Diary Excerpts: Monkey Balls, Feces Rinse Cycles and Laundry Mountains

Dear Diary,

The world=balls right now.

Giant hairy monkey balls that make you question why anyone wants to visit the zoo.

Diary, in case you forgot what my schedule looks like this month, let me remind you.

March 28th – T-minus 28 days until we move to a new house in a new town.

March 29th- Realize that there is a trip in two days and that in addition to not packing, you have no clothes. Frantically wash diapers. Then wash diapers again because you totally sent a poop filled diaper through the wash. Resolve never to inform Tex that this happened because it would scar him and he’d purchase a new washer.

March 30th – Wonder what in the heck you’ve been doing with your time as nothing is packed and the diapers are still lying disassembled in the basement. Put on same clothes as yesterday because -why not? It’s maternity leave, they don’t smell and no one will realize that you don’t do laundry.

This plan works until you pick up the babysitter from school and realize that she saw you in the identical outfit and will probably go home and tell her mother that she hates working for dirty people who insist on washing their baby’s feces.

March 31st- Why are there only five photo albums in a suitcase? WHY? You can’t wear your vacation pictures all weekend. Also why isn’t the laundry done? What kind of cockamamie, well endowed monkey is running this place?

April 1st- Arrived at family function late last night. Remembered everything except for shoes. Which is fine, muddy rubber boots and designer dresses fit the high/low chic trend this year.

April 2nd- Speed home with screaming baby in the car for four hours to make it just in the nick of time to Tex’s concert. Which feels less like the movie “Speed” and more like one of the characters out of the movie franchise “Saw”, who is slowly being tortured to death by having each of their finger and toe nails removed.

3eb4fc66ee1ba0cf9f8cebdd7f97f748f58b7d8a504c81fc72460a2dad7ad07f

The hunkiness factor of traveling with a baby is zero. The wanting-to-saw-a-limb-off-to-make-it-stop factor is about three squigillion. (Photo Credit cinemablend.com)

April 3rd – Pretend that you can take the day off from packing, laundering and general preparation.

April 4th – Curse yourself and your laziness, because tomorrow, you, Tex and Mini-Tex are shooting yourselves into the wild blue yonder to attend a conference for Tex’s work. Your day now =laundry. Endless laundry.

April 5th- Repeat the whole “Saw”/”Speed” scenario on drive to the airport. Cave at the airport and put “Peppa Pig” on the iPad. Wonder if this cartoon was the inspiration for “Saw” as the narrative drills a hole into your ears and through your brain.

unnamed

The original and unlikely villlain of the “Saw” series. (Photo Credit Google Play)

April 6th- Spend fun day with another family that is also attending the conference. Perhaps life is not entirely composed of giant, hairy monkey balls?

April 7th – Poo-pocolypse Now! On public transit! Remember why you loathe both cities and traveling, as you schlep your soiled self and your toddler back to the hotel.

April 8th- Looking around the hotel room, you realize that your belongings have mated, multiplied themselves by ten fold and have staged a take over of the room. In lieu of packing, lie down on the floor and wait for death.

It would seem death isn’t coming. Set about packing up belongings for the fourth time in ten days.

April 9th – Gazing at the suitcase, carry-on, diaper bag, computer bag, toy bag and baby carrier which all need to be lugged back to the airport, you decide to lie down and wait for death however long takes this time. Your helpful husband asks if you can lie down at the bus stop instead. The bus gets to the station seconds after you do, which is just as well, there are far cleaner places to lie down and wait for death.

April 10th – Lie underneath a mountain of laundry as your baby practices his spelunking skills on dirty diaper mountain using your knees and the twenty dirty, cloth diapers. Try to muster up the energy to move. Is impossible. Throw teething cookies in baby’s direction and continue lying on the floor.

April 11th- Saved! Tex returns home and whips around finishing up laundry and making dinner.

April 12th – Have hidden the calendars because otherwise they’d say to pack for the farm to celebrate Easter which would make life more horrible than monkey balls, would be mastadon balls or some other enormous creature.

 

 

Advertisements

Domestic Packing Battles and Unhygienic Oral Practices

A funny thing happens when I begin to pack. My thoughts become disorganized and suddenly the idea of wearing only a multi-coloured afro and suspenders for a weekend seems entirely appropriate. Tex had yet to witness this phenomenon until last night. Frankly I’m surprised that we are still together. Prior to becoming a cowboy, Tex was an engineer, as such, he approaches life problems like packing systematically, whereas I take the hippie-artist scattershot route.

