Star Wars, Cake and Tornadoes; Welcome to another Indistinguishable Monday

img011This picture was taken almost a decade ago. Incredible- to think I mastered the art of capturing only the backs of peoples’ heads at such a young age.

From there I went on to improve my skills of photographing only part or none of the desired subject, making every image appear as though it was taken in the center of a tornado and the all important talent of snapping the picture the instant everyone blinks.

Terribly difficult that last task. However I am the Ewok of Blink Photos. The Ewok is the hero and master of everything in “Star Wars” right?

I wouldn’t know, I’ve never actually seen the movies, I did watch half of an “Ace of Cakes” episode where they made a cake of Hans Solo encased in what I think was cement though. I’m assuming those are exactly the same thing.

To Don’t List

Normally one makes a “To Do” List and giddily checks chores off, one after another. Today I made a “Things I Didn’t Do” List. And I’m going to chronicle them for you in the same annoying manner that girls with low self esteem call up their boyfriends and detail everything they ate that day. I’d do that too but the list would be very short because I’m trying to clear out my pantry in preparation for moving and might upset my grandparents as half of it would be Bailey’s liqueur. Normally I mix Baileys with milk however going grocery shopping was one of my errands that wasn’t completed so there we are.

Things I Didn’t Do But Really Probably Should Have Because Sometimes I Call Myself A Grown-Up But I Have A Feeling My Membership To That Particular Club May Be Revoked Soon

Grocery Shopping– I really should have done this. I’m going to regret this inaction tomorrow when I have no milk for my coffee and a wicked mean hangover from drinking the remains of my pantry.

Going To The Bank– In the grand scheme of things, I’m giving myself a partial pass on this errand. Earlier this week I found important government papers that I thought I had lost hidden in with pictures of naked backs. Ostensibly I could have been searching for more mortgage related papers in my Bailey’s bottle.

Dropping Donations Off At Goodwill– Aside from the fact that a corner of my bedroom is currently being overrun with junk, I think the impoverished people of the city will be just fine even though I didn’t drop off my collection of sparkly wigs* and thirty year old hard cover books.

Vacuuming– The average temperature outside this week has been negative twenty. Inside my house it’s averaged only slightly more than that hence extra thick socks are now a part of my indoor wardrobe but even without being trod upon by shoes the carpet has taken on a fawn tinge. The situation wasn’t helped by my decision to complete one task on my actual To-Do list and shred paper with a dull Exacto knife, which had the effect of recreating the scene in “Elf” where Buddy makes it snow.

If you flip this picture upside down that's what my carpet looks like. (Photo Credit:

If you flip this picture upside down that’s what my carpet looks like. (Photo Credit:

Wipe Down Counters and Tabletops in the Kitchen– It looks as though the International Convention of Toast Eaters met on my kitchen table and counters then proceeded to devour hundreds of loaves of thick crusted sourdough bread. A family of mice could live off these surfaces for a year or two in their current state.

Recycle the Giant Collection of Boxes that is in a Closet for No Good Reason– If pillow forts were made of cardboard I would be the reigning queen and emperor of the home made fortress world. As such they aren’t and I just have a huge box of collapsed and unusable boxes in my closet to take up space. Also half of the cushions on the sofa are sewed in because the designers were enemies of fun.

Bathe– I rarely do this one anyway, so this isn’t actually a huge disappointment**.

*This special extra post is dedicated to my mother who is doing lots of unfun things this weekend like going to the bank and running tedious errands. Also Mom do not freak out I didn’t donate all of my sparkly wigs. I know you like to wear them to work on occasion.

** Excerpt from a conversation with my Dad:

Dad “Sweetheart, about the title of your blog “The Great Unwashed”, how do you explain that to people?

The Great Unwashed “I tell them I don’t bathe. Just tell people that.”

Dad “But that makes you sound strange.”

Dad, I included that last item just for you. To make you uncomfortable. Because that’s how I show affection and love; by publicly announcing my poor hygiene.

Walter, Get the Hell Out

I’m not eating my way through winter this year but that does not mean I love it. Around the middle of January, just after the massive snowfall but before the consistently freezing temperatures that forced the province inside indefinitely, I walked outside to my car before work. It was chilly, but not cold enough to snow, just cold enough to coat my truck in a sheet of half ice, half water that needed to be scraped off.

