Party poooper?

So I survived a birthday slumber party with several eight and nine year old little girls over this past weekend. Let me just say first off, I quit smoking in January and have rarely craved a shmoke. I dearly wanted one at 6AM this morning as they woke me up screaming and running through the house.

I knew that the girls would be in and out, in and out all day/night long so I didn’t make the house spotless before they came over. Yeah, it was clean. But, it coulda been cleaner, and I wasn’t too afraid knowing that my floors weren’t mopped, and the child’s room wasn’t spotless, and so on. I knew that once they left, I’d have the opportunity to fix and clean everything.

And I didn’t set any rules. No, I didn’t want to throw a bunch of rules at the girls, and expect them to actually listen. I didn’t want to sound like an old, biddy so I let them do what they wanted. Oh my freaking gosh . . . a mad house, I was in a freaking mad house.

I was literally going, OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG .. ! Oh – My – FREAKING – Gosh! Look at my floor! Look at my couch! Look at my kitchen! Oh my poor poor kitchen!!! Don’t worry cabinets, they won’t slam you shut much longer. No, they’re parents will pick them up soon. Oh, ‘fridgerator, don’t cry. The spilled milk on your shelves can be cleaned up. Oh there, there .. let me get it!

I cringed. And I cussed under my breath. I held my breath. I looked away, and covered my eyes. I peeked through my fingers and saw them pillow fighting with my couch cushions, and I was like ohhhh myyyy freeeeaking goshhhh!!

I finally got them all to settle down and eat some breakfast. Cake and ice cream for breakfast, all around! I sugared them up and sent their little butts home. And then I got to cleaning! And I cleaned. And I smiled. And I loved every minute of it.

An OCD he’s not, God love him!

Washing day here. Great day for it. Lots of sunshine and warmth, bit of a breeze happening. All adds up to perfection for clothes and linen.
Nothing like the smell of sunshine and the breeze in your freshly washed clothes, sheets and towels.
Anyhow, I’ve just gone to hang mine out, in my own inimitable manner, and my SO said he would give me a hand.
Now, I was good! I suppressed the small shiver that threatened to engulf me! I thought it was a sweet offer!
I’m not an ungrateful person, and part of the reason I love this man is because of things like this. He’s always more than willing to help where he can, so being the nice person I am, my only reaction was to say thank you sweetheart, that would be nice.
As we were doing the task (with me only having to change a FEW little things…eg, peg colours were wrong, towels only had 4 pegs instead of 5, little things like that) I told him about my hanging the washing post and that the other girls wanted me to post photos once I got a USB cable. Following is the (very) short conversation regarding same:

HIM: “Hmmm…guess I won’t be helping that weekend then?”
ME: “Why darl?”
HIM: “Cos there’s your way and God f**king help me!!”

And still, I love him regardless of the blood he very inconsiderately left on the verndah and tiles as he ran for bandages!

Totally anal

It’s official. My self-diagnosed OCD is an actual affliction!  And I wish that was MY ass.  I could kill that chick for her ass.  It bothers me a little that her ass is kind of not completely covered though.  And they can forget about me disorganizing my alphabetized CD collection.  That’s NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. 

You Are Totally Anal Retentive

Yup, you’re so uptight – people definitely have called you “anal.” You’re the type of person who’s so OCD you organize your M&Ms before eating them. You have so many rules and rituals, it’s hard for you to let loose and enjoy life. So go ahead and mix up your alphabetized CD collection. Live a little!

Are You Anal Retentive?

Posted by observant

Wax On, Wax Off

 

It’s funny how I expect people to just tolerate my OCD and love it, and me, but sometimes it’s hard to tolerate from others.  In some cases anyway.

Here’s the thing.

There’s a guy that sits behind me at work.  Something of a strange duck you could say.  Very friendly though, you almost CAN’T make fun of him because he’s so nice.  He’s very annoying though.  He is always butting into conversations, pretending to understand inside jokes.  Kinda like that guy that laughs at the joke after everyone else is finished.