Obviously a shirt would be overkill, but otherwise the perfect ensemble for any occasion. (Photo Credit : fancydress.com)

Obviously a shirt would be overkill, but otherwise the perfect ensemble for any occasion. (Photo Credit : fancydress.com)

7:00 PM – My flight leave in less than twelve hours

Tex “Have you started packing?”

Unwashed “No, why would I do that?”

7:45 PM – A 4:20 wakeup call dictates an imminent bedtime

Tex “You need to start packing”

Unwashed sitting on the couch reading “I’m getting there”

8:03 PM

Tex “Where’s your suitcase?”

I take the suitcase from its spot by the front door and choose to lay it on the futon which is only the second most inconvenient place in the apartment, the first being in the middle of the kitchen table.

Then I commence throwing random articles of clothing onto the shag carpet in the other room.

8: 21 PM

Tex, who is busy doing dishes and being helpful, calls from the kitchen “You’re busy packing right?”

I stop lolling around on the soft carpet for a moment to throw a pair of rainbow striped socks onto the mixed up pile next to me. “Yes, I’m so busy, in fact I’m almost done.” I call back.

Tex “So you have tights?”

Unwashed “No”

Tex “A skirt?”

Unwashed “No”

Tex “A dress?”

Unwashed “No”

Tex “Underwear?”

Unwashed inwardly “Does one really need more than one pair for four days?” aloud “No”

I spend the next twenty minutes walking back and forth between the bedroom and the living room where I’ve put my suitcase, depositing random items into it, like a pair of high heels, a camera battery charger but no camera. Tex watches all this with amusement and just a hint of concern.

A half hour passes, inexplicably I am no more ready to leave and I have somehow lost the capris and shirt that I was wearing in the process. It’s at this point that I decide to fine tune my twerking form in my underpants. Watching my leopard print butt wiggle back and forth in a manner that one could neither describe as dancing nor twerking Tex asks “And this helps you fold sweaters and shirts how?”

Unwashed stops bouncing “Ummmm”

Tex “Do you have pyjamas?”

Unwashed “No”

Tex “Do you have a toothbrush?”

Unwashed “I don’t need one”

The look of horror on Tex’s face necessitates an explanation. “One should replace their toothbrush every three months, I travel on average once every four to six, so I buy a new one when I arrive.”

Tex looks skeptical of my determination to buy a toothbrush upon arrival “I’ll get your travel one out of my bag.” He lays the orange toothbrush on the kitchen table, where it can’t be missed.

After nearly half an hour more of cajoling from Tex, I am packed and Tex is oddly exhausted. I don’t know why, he wasn’t the one running back and forth everywhere trying to find passports and the like.

This post is dedicated to my more hygienic half, who shows patience and kindness in the face of my ridiculousness and disorganization.

Atomic Wedgies and Packing Fails

It’s underwear week here at The Great Unwashed. Oh heck, who am I kidding it’s always underwear week. I might as well change my blog’s name to “The Great Underpants”, given how often I discuss my bikini briefs. In fact, if either “underpants” or “underwear” are typed into the search bar, you’ll come up with about fifteen  entries, which considering that I’ve written just over one hundred and fifty posts here,  means about ten percent of the time I’m expounding on my skivvies.

I’m spending the weekend at my Dad’s house. For once in my life I was all “Boo Yah, take that, life!” because I remembered to bring not only the paint that my friend requested but also a puzzle for my uncle and I followed that up with storing the gift cards to shop at the sweet, sweet outlet store near my grandmother’s in the outside pocket of my weekend bag. I was feeling high and mighty having conquered the packing monster whom I normally lose battles with.

The Packing Monster has a laugh like Bowser from the Nintendo 64 Mario game. (Photo Credit : tidyawaytoday.wordpress.com)

The Packing Monster has a laugh like Bowser from the Nintendo 64 Mario game. (Photo Credit : tidyawaytoday.wordpress.com)

Then, while dressing to go to church this morning I reached into my trusty suitcase and pulled out tights, a skirt, an undershirt, a top but no underwear. And it was then that I heard the packing monster chortling it’s hearty laugh all the way from my home two hours away. “Ha ha ha” the packing monster guffawed, “looking for these?” it asked, holding up a pair of my underoos with a menacing smile. Of course, this entire scene occurred in my mind while I contemplated whether praying commando was a sin or not, and if my copy of “Strong’s Concordance of the Bible” could answer such a question.

Without consulting my concordance, I concluded that, while not a sin reciting the Lord’s Prayer in only a short skirt and tights was not ideal. Holding up yesterday’s unmentionables, I grimaced; I had both travelled and run seven kilometers in them. Not a great solution. With a heavy heart, I headed towards the chest of drawers that once held my entire wardrobe but is now a home for odds and ends that don’t seem to belong anywhere.

