that is my true form (◡‿◡✿)
THAT LAST COMMENT. BAM.
It is December 6th, and I remember.
I was 13 years old when Marc Lépine opened fire and murdered 14 women for being at engineering school when he wasn’t. He blamed feminism for the situation he was in, and murdered these women for being in non-traditional jobs, for being there.
Every year, the memorials I go to are different. Some are quiet - I remember several winters in the snow, holding candles and reciting names like a talisman against violence.
Geneviève Bergeron, 21 years old. Hélène Colgan, 24 years old. Nathalie Croteau, 24 years old.
When I was younger, they seemed impossibly mature and sophisticated. I used to imagine them laughing and enjoying university, cut down without warning. Now that I’m 35, they seem so young, and I wonder if they were afraid.
Self reblog from last year. Still worth reading. Still remembering.
I was six when this happened, and my mum came and got me from dance class early and brought me home and we sat on the couch together watching cartoons. I think she just wanted to have me close. She didn’t give me details, but eventually she told me a bad man had done something terrible because he blamed women for his failures rather than himself, because the world made that easy. It’s the first time I remember hearing the word “feminism,” and the first time I realized that people wouldn’t just mock women for daring to step outside the tiny little acceptable boxes the world draws for us (I’d already seen that), but would sometimes hurt us and kill us for it, too. Mum told me “feminism” was a word that meant “fair,” meant “you fight for what’s right.” It’s close enough, for a six-year-old.