Naked in Public: The Neighbourly Edition

When I’m out and about, my nudity is unintentional. However at home is another story; when I lived on the second story of the doctor’s house, Roscoe would begin by pleading that I “not stand in the buff next to the window”. When he realized that this wasn’t making a difference, he changed to “please close the curtains when you stand naked next to the windows” which eventually became “could you stop standing naked next to the windows which face out onto a busy street?”

Mr. Rogers, it's probably best if we aren't neighbours. I'd feel poorly about flashing you.  (Photo Credit:

Mr. Rogers, it’s probably best if we aren’t neighbours. I’d feel poorly about flashing you. (Photo Credit:

For the record I’m not an exhibitionist, only extremely absent minded which is why I constantly forget that I live in a bungalow and that my kitchen window faces the entrance to the neighbouring frat house. (For the record –yes I do choose my living accommodations based on proximity to entertainment.)

Last Saturday, having climbed out of the shower, I headed towards my bedroom in a towel. This was when I realized I’d forgotten my bra in the bathroom. Throwing off my towel, I walked into the kitchen in my birthday suit. It was at that moment that the frat boys decided to all head outside together, no less than twenty of them poured into the alleyway between the houses. There were so many young men that some of them were pressed up against the side of my house right next to my kitchen window. “Eeek” I shouted jumping backwards back into my bedroom, having just flashed approximately fifteen young men the goods.

The scene looked exactly like this. Only there were about twenty Dustin Hoffmans. And it wasn't nearly as sexy. Also there was shrieking. (Photo Credit:

The scene looked exactly like this. Only there were about twenty Dustin Hoffmans. Also there was shrieking. And no one got any action afterwards, unless of course you count my kitchen blinds which were lowered for the first time since I moved in. (Photo Credit:

The students got their revenge though, the next morning as I was making my lunch, I watched a fellow look around, turn his back to my kitchen window and proceed to pee in the alley. Laughing as I pushed the pane upwards to open the window, I yelled “Just a heads up, that spot is less private than you’d think.”. Glancing over his shoulder the youth shot me a sheepish smile. “Good to know” he replied, zipping up his pants.

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

Artificial Body Holes and Bravery

Despite the fact that we ceased to be students some time ago, Roscoe and I still live in the student ghetto. Our miniature porch faces onto the backyard (or rather the basketball court cum parking lot) of a frat house. Across the street is a hovel which houses, by our count, five young men who enjoy shoving foreign objects through all their extremities and tattooing the rest of their visible epidermal layer.

Head banging Brain Muncher

Our neighbour, who rarely turns down an offer of banana bread. Photo credit: Munir Hamdan)

They also take pleasure in blasting angry death metal music while I make dinner. Most of the time I don’t mind strains of “%&#K THE WORLD AND EVERYOOOOOOOOOONE” followed by intense guitar solos, but after a long day I have been known to don the ear protecting head phones worn by most construction workers.

With the exception of discovering a partially eaten hamburger on our lawn or having to walk the long route to the park while the metal heads try and film “a sweet sweet trick” on the sidewalk and part of the road, both the frat boys and the metallers are good neighbours.

The end of the school year is approaching for university students and so the other night the metallers were throwing a party. Roscoe was on call at the hospital so our family friend Gordy* was over to have dinner and help me guard against a ghost break in. Living in an eighty year old house does unfortunately come with downsides.

So Gordy and I were just returning from our after dinner walk to the river when I noticed all the people milling on the metaller’s lawn, beside a minivan which was also on the lawn. University cities love to ticket vehicles parked on lawns, it’s an easy way to add to the city budget. However this was the end of the metaller’s year, so even though I didn’t necessarily share their love of head banging guitar solos and swear words I didn’t want their revelry to be marred by a seventy dollar ticket.

So I marched my five foot two self right over to the group of them. “Oi!” I said.

Just as a reference when entering a new culture it’s important to use language from that culture to help integrate yourself with it’s people, hence my “Oi!” to begin the exchange.

“Oi!” I said as I approached a young man with spacers in his ears so large that a baby’s fist could have gone straight through them. “You’ll get a ticket if you park there, that’s my house.” I gestured to the red brick building across the street. “You’re welcome to park in the driveway as long as you leave me space to get to work in the morning.”

All of the young men turned to face me. Collectively they had enough hardware in their young heads to open a store. “Thank you so much!’ they exclaimed.

Gordy stood the whole time a short distance away, ready to jump in at any moment should the youths turn and pull a shiv out of one of their many zippered pant pockets.

“I can’t believe you just walked up to them like that” he said. Maybe it was brave, or maybe it was my near sightedness and forgotten glasses that prevented me from seeing the hypodermic needles full of meth they were holding, but in my experience if someone walks up to you offering free parking and you want free parking, you almost never can go wrong. So Gordy and I listened as screamo metal wafted in through hundred year old windows for two hours afterwards and then Gordy left for the evening. The ghosts of course then moved in, rattling our thirty year old fridge until it was all but on it’s side and tapped tree branches on the windows.

*Although Gordy is arguably the second biggest fan of The Great Unwashed his name has been changed because at some point I may want to talk smack about him and so it’s best if he has only an inkling that Gordy might be his nom de plume.

Talking smack about people may very well be The Great Unwashed’s new schtick. After finishing both the partially clothed in church post and the award post I shall be doing a new series entitled “Diana may in fact be a lemur”.