Naked In Public: The Roommate Edition

I’m living with a biologist named Meredith*. She recently moved in, as always when one acquires a roommate there is a bit of apprehension. Will we have interests in common? What if they have weird habits? Happily, I’ve discovered there are multiple benefits to this arrangement; she shows me the skulls of various animals that she’s found during her research over coffee and I react with interest.Then  Meredith, in turn doesn’t bat an eye when I trench the backyard in the name of diverting our waste. In fact, her greatest worry, when I dug up the side of the yard to bury the week’s compost, was that I might be able to see her while she prepared to shower. Given how high up the bathroom window is, and how short I am, it would have been physically impossible, at any rate I was more interested in the earthworms that I was digging up.

Apparently Meredith’s fear of unintended flashing is limited to me. When I returned home from my evening class last week, I heard a cry of “Just a heads up, I’m half naked”. The comment registered with me, as I sat down to untie my shoes, but it didn’t sink in until I entered the kitchen and found Meredith standing in a nude coloured tank top and her underpants. “You’re half naked” I said, stating the obvious. “I did warn you” my roommate shrugged as she packed up the last of her dinner.

“I got tired of standing in the bathroom waiting for the tub to fill. So I came out here to clean up my dishes.” She added by way of explanation. The bathtub in my house was the inspiration for the poem “Rub-a-dub-dub three men in the tub”, it takes no less than forty minutes to fill up, if I was a little smaller, I might describe it as a swimming pool.

For all those who recognize this image, yes, I went there. (Photo Credit:

For all those who recognize this image, yes, I went there. (Photo Credit:

Meredith continued to talk away while washing pots and pans in the sink. I interrupted her. “Do you mind if I close the blinds?” The alleyway is becoming a fire hazard what with all the frat boys pressing themselves against the window to watch you. “Oh. Ha!” Meredith laughed turning towards the open window. “I didn’t notice that.”

As I lowered the blinds, impeding the view of my buxom, young roommate in her skivvies, the frat boys let out a collective groan. I had to smile; no matter if the dirty dishes pile up in the sink, at the very least, Meredith and I have a penchant for accidental indecent exposure in common.

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of persons who count lifting one and a half times their body weight as a hobby. It seems prudent not to annoy people who can quite literally strong arm you into submission by publishing their name on the interwebs.

Daily Weirdness Wednesdays: Me and My Candy Pants

  1. I have an obsession with twenty-five cent candy machines. It’s getting a little out of hand actually; when my pockets turn up only dimes, I’ve debated busking next to the cheerful metal and glass containers full of jelly bean goodness. Tragically, whenever this happens the only song I can think of is invariably the Advantix flea jingle.
  2. Because of the aforementioned sugar fixation, I often store loose candy and occasionally cookies in my pockets. Surreptitiously eating one Skittle at a time out of my jacket while studying in the library brings me immense joy. As does returning home from church, having pocketed a Peek Freans chocolate cookie and whipping it out of my sweater, then waving my baked bounty in the air for Meredith*, my roommate, to see. A nicer person might swipe two cookies; however I question how well my offer of “Sweater cookie?” would go over with other people.
  3. A character from a show I adore, “Cougar Town” also does this, but with crackers. In one episode she is attacked by birds who want her “sweater crackers”. I live in fear of this, but with sugar crazed five year olds instead of sea gulls. I have no doubt that at some point, I will pass a birthday party, remove an M&M from my hoodie and then have to run for my life while icing coated children chase me with looks of murder and diabetes in their eyes.

    I would run exactly like this only with twenty small people right behind me. (Photo Credit:

    I would run exactly like this only with twenty small people right behind me. (Photo Credit:

  4. At one point, I held a job that required me to keep candy in my pant pockets (bought in bulk, not from those lovely red metal and glass machines). Once I was visiting Sula** after work and had forgotten to remove the candy from my pants beforehand. Emptying my back pocket, I offered some to her “Swedish Fish?” She took it and then commented “Ooh it’s warm.” This memory of my beloved friend never ceases to make me laugh.
  5. Again, it isn’t Wednesday. Is it weird if you lose all track of the days of the week? Or is it only weird if you claim to have fallen into a space time warp and that an alien probed you? Whichever of those excuses is more acceptable- I’m going to go with that one.

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of people who have yet to use a cross bow but in whose ability I’m slightly afraid of.