It was in that bleak, grey moment that I renamed the month. The name January conjures up images of pretty, youthful ladies and fairy tale landscapes. While January is actually a cantankerous grouch, hell bent on everyone’s misery, working tirelessly to suck the enjoyment out of life. From the dim cloudy mornings to the early dark nights and every sleet filled and ice cold moment in between, January is disagreeable.

This woman bears zero resemblance to a Canadian winter. (Photo Credit :

This woman bears zero resemblance to a Canadian winter. (Photo Credit :

Far from being a charming, young woman, January or Walter as I have now named it, is a crabby, old man. I chose the name Walter because I couldn’t imagine anyone under the age of twenty being called that.

January is the elderly man who shakes their cane angrily at any youths passing by, whose favourite hobby is telling people how incompetent they are, the one who pees on the floor beside the toilet and dares you to call them on it. That’s Walter and that sums up the experience of January. It’s a month that you wish would leave.

“Walter I hate you!” I shouted waving my snowbrush at the sky. My neighbours would have thought I was a crazy person had they been up but lucky for me frat boys sleep in until at least eleven am.

“Go home!” I bellowed “You’re not welcome here anymore!”

But Walter, like any unwelcome guest hunkered down, feeding on my generosity.


Indistinguishable Mondays -Naked Backs and Wildlife Non-Sightings

It’s the first day of the work week. This can mean only one thing; time for more of my bad photography!


In the album the caption below this picture says “A bird!”

I have yet to find said creature. It’s my guess that I stumbled haphazardly into the woods and pointed my camera at the ground thinking that ten to one there had to be some sort of wildlife there.

At least I didn’t label it “Iguana!” That would really be a head scratcher because this was taken in Algonquin Park.

I began the day by sorting through all of the pictures I’ve ever taken so that my readers will know my starting point. In the process I managed to find some paperwork that I had cleverly hidden in a place I would never think to look, nowhere near where I store important documents.

It’s almost Tuesday so I’ve decided to make this a two-for-one post and throw in some Travesty Tuesday correspondence. The following is the actual email I sent to my mortgage broker, who is thankfully also my Aunt so she had at least some idea of how difficult it would be to work with me.

To :

From :

Subject :Who said Stacks of Dirty Pictures Aren’t Useful

Aunty Camelia,

Guess what I found while looking for pictures to put up for “Indistinguishable Mondays”?

My Notice of Assessment. Score one for completely inefficient and disorganized filing systems.
I will send it on later today when I’m not sorting through photos going “Whose naked back is that?’
and “Why do I have so many photos of naked backs?”
I am a very responsible adult. You should probably send your daughter to visit me during her February break, I shall teach her important grown up things like how to take months to file paperwork.
Much love and apparently many skin photos,
The Great Unwashed
In a show of poise and unshakable professionalism Aunty Camelia* sent me back a sincere and concise thank you.
*Names have been changed to protect the identities of those people who are helpful and patient, even if said person did once try and feed me puffed bulgur.

At Least One Part of Me Is Ready To Bungee Jump

Last November, while making breakfast, I thought about how sturdy my bras were and how long they had lasted. It is vital to never think these sorts of thoughts as it invites trouble because the fates are all “Clearly you have it too good if you’re thinking about the durability of undergarments”.

Not surprisingly, when I went upstairs to get dressed that day, the underwire in one of my bras snapped in half while I was putting it on, leaving me with three brassieres that fit well and one that fit poorly.

After two months of doggedly convincing myself that doing laundry more often was fun, I gave in and decided to go shopping. Walking into the store, a clerk immediately descended, informing me of all the great sales going on.

The Great Unwashed– “I don’t care for sales, I’m just looking for a pair of knocker holders.”

Formerly perky but now confused Salesclerk– “Whaaaat?”

The Great Unwashed – “A bra, I need a bra.”

Back to being perky Salesperson “Well we have all kinds of bras and most of them are on sale!”

The Great Unwashed who is not amused by this- “Mostly I’d like one that fits. It doesn’t need to be on sale.”