I can tolerate all those things though, and would, if there was just one thing that he would stop:  The Mr. Myagi handrub.

For those of you who have never seen the movie, The Karate Kid, Pat Morita plays Mr. Myagi, an older Japanese guru of karate and all around funny quirky guy. 

Towards the end of the movie, the bad guys, the Kobra Kahn, and their horrible sensei, do an illegal move on Mr, Myagi’s star pupil, Daniel, (The Karate Kid) and hurt his knee real bad.  In the training room, Mr. Myagi is going to work his magic on the knee to bring Daniel back into the final round to beat the Kobra Kahn and win the championship.  His move starts with a loud clapping of his hands and then he FURIOUSLY rubs them together real fast, like he’s warming them up. 

This guy behind me does this hand clapping/rubbing furiously move about 5,000 times a day.  No shit.  It is immediately followed by a deep breath and him rubbing his hands on his pants.  It’s a wonder he has skin left, I shit you not. 

The LAST thing one person afflicted with OCD needs is another OCD afflicted person close by.  Because I notice him doing this almost every time, I have to count how many times he does it.  So, it kinda goes like this:

Guy :rubbing hands together

Me: *mumbling* one

Guy: rubbing hands together

Me: *mumbling* two

This goes on ALL day.  Not only that, but the girls that sit by me know that this seriously drives me mad so they do it too, which throws my count off.  Can you see the frustration I’m feeling here?? If i’m on the phone or go away from my desk, that throws my count off too.  This means the next time I hear it, I have to start over.

Days he is out are truly happy days for me.  My brain, and OCD, get a rest.

Bathroom shtuff

This entry was taken from this post over at my other joint.

There are very few things in this house that are sacred just to me. Everyone seems to have their hand in my shtuff, no matter how much I tell them it’s M-I-N-E, not yours. Don’t fuck with it. It’s mine. There are few things under this roof that noone, besides me, dares to touch: My teeth being #1, my Reverend Horton Heat CDs because “they’re just too fucked up“, my guava juice because “it’s just soooo nasty!” and my underlovelies. Everything else seems to be community property and that erks the living shit out of me.

Even my feminime products. What the fuck is he plugging up with them?

My OCD kicks in, and I don’t want my shit touched. I don’t want it moved, used, breathed on – fuck, don’t even look at it. If it’s mine, it’s mine and that means it’s not yours.

And this is when the shit hits the fan . . .

In our bathroom, we have a double vanity. Two sinks. One is his, one is mine. I keep both of them clean and tidy. He has his toiletry items on his side, I have mine. I have 4 items. He has a variety of colognes, a beard trimmer, aftershave, razors, soap, plus several other things. If I go through the room 20 times a day, I’ll make sure everything is squared away, perfect, in their places. If they aren’t, I fix it. And I’ll do it 20 times a day if I have to.

I go in there the other night to take a shower and get ready for bed, and all my items, are turned around. I wasn’t too happy. I questioned my husband and he laughed, saying I was silly to be that way, to be so ridiculous about my things, that I shouldn’t worry about that sort of thing. “They’re just turned around, geeez!” he says.

It’s my shit, I like it a certain way, I’ll keep it a certain way. Don’t fuck with it.

About 10 minutes later, his shit was gone. In the trash. Done. Gone. I then proceeded to clean out the fridge, and the dog’s mess. And all of that went into the can as well. On top of his shit. If he wanted his things back then he can dig through the trash and get them. Oh he was beyond pissed, and I was already seeing red. If you don’t have OCD, you don’t know. You don’t know how it feels. So I did what came to mind first, I got rid of his shit. And smiled the whole time he was digging through the trash.

Moral: Don’t . Fuck . With . My . Shit.

/rant

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

I am unable to pass by….

I am unable to pass the copy machine at work without getting rid of the papers sitting on them.  No, I’m not nosy, it’s just that they DON’T belong there.  There they sit all “willy nilly” and it drives me nutz!

If I am at my workstation and print something out (personal or otherwise) I get off my duff and pick it up.