**Names have been changed to protect the identities of those who eat food out of my pants. Because I feel like that kind of things shouldn’t get around.

Daily Weirdness

My friend Carrie Blueberry uses this title as a tag. She also regularly takes exotic, beautiful portraits of her friends in the buff or close to it. I’m hoping that if I keep complimenting her that she’ll come to visit me so I can roll around naked in paint while she takes photos. That way when I strip down and blue myself it’s no longer weird, its art.

Oh Tobias, it’s ok I understand you. (Photo Credit:

Oh Tobias, it’s ok I understand you. (Photo Credit:

If you’d like to see Ms. Blueberry’s art the link is HERE.

I’ve decided to start a new theme; Daily Weirdness Wednesdays, my weird is like love; there’s  enough to go around, so I’m going to share it with you all.

First Daily Weirdness: It’s not Wednesday. However I think we can all agree that it’s Wednesday in our hearts. Or if that doesn’t work, you could pretend that you’re four and don’t care about concepts like days of the week because why would you when delicious foods like mashed banana sandwiches exist?

Second Daily Weirdness: When I’m at home, I enjoy tucking my over-sized pyjama pants into my socks while pretending that I am MC Hammer. Unfortunately I have zero clue what his music sounds like, so I make disjointed beat boxing noises that sound like a snake and a robot are trying to mate. We won’t even discuss what my dancing. Suffice to say I may be related to these guys.

My dance moves may have been compared to Gonzo’s, if he was snorting speed. (Photo Credit:

My dance moves may have been compared to Gonzo’s, if he was snorting speed. (Photo Credit:

Third Daily Weirdness: I sing so loudly on my bike that drivers two cars ahead, turn in their seats to figure out what’s making all the racket. This is nothing compared to the sound effects I make while trying to accelerate as I cross an intersection.

Fourth Daily Weirdness : For a long time I didn’t shave my legs. And by a long time, I mean a REALLY LONG time. I used to delight in the feeling of the wind in my leg hair. Then I one morning I was possessed with the crazy desire to remove my protective fur covering. Only I stopped halfway through because shaving takes ages if it’s an annual event. The upside was that I removed the leg hair on the front of my calves so when I bike, it’s like I have imaginary “whoosh” lines behind me as the wind rushes past my remaining fur coat.

Sometimes I am Alarmed By Me

I’m cleaning house, which means I’m coming across relics of my former self. Often when rummaging through their things, people will look at old photos and question their fashion choices. That rarely happens to me because my fashion choices are always questionable.

Just your average Tuesday afternoon outfit.

Just your average Tuesday afternoon outfit.

However, I frequently find pieces of my writing or snippets of stories which give me pause, but none more so than what I found today in a binder from my early university days. On a piece of paper I read just two words written in my distinctive scrawl; penis karaoke. That’s it. Nothing more, no explanation, no elaboration, I’m not sure whether it was an activity, a jot note from a memory that I’ve apparently repressed or possibly an ill-conceived business venture that I’m relieved I didn’t follow through with.

Normally when I discover a piece of old writing, I can remember to a certain extent where the story or idea came from. I’m drawing a complete blank here and frankly I’m a little alarmed by my twenty year old self. First off, I’d like to know what exactly “penis karaoke” is. Does it involve some sort of nude bar with microphones that go up just past the knees? I feel like backup singers might object to standing that close in the buff. Also I’ve never heard a man’s member singing. But it’s possible I’ve never listened closely enough. Maybe mens’ locker rooms sound like a choir of angels.

Or is “penis karaoke” some sort of bachelorette party type activity where awkwardly shaped microphones are used to match the phallic pasta gag gifts? Another possibility is having to act like male genitalia while doing karaoke. Although where I would have gotten the idea to try such a thing is beyond me. My only conclusion is that I attended a job interview before penning these words where I was asked absurd questions like “If you were a species of tree, what would you be?” which would of course be followed up with this question “Do oak trees work in teams?”. The only logical answer is of course; oak trees work with others about as well as penises sing.

Whatever “penis karaoke” was, it makes my old workout instructions which I found in the same pile, that have descriptors like “Do twenty five push up Frankensteins” and “Perch uncomfortably on the weird over the head machine fifteen times” look positively tame. Although further cleaning didn’t turn up any answers regarding bizarre types of karaoke, upon rereading my descriptions of fitness exercises, I concluded that I may be the reason why I no longer go to the gym.