That Time That The Government Was All “Show Us the Goods, Unwashed”

I got audited. Hard. The Canadian Revenue Agency showed up at my door, kicked it in, and then frisked me. Afterwards, just for kicks, the CRA stuck my hand in the toilet while singing “Swirlé, Swirlé Swiiiiirrrrlééé”.

Ok, it might not have happened exactly like that, but it was close. 2014 was kind of a nutty year for me. I decided to follow it up with an even crazier year filled with two cross country moves, a wedding and a baby. The baby was four days late and arrived in 2016 but the vast majority of the baby-making occurred in 2015. Anyways, because of all this moving, shaking and baby-making, I didn’t get the letter where the government was all like “We need proof of these antics; send us your receipts, proofs and your third grade report card”, what I got instead months later, was an angry letter demanding me to pay them allllllllll of the money. To which I sniffled “But, but, but, I don’t understand!” and after that promptly paid them alllllllll of the money, then stood on street corners singing the blues with my hat held out for people to throw nickels in.

Last month, I finally received all the mail that had been sent to my former address the previous summer, including the aforementioned letter in which the government wanted to see written proof of my life up to and including Mrs. Bobbitt’s thoughts on my third grade Claymation project and life started to add up again.

So I dutifully, gathered all the documents and sent them into the heads of our true north strong and free. Even though my receipts, letters and Mrs. Bobbitt’s praise for my addition skills explained a lot, I felt the government deserved the whole story.


Dear Bilingual Dudes and Dudettes in suits,

Bonjourno! Wait, that may be the wrong language. At any rate, hello! How’s it hanging up in parliament? That’s great! Sorry; I stopped listening after the first syllable because no one except for Justin Trudeau cares that much about politics. Unless of course politics involves our Prime Minster taking off his shirt.


This man’s shapely torso is the answer to voter apathy. (Photo Credit :

I received your letter and enclosed the requested documents but I thought I should explain, I mean, I totally understand your incredulous response to my year. Looking back, I can’t even believe that I bought a house, went back to school for ten months, worked part time and traveled for three months. It doesn’t show it anywhere on those documents, but I met the cowboy of my dreams in there too. What can I say? It was a super packed year. Clearly I didn’t sleep. But even still, I see your questioning eyebrows, Canada Revenue Agency, you’re saying to yourself “These numbers don’t add up, we need concrete proof of this tomfoolery and possibly a road map” so let me draw it out for you.

I’ll admit it, I bought a house. It was a small house though, which meant the mortgage was manageable, even as a single, quasi-employed lady. Also then I sold my car. Ok, the word isn’t sold. I took my car to the junk yard, poured out a little for my mechanical homey and then was driven home by my friend Gordy. So that saved money. Lots of money in fact, have you seen what insurers charge in Ontario?

Then, to fund my piling tuition bills I took a page out of Burning Man’s book


Everything good can happen when this is the model one works from. (Photo Credit :

and started trading topless pirate Macarena dances for watermelons. Not really, but I did exchange meals at my house for rides to places I wanted to go. I relied on my friends that year. I am especially indebted to my close friend Gordy; he drove me everywhere and offered to fight evil, trash can tumbling raccoons cum burglars for me. But don’t call him to verify this; Gordy’s so humble he’ll claim that he didn’t do anything.

Even with lots of help, that still didn’t save enough money to fund ten months of schooling, so I kept cutting my budget. I shopped at Giant Tiger and ate produce which tasted like blue cheese. I raided my Dad’s pantry and mowed down on ten year old wild rice. When that wasn’t sufficient, I cut out all activities that weren’t free or directly related to school. CRA, you don’t even want to know how many walks I took.

I know, taking all those cost cutting measures into account, the numbers still don’t add up. Dearest government, that’s the best, most comprehensive explanation I have for that year. All I can say is when I look back; I was running, running, running the entire twelve months. I hope this helps to clarify matters. If it doesn’t, you’re welcome to call me at home, although I wouldn’t suggest it, I’m even more inexplicable in person.

Inscrutably yours,

The Great Unwashed

An Unwashed Day

5 am – Wake up.

5:02 am – Tell self to go back to sleep, no one gets up at this hour.

