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.

Call Me Count Chocula

I LOVE to count.

I count stairs, steps I take, cars, just about anything I can count.

It started when I was very young.  I used to count cars on long trips.  Then it was red cars, then blue cars, then white cars, so on and so forth. 

I remember being in church and counting hats. Then blue hats, then black hats, you get the idea.

It’s so bad, that when there is a funeral procession I have to look away and count to 10 before I look back so my car count won’t be correct. (it’s bad luck to count cars in a funeral procession in case you didn’t know.)

I always figured I was normal.  Of course, I realize i’m far from normal.  What is “normal” anyway?  Is there such a thing?  Normal is boring.  I’m far from boring!  I like the sound of that better.

The greatest thing about wordpress is that it counts your words for you.  Thank God cuz I don’t have time to count them all right now. 

174

Vacuum woes

I try to vacuum my house every day, so I was quite heartbroken when my vacuum decided to crap out on me. It was a very reliable vacuum, too. I’ve had it almost 7 years and it’s never given me an ounce of trouble. But gradually, it just started going downhill, not wanting to suck and clean properlly. I was not going to have that, either!

So it farted out, which meant I had a decision to make since buying a new vacuum is not really in my budget .. electricity for the month or a new vacuum. Which one – which one. It was an incredibly hard decision to make, but in the end, I made the ultimate decision of getting a vacuum. I just gotta figure out how I’m going to make use of it in the dark *sigh*

Online banking

A few years ago, my bank account was totally wiped out. I don’t know who did it. I don’t know why. All I know is that I went to the ATM one morning, and I was 500 bones in the red. The bastid had taken all of my money, plus some. I don’t have much to begin with, so when someone stole my money, I was completely heartbroken. I was devistated. I was angry. I was scared.

After many phone calls, trips to my local bank, and waiting patiently for two weeks, my money was back in my account. I was relieved, somewhat.

That was a few years ago. To this day, I still check my online banking at least ten times a day. TEN times. A day. Sometimes more, if it’s been stressful. I have to check it. I have to make sure that nobody is trying to take my money. I have to make sure that if something changes, I know then and there what it is, why it changed, and how much money is left. I never want to be in the situation I was in ever again.

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

I need a life

Actual conversation with my mother today.

Mom: So what kind of fun and excitement did you get into last night? [Saturday night]

Me: Oh, not much. I cleaned and polished my washer and dryer.

Mom: Really.

Me: Yup. And the facing of the dishwasher.

Mom: Oooh, exciting.

Me: Yup. I know it. I’m gangsta to the core.

Mom: You need a life.

Me: *Makes a face behind her back*

She, BTW, went on a date and spent four and a half hours at the Burger King, sipping sodas. And I’m the one that needs a life.

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

Computer whizzzz

My computer. It is mine. The husband and child might use it occasionally, but it is mine. And I keep it the way I want it to be kept. I organize it the way I want it to be. I purge what I want gone. I keep what I want to keep. The files are kept cleaned out, defragggged, organized just right, and anything I see that doesn’t belong gets tossed out. On a regular basis.

I don’t keep emails in the inboxes. They don’t belong there. If they’re keepers, they’ll get filed along with the others. Or they’re just deleted.

Pictures and music files are not to be kept on the computer – They take up space. That’s what they make flash drives for. I don’t want the memory used up on my computer.

Even the desktop is organized and clean of clutter. I have six icons on the desktop. No more, no less. Only six because those are used the most often, their homes are on the desktop.

Noone is allowed to change anything on my computer. Not the colors, not the font size, not the volume, nothing. I don’t even want the monitor moved. It is mine. It’s how I want it to be. It shall stay that way.

Got it? Good. Carry on.

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

Erks me long time

Cupboards and drawers must always stay closed. I don’t want to see them open even a fraction of an inch. I don’t want them ajar . at . all.

And I don’t want to see anything poking out of them. No clothes, no towels, nothing. I like them clean looking so that means that whatever is in the cupboards and/or drawers, must be completely inside. No poking out. Ever.

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

Cleanliness rocks my socks

 

I don’t trust any kind of cleaner that I can’t smell. Take the new Clorox Anywhere spray cleaner mumbojumbo. It’s like water. Water. It has no smell. No color. It’s like spraying water everywhere, and cleaning it off. How do you know for sure that it’s actually clean if you can’t smell the cleanliness?

I like the smell of cleaners. Wood polish, yes please! Windex, over here! Bleach, hells yes. Give me some bleach, and I’m a happy camper. I mop with bleach water. Always. Twice a week. No fail.

A few weeks ago, the daughter came home from being away at her dad’s for a week, and I had just finished mopping the kitchen and bathrooms.

Her: *sniffs around* What’s that smell, Ma?

Me: I just mopped.

Her: Yeah, but what’s the smell? *sniffs more*

Me: It’s bleach.

Her: *big sniffff* Mmm, Mama, it smells soooo goood!

Me: Yes, that’s called cleanliness.

Her: My dad’s house doesn’t smell like cleanliness.

Me: *my heart bursted wide open, smiling from within* No, huh?

Her: No, that’s why I like living here.

Me: Good answer.

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

A little down time

Okay, so I threw my back out the other day causing me to be bed-ridden most of the weekend *ughhh!* which in turn made my house completely and totally unruly. It was a mess, noone picked up after themselves. The dishes were piling up. There were empty glasses in the living room. Dirty clothes were spewed everywhere. The dog was starving and becoming quickly dehydrated. I was not happy.

But then . . then, the husband decided he wanted “to help”. He did laundry. He cleaned the kitchen. He attempted to fold my towels. And he rearranged the bathroom towels. And he put dishes up where they don’t belong. And he folded my towels! And he swept the kitchen floor the wrong way. And he didn’t pick up the poop off the floor. And he folded the towels! And he left wet laundry in the washer. And he gave the dog too much water *yes, he can have TOO much* And and .. and he folded my towels!!!

I understand he was trying to help, but he wasn’t helping. Once I’m up and running again *which I’m hoping is tomorrow!!* I’ll have to redo everything. Until then I’ll just wince and cringe at everything he touches.

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

Nail fetish

I’m a nailbiter. I have done this disgusting habit for as long as I can remember. Heck far, I probably even came out of the womb with fingers in my mouth, trying to chew off nails with my soft gums.

It’s a nervous habit I have. It’s something I do when I’m bored. It’s a time passer for when I’m driving or riding in a car. It’s something I do when I’m waiting, even though I try to be patient, those nails always find their way into my mouth. It’s gross, I know it’s gross and completely unlady-like to chew on fingernails. I know this, I have been made aware of this all throughout my 28 years. I know already!

But, alas, I don’t chew my toenails, as I do know some that do. Oh nooo, my toenails are something completely different. The nails on me toes are always perfect.

Buffed and sanded, moisturized and gleaming. They’re rounded and shaped, oiled and painted. They’re top-coated and beautiful in a deep shade of red. Always. ALWAYS.

Even in the winter time when absolutely noone sees my footsies, my toes are always pretty. And they stay pretty. I make sure of that as I give myself a weekly pedicure. If the paint chips or smudges just a little smidge, just a fraction of a tadbit, I have to do it over again – All the nails. I have to make them perfect, even if noone sees them. I know that there’s a mistake and I just won’t have it. My fingernails may look like shit, but my toes? My toes are perfection.

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