And that’s where I found them; underpants so giant that they make the pair that I bought for fifty cents which can be folded down over my jeans to create a thick lacy belt look small. A pair of underpants so enormous that once, Santa’s sack ripped and he considered using the briefs as a substitute but decided they were too roomy and gifts could potentially fall out.

I'm not certain how they managed to fit in my drawer. (Photo Credit : fark.com)

I’m not certain how they managed to fit in my drawer. (Photo Credit : fark.com)

Those were the undergarments I donned this morning. On the bright side, if it rains I won’t give myself a wedgie when I reach backwards and pull my underwear up over my head to protect my hair because the elastic band is already sitting just under my shoulder blades to begin with.

Ridiculous Debates and Second Hand Underpants

I’m currently preparing to leave Quebec, which means only one thing; it’s time to put all of my possessions into a suitcase that seems to shrink in size with each passing second. Packing also leads to one of my most loathed activities; lifting objects. My deep seated hatred of carrying anything heavier than a bag of marshmallows leads to bizarre thoughts because I will go to any lengths to lighten my load.

Around the time that my suitcase was half full, I started to question the utility of garments like underwear and whether I could justify donating them to Goodwill.

Underpants are like cars right? They’re better value when they’re used. (Photo Credit : copyblogger.com)

Underpants are like cars right? They’re better value when they’re used. (Photo Credit : copyblogger.com)

Or whether I actually needed hygienic items like my toothbrush. After all, I only use it twice a day- are clean teeth truly necessary? Bulky or oddly shaped objects were subject to the most scrutiny. Staring at my hairbrush, I weighed the utility of looking like a swamp monster against the additional room and decreased weight of my luggage.

So worth not carrying a hairbrush. (Photo Credit :sodahead.com)

So worth not carrying a hairbrush. (Photo Credit :sodahead.com)

When my suitcase was almost full, I contemplated becoming a fully-fledged hippie and going braless, however I figured this freewheeling lifestyle might not go over well at my work, thus the horror that is brassiere shopping to replace said bras won out over the reduced weight and bulk of getting rid of them.

As I laid across my suitcase, willing my body to be larger and thus able to make the zipper close, I had a long debate with myself over whether I actually needed my sweater and coat. Who needs body warmth when you can happily wheel a light suitcase through a train station? I also came |thisclose| to leaving my second pair of shoes at the Salvation Army in the name of carrying less.

Even after I dropped off all of the books I brought with me at the local second hand store, my suitcase still weighed an ungodly amount.  Scouring my possessions for anything that I could be rid of, I spotted them; my shampoo and conditioner. What right do I have to call myself the Great Unwashed when I’m schlepping cleaning products back and forth between provinces? Into the recycling bin they went. With that final act, I realized I had chucked, donated and compressed everything that I could and for better or worse my elephant sized suitcase was packed.

My suitcases once I finished packing. (Photo Credit: trekearth.com)

My suitcases once I finished packing. (Photo Credit: trekearth.com)

March Sweat Showers Bring April Flowers

I smell like a den of raccoons, I’m also sopping wet. In the grand scheme of life, this isn’t an unsolvable problem. It is however affecting my popularity with family members. This sort of issue has happened before, well, ish.

You see it’s a packing problem. I suck at packing. If there was a packing Olympics I would be the lonely, small country of Estonia. This miniature country tries really hard and packs with all of its might but in the end, it’s really only good for being the spot that future Polish grooms fly to for wild bachelor parties.  No one ever hears about Estonia going to the packing Olympics. Or any kind of Olympics. That’s me. I’m terrible at packing. Although that wasn’t a very good analogy because I’m not good at throwing wild, naked parties either.

Once for a nine day long trip, I packed two pairs of underwear, twelve shirts and no pants. This would have been fine if I was headed to a partial nudist camp for a week or maybe to one of those wild, naked parties I never throw, but as it was my grandparents were a little alarmed by my lack of clothing. My grandfather ordered me out of the house and to the nearest Walmart on the third day to purchase extra items to wear.

I’m visiting my grandparents again and to be honest I’ve done a bit better this go round; I packed twenty-six pairs of underwear, three shirts and one pair of neon tights for my overnight stay. Tragically I’ve forgotten antiperspirant. For normal people this wouldn’t be an issue but for me whose underarms did a convincing impression of Niagara Falls from the ages of fourteen to twenty-two, this is a problem.

My armpits put on a fantastic light show. (Photo Credit : globeholidays.net)

My armpits put on a fantastic light show. (Photo Credit : globeholidays.net)

Having exited puberty, although one could no longer shower in my sweat, I still produce a lot of it. Hence my grandmother and I are once more being sent forth to the local Walmart in the interest of not wringing out my shirts every couple of hours.