Salesperson who may be part pit-bull based on the intensity of her determination to promote sales “What make of bra did you buy from us?” Gesturing to a wall “All of these styles are on sale!”

The Great Unwashed – “It was one you made six years ago.”

Salesperson looks deterred for a moment “Oh. We won’t have that.”

Queue me trying on about eight different bras, all of which are covered in bows, lace and nonsense.

~Approximately twenty minutes later~

The chipper tone of the Salesgirl’s voice cuts through the curtain “How’s it going in there?”

The Great Unwashed “Poorly”

The Salesgirl is momentarily dejected “Oh”

The young woman had found me a bra that fit. The problem was it was a cup size larger than what I had been wearing which was strange because I weighed the same. Clearly another cruel trick of the fates who caught me thinking “Isn’t it nice that none of my body parts have randomly changed size.”

However this unexplained jump converted my rack from something that needed to be supported into an untamed beast. Or at least that’s what I can discern from the difference in the bras’ structures. The larger size had a thicker band which was held together with no less than three hooks lest my “Multitude of sins”, as my grandmother once put it, get any ideas of escaping and undo not one but two of the hook and eyes from sheer force of will.

The band itself was reinforced in more places than the historic bridge by our house. The straps were the width of my thumb and composed of the same material used in trampolines. It was as though my boobs were being strapped in for a rollercoaster that the rest of my body wasn’t going on.

My bra looks like this. Only with more supports obviously.

My bra looks like this. Only with more supports.

I bought the bra. Finding other alternatives would have required visiting more than one store which would have violated my “Shopping is akin to being bludgeoned to death by shrill mongooses armed with only pinecones or whatever passes as a pinecone in Eurasia and Africa” rule. This sounds like a ridiculous code to live by but it serves as a reminder of how awful shopping is and that it must be avoided at all costs. Even if this means wearing something almost as large and restrictive as my mother’s wet suit.

The bra I bought looks exactly like this, but with more straps. **

The bra I bought looks exactly like this, but with straps. ** (Photo Credit :

** This is not my mother. It’s a snapshot of Richie Cunningham who is a professional triathlete. I elected not to put up a photo of my mother in her wetsuit because people look almost identical in wetsuits and caps, varying only in size and height. It’s very probable if I saw this man in a race heading towards his bike, I would shout out “Mom!” and start cheering for him. The only tip off that Richie Cunningham is not my mother would be the lack of “Gah! GAH!” sounds that my mother makes while trying to grab hold of the zipper pull to take off her wetsuit.

Indistinguishable Mondays

After the success of Death By Frozen Tundra, I’ve come to the conclusion that people like photos.

This does not bode well because generally speaking if a photo appears on my site it’s because someone who loves me has taken it. As a rule aside from images taken from the internet, the photos are either captured by Gordy or my Dad. On occasion I do take photos but they have a habit of being out of focus, poorly framed, or part of my hand.

But it’s a new year. And all of humanity is caught up in making resolutions. And I realized I don’t have any. So I’m starting up a new feature on the Great Unwashed- it’s called Indistinguishable Mondays.

Basically I will take a photo. And then post it. The idea is that my camera skills will improve. This is highly unlikely given how bad they are. It’s a known fact with my family. Once on vacation my ninety year old grandmother and I were on sitting, waiting for my Dad to come around with the car and a nearby family asked if I would mind taking their photo.

Although the spritely young person normally is the obvious choice for any task over an elderly person resting on a bench, when I sat down afterwards, my grandmother turned to me and said “You should have told them that you can’t take photos dear.”

These are from a wedding I recently attended

Such beautiful memories

Such beautiful memories

Apparently people are supposed to face the camera

Apparently people are supposed to face the camera

I would argue this one isn't my fault really.

I would argue this one isn’t my fault really.

If only the task was to make every subject look like a Dementor from Harry Potter, with black holes for eyes and a fuzzy look around the edges, I’d probably be crowned king of the photographers.

The Student Ghetto Chronicles; Making Good Choices With Flame Throwers

One of the benefits of living in the Student Ghetto, aside from having random showers with midnight thespians, is the endless parade of debauchery that goes on in the Frat house next door.

