Rolling Around on the Floor Being a Screw Up

Sula,

I miss you. You went to the Arctic for three months and I was all “Whatevs my closest friend has gone to live with seals and arctic foxes” only not really, it was more like “I really miss Sula, I wish she liked civilization more than birds, seals and arctic foxes”.

I’m responsible for hiring our au pair. That’s right, I’m responsible for CHOOSING SOMEONE TO LIVE WITH ME. To date, you are the only room mate who worked out long term (I’m still in the process with Tex- I’ll call it a success after three years.) and I didn’t even choose you. You were all like “I need a place to stay” and I was all “I’m not in the country but here are instructions on how to get my house keys.”¹

I have had NINE unsuccessful roommates. NINE.² I am officially a screw up who can’t get along with anyone. And now I have to choose someone to live with to take care of my son.

Who put me in charge? It’s madness. I need a drink. Only I can’t. Because breastfeeding. Forever. For reals -the whole introduction to solids thing is going abysmally. Clearly my mammaries are too awesome.

So Tex and I joined Au Pair World to find girls and then I joined Au Pair Solutions because the women who run the Au Pair Solutions site have all kinds of advice and documents to help you. And I feel like these women’s shoes always match their belts and their homes are tastefully decorated and flawless like your mom’s and everything in their world lines up because they’re so damn organized and who put me in charge again?

There are approximately one hundred pages of documents to download from this advice site that I need to go through with a fine tooth comb and then alter so that they fit our family’s needs. I’m going insane and not just because the words “fine tooth comb” conjure up the idea to make a harmonica with a comb and wax paper.

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So much more entertaining than altering documents. (Photo Credit : momjunction.com)

I am so not an academic or businessy in the least. (I’m so bad at this that the Google mails claims I just invented a word.) My god, there must be a special camp for people like me where all we do is throw clay at the wall and talk about weird performance art pieces.

That’s what I’m calling what I do now-performance art. I’ve decided to send out my postcards to politicians and CEOs. If in the future you’re wondering how I got on the No Fly list, now you know.

I wish you had an international phone plan. I wish we lived closer. I wish my weird was something I could unleash upon a person after I meet them without it melting their face off like an outtake from Indiana Jones.

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I was going to insert a picture of the character’s face melting off from Indiana Jones but it looked disgusting, so instead I’ll put a picture of Playboy Bunnies which is as inappropriate and out of place as my weird. (Photo Credit: ibtimes.com)

I think that’s enough desperation for one email. Have fun at your international conference. I believe in you and so does everyone else in your professional world. Don’t accidentally sleep with any Frenchmen.³ It happens. You’re all like “Hello” and they’re all “Bonjour” and then suddenly you have a baby and live in the middle of nowhere. That totally happened to me. My life is a Public Service Announcement only not really because Tex speaks German so he greeted me with “Auf Wiedersehen” or some other similarly forceful sounding German word that made him seem both angry and like he understood clockwork and punctual trains.

For serious. Who decided that I was the one to do the paperwork? I’m into my third audit of the year from the CRA because the first two weren’t enough.

Hysterically yours,

Unwashed
¹ This actually happened, Sula messaged me while I was on vacation saying “I know we’ve only met a couple of times but I got this job and need a place to stay in your city pronto.” and because life isn’t fun without the possibility of dying in your sleep at the hands of an acquaintance, I answered with “The key’s under the turtle, careful the microwave runs a little hot.” and so started the love story of a life time. Only not really because Sula and I are both straight. We just routinely wish we were married to each other, enough so that my family gets uncomfortable and my grandparents sometimes worry that I’ll run off into the frozen sunset with my friend.

² Upon reflection, I realized that I actually forgot my most recent room mate disaster, which clinches the whole “screw up” idea.

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If this was Sesame Street the Count would say “Ten! Ten room mate disasters. Ah ha ha.” (Photo Credit : youtube.com)

³ In the same way that my academic friend Gordy studies an industry rife with Germans, Sula’s research has a huge French component.
Also if you can believe it, this email was sent while sober. You can imagine the kinds of messages I come out with while drunk based on my belligerent use of Caps Lock without alcohol. It’s probably for the best that I’ll be breastfeeding for the next nineteen years based on how poorly Mini-Tex reacts to every single piece of food that we give him.

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.

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This man’s shapely torso is the answer to voter apathy. (Photo Credit : http://www.alanifagan.com)

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

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Everything good can happen when this is the model one works from. (Photo Credit : http://www.rollingstone.com)

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 Abridged List of My Lies and Other Reasons Why I Shouldn’t Be Trusted With Grown Up Things

“You have all the documents?” Tex* asked me before we sat down to do my taxes. “Yes” I said even though it was a lie. But it was the kind of lie I tell often like when he asks me if I know what happened to the peanut butter. I ate it, by the spoonful, until there was only thin layer left in the plastic container that you’d have to have the tongue of a St. Bernard in order to eat. Or “How did my jeans end up under the couch?” I put them there, I don’t remember why, at the time I had an excellent reason. And lastly the best one “Can you help me find my favourite jam? I can’t see it in the fridge.” I ate that too, funnily enough not with the peanut butter.

Given all of that, somehow Tex was still surprised when we started doing my taxes and I had nothing, not even a Statement of Earnings with me. “Where’s your Notice of Assessment?” he asked. “I dunno” I shrugged. Tex looked at me for a moment then started to explain “You know the document the government sends you telling you how much money you can put into a retirement fund?”

In my defense the government sends me lots of things, like parking tickets telling me not to block people’s driveways. As well as reminders to renew my driver’s license even though it’s obvious based on my choice of parking spots that I shouldn’t be allowed to drive.

I might be on the line. (Photo Credit : haphappy.com)

I might be on the line. (Photo Credit : haphappy.com)

“It’s an important piece of mail” Tex prodded me, attempting to physically and verbally cajole my memory. Seeing as I have a habit of filing my Notices of Assessment next to pictures of naked backs, the document could have been anywhere. It was at that point that we gave up the ghost and continued on with our evening, leaving my taxes for another day.

I recognize that as a grown woman I should do my taxes alone however earlier that week while filling out paperwork for my job dictating who should receive my pension if I die, I wrote “The Public Library”, which is normal enough, lots of people donate to that hallowed place. But in the box where it said “Describe relationship” I stumbled. I tried to think of the most accurate and appropriate description. “My favourite place in the world” that doesn’t work, it’s not really a relationship. “Literal and imaginary safe haven” seemed over the top. So I wrote “Love of my life” and was done with it. Tex declared that I was liable to receive a call from head office and should be supervised when filling out paperwork from now on.

To learn how to file your important documents in with free samples of laundry detergent and old twist ties please click on the link below.

https://iamthegreatunwashed.com/2014/01/21/indistinguishable-mondays-naked-backs-and-wildlife-non-sightings/

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of those who ask what happened to foodstuffs even though they know I’ve eaten it. If you don’t want me to eat the delicious things, they shouldn’t be stored within my reach.