Dos and Don’ts of Flying

Do Know the Rules and Regs

I know it’s a lot, but TSA has a website and every airport has information centers you can call. You need to know if your bag will fit. You need to be prepared for security. Do your homework.*

Don’t take over the armrest

If the thing you are doing requires you to enter my personal space, ask yourself how necessary it is. If it is extremely necessary, make it happen fast and apologize for elbowing me in the ribs (lookin at you lady-from-yesterday’s-flight).

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Do pack snacks.ย 

One time I bought an orange juice at an airport Starbucks and it was $8.

Eight. What.

Airports are like theme parks except airports allow you to bring food in so, get you some snacks before you get to the airport and save a dime. Or eight dollars.

Eight!

Don’t shame a parent because their child is crying.ย 

I don’t like screaming children, you don’t like screaming children, their parents don’t like it either. But there is nothing they can do so, buck up buttercup, life is hard and the babies feel it all.

Do pack water.ย 

An empty water bottle is allowed through TSA and can be easily filled at a water fountain past security. Planes are dry and flying does weird stuff to your body so hydrate.

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Don’t play your sh*t out loud

This is a rule for life I think. If you are in a public space and you’re watching videos or listening to music, use headphones. Because, are you kidding me, don’t be a d*ckhead.

Best of luck

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*If you haven’t already researched it, look up ID requirements for 2018 flights. The laws are changing and certain state licenses won’t be accepted.

Dos and Don'ts of Flying (1)

Feelings Friday: Tattoos, Expression, and Haterade

Two yearsย ago I got a tattoo. It wasn’t a monumental occasion. I’d gotten a couple of tattoos before and it wasn’t anything intricate.

In fact, it was a line.

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A year into my Peace Corps service, I got one line around my leg. After I completed my second year, I got a second. Nothing big or particularly beautiful, but it meant something to me. It was a reminder of two years of struggle and joy.

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When the scabs flaked off and it stopped looking moderately scary, I loved my tattoo. I wrote about it and put that writing on the internet.

Enter: the haters.

Some guy decided my tattoo, and by proxy I, was stupid. He reblogged my post on a “stupid tattoos” blog and because I am perhaps an overly sensitive type, my feelings were substantially hurt.

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