Men aged 18 to 25 are most likely to die in an accident. This is because the decision making part of their brain hasn’t fully formed so they frequently think things like “I can jump off of that” or “This will barely hurt”. It makes for good stories, however on occasion their hijinks become too much to witness and I have to step in; “Jeremy! Put down the flamethrower. Where did you even get that?” or “Scott, I have no doubt in your capacity to jump off of your roof, I merely doubt your ability to walk afterwards- Get. Down.”

This rarely works. But I have to try.

The temperature is set to dip below negative forty degrees Celsius tonight. It’s a record low for my city.

I tried to find a photo of a thermometer registering -40 degree Celsius but apparently photographers have more sense than to work in those conditions. So I put up a picture of Elvis instead.

I tried to find a photo of a thermometer registering -40 degree Celsius but apparently photographers have more sense than to work in those conditions. So I put up a picture of Elvis instead. His young, sultry eyes keep me warm. (Photo Credit :

Even though the sun is still out, already the cold is becoming unbearable. My butter dish was empty so to make turnip palatable I was forced to visit the local convenience store. On the short walk to and from the store I witnessed a Frat boy standing outside without gloves smoking a cigarette. The more concerning part was he wasn’t wearing a coat either. For the five minute jaunt outside I had donned a pair of snowpants and three additional layers.

“An unfortunate day for that habit” I yelled to him over the freezing minus thirty degree winds.

He nodded and then one of his fingers froze and broke off. I might be exaggerating but he looked extremely cold.

Then turning the corner to my house I saw a frat boy waiting for the right second to dash across four lanes of traffic. In addition to record breaking low temperatures, the city also received approximately a foot of snow in the past twenty four hours. The roads have been plowed. Ish. As long as your definition of plowed includes a lot of snow being on the main thoroughfares and cars bashing into one another from a lack of traction.

Thank goodness the plow already went through or this would be impassable. (Photo Credit:

Thank goodness the plow already went through or this would be impassable. (Photo Credit:

“Hey!” my staccato greeting made the young man turn. “The cars have zero stopping ability in this. Cross at the lights.”

I hurried quickly towards my house so I wouldn’t watch him be flattened by an errant vehicle.


This post is a part of the Student Ghetto series. If you would like to learn more about how to create furniture out of empty two-four boxes and drink effectively before 11 AM please visit the following links

Bongs, Dirty Laundry and Elmo,

Artificial Body Holes and Bravery

This was Supposed to be about my Weekend but now it’s a Weather Report. Or an Instruction Manual for Peeping Toms, I’m Not Sure

Death By Frozen Tundra

We’ve had cold weather warnings all week here in Canadatown. However this has not stopped me from walking to my beloved haunts like the library and campus. It has meant that I look like a larger, fabric laden version of myself; suiting up in no less than five layers up top and a minimum of two on the bottom.

Do they still count as kankles if I made them by tucking my pants into my socks?

Do they still count as kankles if I made them by tucking my pants into my socks?

Having walked in negative twenty degree temperatures for an hour several times recently, I concluded that today was the perfect day to drag someone who once called himself my friend (possibly no longer) into the wretched, frozen wilderness with me. So off we headed to the local park.

I insisted that we go to the beach. Because it’s January, and who doesn’t love the beach in January?

What we found was this.

I'm standing where the water line was in the summer. In the distance are the ice hills. I enjoy my rotundness.

I’m standing where the water line was in the summer. In the distance are the ice hills. I enjoy my rotundness.

In the summer months the water line began about fifteen feet from the dunes. As a result of this unusually cold winter, the waves have been freezing as they crash against the shore, forming a moonscape made of porous ice mixed with sand. It was stunning. It was rugged. It was so slippery I was reduced to bumbogganing at points. This sounds uncomfortable but I had a far easier time of it than Gordy what with my ample bottom being cushioned by three pairs of 2

Initially I was hesitant to climb over the craggy surface, fearing that at any moment the ice would crack and the two of us would plunge into the lake. Luckily Gordy was all “To heck with safety!” and made a beeline for the sandy ice hills.

I followed after him, making sure to listen for sounds of the ice breaking and stepping exactly in his footsteps.

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of vulnerable possibly mentally incapacitated persons. Because those in possession of all of their faculties would not have spent the day wandering about in foot high drifts and exploring ice mountains. Either that or I have a nice friend who didn’t want me doing this alone.