*Also don’t be upset or feel unworldly if you haven’t heard of Estonia. The only reason I have heard of Estonia is because I went on a cruise with my grandmother and three thousand other old people.

When my grandmother was booking the trip, the travel agents asked “Do you want to stop in Estonia?” to which my grandmother replied “Pardon me?”, as she had never heard of the country. The agents took this as a “yes” because “pardon me” is a great deal better than “Where the heck is that?” which is the standard response to that question. Hence my grandmother and I stopped there, and learned all about their Polish bachelor party industry.

Also the grooms might not be from Poland, I wasn’t listening very well to the tour Estonian tour guide because I was too busy trying to figure out where I was.

Travesty Tuesday – Tricycle Rides and Unfortunate Sleeping Arrangements

The Great Unwashed- “I’m putting up a Travesty Tuesday post.”

Roscoe- “But it’s Friday.”

The Great Unwashed- “You know that saying “It’s five o’clock somewhere?” Well it’s Tuesday somewhere. It’s a time zone thing.”

Roscoe- “That’s not how time zones work.”

Red onion slices

These account for approximately 60% of the New Zealand diet.** (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Great Unwashed – “It’s Tuesday in New Zealand. Honest. And it doesn’t even matter if it isn’t, New Zealanders do things backwards anyways, they call every second Wednesday “Girdle” and only eat raw onions.”

Roscoe walked out of the room after that. He does that sometimes.

Here is an email I sent to my youngest cousin Candy*. She came to visit me just before leaving to go to college. It’s my guess that she robbed multiple convenience stores and the judge gave her the option of going to Juvie for a month or spending time with me. I think Juvie was looking pretty sweet after she read this.

Oh well you can’t win ‘em all, right Candy?

 

 

Dear Candy,

 

SURPRISE! We’re going camping. Nothing big, just the local park and only for one night. To celebrate this momentous occasion my truck is in at the mechanics getting both the flap thingie on the front fixed and also the SCREEEEEEEE noise that it’s been making any time I turn it on.

The parking lot in front of the garage was packed full of broken-down cars. The mechanics seemed doubtful about when they would be able to return my truck to me.

English: A man is repairing a tri-cycle who se...

Candy, I think you over packed a little. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As such it’s my recommendation to you Candy, to practice core muscle exercises for the next few days. Not only will these assist with paddle boarding which we shall be trying at the park but it will also help in your transport to the house from the bus station. My current plan is to ride a tricycle over and have you ride on my shoulders the three kilometers home. You will have to carry your suitcase on your back obviously.

This is a hugely popular transportation method in India just so you know.

We will be sharing the giant self inflating mattress while camping because I can’t be bothered to bring and blow up two separate ones when I could punch and kick my way through a night next to someone who is obligated to be nice to me by virtue of sharing just over 12% of my genetic code and staying in my house.

I also suggest you bring a sweater, a bathing suit, sunscreen and a UV shirt*** if you own one. Otherwise I’ll make you wear one of my UV shirts which are so used and stretched out that they’d look more appropriate on a fashionable orangutan.

Or maybe not, I feel like a fashionable anything would refuse to wear a UV shirt.

I have all necessary other camping items although I suggest you remind me to bring pillows. I often forget this item and no matter how I arrange the pile, firewood never seems comfortable to sleep on.

Lovingly, awkwardly and always on three wheels, your cousin,

The Great Unwashed

 

*Candy is as sweet as her made up name. She would never burn down convenience stores. She is frequently forced to visit me, a severe penance for crimes she doesn’t commit. At least I don’t think she commits crimes. I was covered in highly flammable oil during her visit though.

 

** I wouldn’t necessarily trust my knowledge of the world. I garnered most of the facts I know about New Zealand from Wild Buttercup. However I only looked at the pictures so I don’t know how reliable my information is.

 

Also I’ve never been to India. However I would like someone to ride on my shoulders while I peddle a tricycle. As a young child I was prevented from attempting this, I can only assume that sort of fun is illegal in Canada. India seems like a fun loving place. I bet mothers allow that sort of thing there.

 

***For those of you who don’t go red and shrivel up in the sun like a raisin a UV shirt blocks ninety to one hundred percent of UVA and UVB rays. For near albinos like Candy and I this type of clothing is a necessity for all outdoor activities. We combine it with 110 SPF sunscreen and then complain about feeling burnt. The Irish are fun to kiss but you probably shouldn’t procreate with them if you ever want to sit out on a beach.