But 9 times out of 10, I walk by the printer and there are usually a handful of miscellaneous papers that just need to BE GONE.  It makes me very uneasy!  There is only one person that knows about this and she just chuckles and I riffle through the papers and find their proper places

Does this one get you too?

All Kinds of Nervous

Hey there!

I have to say, i’ve been pondering doing this post on my own blog for a while, but just cannot.  I am a nervous wreck even posting it here. 

I feel like i’m sitting here naked for the world to see, and to know.  It’s taking every ounce of courage I can muster to even tell you what i’m about to tell you.

I can’t tell you when it started, I was very small.  I  know, that to date, it’s my biggest compulsion.  I never talk about it.  I’ve never said it out loud, til now. 

Oh my god, my stomach is actually queasy.  *deep breath*  here goes.

Some people have the compulsive tendencies like washing their hands or checking locks/keys.  I talked before about how I can put my keys in my purse and immediately check to see if they are there.  The whole time in my head going “gee dummy, you KNOW you just dropped them in there, where the fuck they gonna go?” 

But compulsion is a main component in OCD, as we all know.

My biggest compulsion (I feel like i’m gonna get kicked out of the cool club right now, I swear to God)

I feel really embarrassed.  I cannot believe i’m gonna tell you, but I have to.  I feel ashamed of it and I shouldn’t.  This blog, and the people in it are all open and honest, and I know it hasn’t been easy for any of you.  You are all so brave, and now I’m gonna be brave too.

I smell my hands…..constantly.

There, I said it. *peeking through hands over eyes*

I’m still alive.  *huge breath out* 

I don’t know why I do it.  But I have done it forever. And, no matter how I try, I can’t stop.  My mom used to scream at me. “Quit sniffing your goddamn hands!  Go fucking wash them for christsakes!”  But it’s not because they smell bad, or good,  or like anything for that matter.  I just honestly cannot stop myself from doing it.  It got to where if my mom caught me doing it, she would hit me across my fingers with a ruler or worse, a belt.  She would make me put them out and she would smack them.  I was ashamed.  Something was wrong with me.  So I got real good at hiding it.  I’m still ashamed, and I still hide it.  I think some of my closest friends may have caught on, but they don’t say anything.  Bless their hearts.  It’s easy to mask.  Much easier than you might think.

I feel like going back and deleting everything I just wrote.  Like you are all gonna hate me now.  I guess that sounds crazy, but hey, that’s conditioning for ya.

My son does it.  That’s what even brought this post to life.  My son is a smeller.  Not just his hands though.  He smells his first bite of food, his clothes before he puts them on, and his shoes.  He’s always smelling his shoes.  I tell him that might not be the greatest, being he’s in sports and his shoes stink pretty fucking bad most of the time. 

When he first started, he was pretty little.  3 or 4 I think.  I remember seeing him and being just mortified.  “Oh God, he’s like me”  I thought.  “He’s gonna feel ashamed like I do.”  So, I asked him, once after I saw him do it.

“you got something on your hands? do you want to wash them?”

“no,” he said, ” I just like to see how they smell.”

“why?” I asked.

“don’t know, just do.” he replied. 

I’ve never said another word about it.  I worry that someone will tease him over it, but I think he’s gotten clever about it like I have. 

I’m not sure how I feel telling you this, but at least I have finally told someone.  And if you let me stay in the cool club, I’d certainly appreciate it.

It’s a family thang

My sister had OCD.
My mother has it.
My father has it.
I have even noticed it in my daughter, who at 8-years-old, shows signs of being obsessive compulsive. When I first noticed her doing certain rituals, I was a bit taken back because she was so incredibly young … I’m talking 3-4 years old. And it was constant. She didn’t turn it off nor change her little rituals. They were the same every single time; they still are and she’s about to turn nine.

I don’t encourage her to do these things but I also don’t make her stop. I feel that it’s a part of her, and as long as I see that it’s not damaging or harmful to her, then why make her quit doing it. She does these things because they make her feel calm, secure, safe. Why take that away from the child?

