The producers of Global Guts for allowing the announcer to continuously man-splain to the female referee.
Neil Ricard for punching me in the face in 6th grade because I told him his clumsiness disqualified him from playing basketball with us.
People who wear bandanas.
My 11 year-old self for believing that piano was too effeminate to excel at.
My dad for buying me a birthday gift at the Bangkok airport.
Anyone who urged me to watch the musical Evita.
My 17 year-old self for not coming out early enough for the next gay kid at my high school to have had a role model.
The frat boy who told me that liberals are just conservatives who haven’t grown up yet.
My 19 year-old self for assuming alcohol would make straight people like me more.
The writers of Love Actually for hoodwinking us into cherishing an intrinsically sexist film.
My 22 year-old self for judging people whose coming-out journeys seemed easier than mine.
People who think living in New York makes them inherently interesting.
My 26 year-old self for not understanding that fat-shaming is externalized self-loathing.
Mariah Carey for destroying our faith in the longevity of vocal abilities.
My 28 year-old self for caving to social pressure to party hard and often.
The guy I met in Istanbul who made me overpay for an underused Ukranian prostitute.
My current self to my future self because it took me this long to know who I am.
Literally all Canadians.