Unwashed Resolutions 2014

It’s come to my attention that people are making resolutions left, right and center. Which is great however they aren’t making the right ones. So I thought I’d release my list of New Years Resolutions so my readers will know where to start when making their goals for 2014.

1. Bathe Less

All this talk of global warming and yet everyone is still walking about smelling like a daisy. If you can count your showers per week on one hand you are cleaning yourself too often.

2. Forget Gyms

I have not attended a gym in well over a decade. If you feel the need to frequent a place filled with scantily clad people and grunting men; go to a strip club. It costs approximately the same amount in the long run based on what I hear about membership fees.

3. Eat Whatever the Heck You Like

My personal philosophy on food is- if you enjoy it, eat it. So I do. I eat concepts like they’re going out of style; local, homemade, unprocessed. I eat ideas like they’re watermelon at a picnic. To me there’s nothing more delicious than a breakfast of theory with some jam slathered on it.

Wait, is this organic, hand-made and local? It is? Ok, do you have some pretentious sauce I can drizzle on it?

Wait, is this organic, hand-made and local? It is? Ok, do you have some pretentious sauce I can drizzle on it? (Photo Credit :

4. Sleep More

I love sleep. And I need it so badly after going to all those strip clubs.

5. Don’t Listen To Me

Clearly I have no idea what I’m talking about.

Wanted: A nice smelling, clean person who can advise me on which purse matches my outfit

My friend who crouches in the woods at night with bears is moving. She’s also been known to go by the name Sula* however sometimes when your friends do outlandish things they must be described by their actions.

Sula is moving to the Arctic, to crouch on the tundra with polar bears. Apparently it’s a highly coveted position; being a light appetizer to one of the most monstrous and terrifying mammals in the world. Although as Sula puts it “I’d rather not be eaten alive by a polar bear in the name of science” so technically that isn’t the actual purpose of her job, more of a side project.

 What is the opposite of barbeque sauce? Sula needs to coat herself in that. (Photo credit :

What is the opposite of barbeque sauce? Sula needs to coat herself in that. (Photo credit :

I’m going to miss her terribly. As a dear friend of mine she’s been known to feed me on a weekly basis and allow me to bask in the glory of her fireplace. Her Cavalier King Charles spaniel and I enjoy lying face up pointing our bellies towards the flames in a most undignified manner. It’s great fun.

I’m feeling quite bereft, I haven’t the remotest clue how I will fill my Thursday nights which previously had been Sula and my time to meet up and work on our various crafting projects. That’s a lie, Sula would work on one of her many exquisite quilts and I would paint a shirt for twenty five minutes and then collapse on her floor groaning about how much I hate painting in between lying on my back in front of her fireplace.

As with any dear friend I will miss her endlessly. However she’s going to a better place. A place where people will appreciate both her ability to fire a semi automatic gun and apply false eyelashes so carefully that you wouldn’t believe the spidery tendrils weren’t her own. These skills will come in handy as Sula is heading to a city filled to the brim with environmentally minded hunters and lesbians. With her luscious brown hair and ability to discuss the effects of climate change on shore birds I have no doubt her dance card will fill up quickly.

Although Sula is moving in May I’ve decided to hold “New Unwashed Friend” auditions starting next month. All candidates must possess the following qualities.

  • The knowledge of how to properly strain one’s urine for drinking after hiking in the wilderness for hours on end. ( I have never had to use this skill of Sula’s but it reassures me when we are out in the forest that she knows how.)
  • An intense desire to clean not only their home but mine as well. (Sula didn’t actually do this but applicants for the job of being The Great Unwashed’s new companion should think of themselves as Sula 2.0 “The toilet brush wielding friend”)
  • A penchant for cooking paired with a desperate need to feed people. By people I mean specifically me.
  • A fireplace obviously.
  • A well trained, smallish dog. Chihuahua owners need not apply. Great Dane owners ironically will be considered.
  • All applicants should have a history of being told that they and their house smell nice. Each room in Sula’s home has a specific and pleasant aroma. As a person who bathes infrequently and cares even less about the scent of my home I find this a welcome change.

Auditions shall be held on the third Thursday of next month.

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of persons who make me delicious salads.