The main thing that I have noticed in her is that she’s a counter. She counts certain things throughout the day, such as her goodbye kiss before getting on the schoolbus. She must kiss me four times before the bus stops at our driveway. I don’t mind it. I’ll take her sugar anyday.

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

OCD, When it first cropped up.

I noticed the first signs of O.C.D. (for those of you who are not familiar with the term, it stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) cropping up after I had my first son (back in 1991). I started to compulsively wash my hands. I had seen a show on, yes, Oprah about O.C.D and I’ll never forget the moment it occurred to me as I stood hovering the sink washing my hands for the ump-teenth time that THIS WAS indeed becoming some type bizarre ritual for me. Shoot, my hands were starting to crack from being washed so often. I then, forbid myself to “over wash” my hands because I didn’t want to wind up on the Oprah Show as her next freakish guest.   I am grateful to that show because otherwise, I would never had known I was doing something out of the norm.

Then it took a turn for the worse, consuming my mind and making me miserable and anxious (especially at night making it difficult, if not impossible) to fall asleep. Here’s just one example. Let’s say the husband and I took our son on a hiking trip.  Oh, it was a beautiful sunny day.  Some areas were high, and we came upon several cliffs.  I had an eagle eye on my son, there was never danger involved.  However, that night as I lay in bed… my body was just starting to relax, my mind wandered, and BAM!  I would envision us at the top of this cliff and my son would toddle off the end, falling to his death!  My heart would freeze and I’d literally jump up from my rest!  WTH?  Just as I would lay there and reassure myself that my son was safely sleeping in his crib and all was ok, the next horrific scene would pop into my head and cause greater anxiety!

Then came the cleaning. It had to be done. And, not just a quick “once over”. No, I had to thoroughly clean every nook and cranny. This was quickly beginning to wear me out and make me feel rather incompetent. Because not only was I a new bride and mother with all that entailed, I began on a journey of something that could never be accomplished; pure perfection!  Cleaning had to be done my way or the highway! I even use to clean at my sisters house when I’d go over there for a visit (nearly every day). Even taking off her plastic shower curtain liner and putting it in her washing machine before scouring her bathroom.

It got to the point where she said one day, “You know, you don’t have to come over and clean, you could just come over and visit” and I was like, “Huh?” I wasn’t doing it for her (Silly Billy!). I was doing it for me. For my peace of mind! I guess in my mind, it was some fantasy, when I came to her house, it was a hot mess, but when I left it was gleaming! So, in my mind, it would stay that way? Hmph!

I couldn’t even leave my house before it was spotless. Even just to go to the grocery store because if I shopped and came home, and things were messy that might send me over the edge? Holy cow, was the world going to come to an end?

These days, my OCD has tamed down a lot. I take meds for depression and anxiety and it must helps with the anxiety ridden thoughts associated with OCD too. Now, I just catch myself doing these quirky little things that seem harmless; I really just try to keep them in check. I allow myself just a few. My husband doesn’t even know this but…

I’ve already told you about the nick in the elevator wall at work that I have to touch when the elevator begins to move, about the obsession I have with the cruise control button in my car, but I thought about one more that I have never told to a soul, until now.

Again, this is one that I do at work. When walking down the quiet halls in the wee hours of the night; when I pass this certain hall intersection, a type of alarm sounds – I keep walking, only, this time I walk a bit faster and try to get to the next hallway “intersection” without taking a breath because it would be bad luck…. OMG, I cannot believe I wrote this down. It’s so childish, it’s almost like while walking with my siblings or friends as a child someone would say, “Step on a crack you break your mama’s back!” — it’s exactly the same thing. Only, I’m not a kid, and I know I cannot have bad luck from taking a breath while this little alarm buzzes. I literally have to MOVE f-a-s-t before I take a breath and take a step over onto the next hallway for safe passage.

I’m a freak, don’t ‘cha just love it? What about you? What form is your OCD taking these days?