5:05 am – Stare at ceiling, waiting to become a normal person who sleeps in.

5:12 am – Who am I kidding? I’ve never been normal, let’s see if I can go scare some raccoons by taking out the trash.

5:25 am – Sit next to sun light while drinking coffee out of what is less of a mug and more of a bucket.

5:40 am – Go pee, repeat again each half an hour until seven thirty. Curse small bladder and desire for caffeine in quantities generally used to bail out boats.

7 am – Hastily mow lawn with push mower while making race car noises. Wonder if angry neighbour man who insists I mow my lawn has restrictions about types of sounds made during lawn care. Quickly switch to making attacking fighter jet noises in the event that race cars are deemed too commercial for my hippie neighbourhood.

I make noises so my lawn mower doesn't feel inadequate when it hears the ruckus that other types of lawn mowers make. (Photo Credit:

I make noises so my lawn mower doesn’t feel inadequate when it hears the ruckus that other types of lawn mowers make. (Photo Credit:

8 am – Bike to school. While crossing the bridge, sing and dance on bike so drivers can witness up close just how much fun being an environmentalist is.

8:03 am – Climb giant hill, feel grateful that am hidden by trees from the drivers because am covered in sweat from exertion.

10:27 am – Pass undergrads in hallway, see so much flesh that am forced to double check that we are headed to the library and not a skin bar.

10:28 am – See another under-dressed undergrad. Make a mental note to send memo to undergrads “It is fall. Please wear mittens, not bikinis. Also wipe your seat after you leave the library and are thong bathing suits the style in Canada now?”

If this outfit says "Library" to an undergrad, what do they wear to the bars? (Photo Credit :

If this outfit says “Library” to a nineteen year old, what do they wear to the bars? (Photo Credit :

1:44 pm – Cheerfully wave “hello” to the frat boys who were my former next door neighbours . Realizing they have no choice but to reply to my overly friendly gesture, they wave halfheartedly back “Hi Ms. Unwashed from Next Door”.

3:19 – Accidentally walk into a men’s restroom. If the university wouldn’t insist on renovating all of their buildings, I wouldn’t surprise half as many gents with my cries of “Oops sorry sir, I swear this used to be a ladies’.”

5 pm – Visit Gordy’s office on campus, loll about on the carpet remarking on how soft it is and how perhaps if the undergrad’s had clothes made of said carpet they’d wear more than bathing suits to campus.

5:30 – Finish abusing Gordy’s kindness and head to evening class.

9:30 pm – Don a bright yellow reflective shirt and commence singing loudly on bike ride home; even if the drivers fail to see me, they will hear me.

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of those who permit me to lie on their office floor whenever I like. In my defense, the builders used exceptionally nice flooring material.

You Should See My Underpants

Wait. That came out wrong. The title was supposed to be like the joke in “Uncle Buck” when Macaulay Culkin walks into the kitchen and sees this.

(Photo Credit:

(Photo Credit:

Then John Candy adds “You should see the toast I couldn’t even fit it through the door.” The viewers never actually see the toast, much like my underpants. The title meant to imply that my underpants are really colourful. Tragically I forgot about the first part of that joke, which was the giant pancake, hence I should have started with a photo of my ridiculous ensemble for today. A better writer might have changed the title, however here at The Great Unwashed, we aspire to calamity not perfection, so the title stays despite the fact that it comes off as “Hey internet, are you feeling hot because I am. Maybe you should drop by my place for some tequila.” which is a lot to communicate in such a short, awkwardly written title, but there it is.

One of the benefits of going back to school, is that I’m able to express my true self with my clothing. In classes, there is no one to ask you not to come to work tomorrow because you insist on dressing like a colour blind rodeo clown. There are only confused eighteen year olds with camera phones, but I’ve always loved having my picture taken. And I can only imagine the lovely statements they’ll make about my fashion choices when they put the images online. Thus, with further adieu here is my outfit of the day.

Yes those ARE tights underneath pants. I  tend towards Mormon modesty chic.

Yes those ARE tights underneath pants. I tend towards Mormon modesty chic.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s glorious, and you didn’t even see it with my green and white monster mitts. And once again we’re not even going to mention hues of my undergarments are.