April 7, 2006

on my inner monica...

Much to my dismay (and moreso my better half), I have come to the conclusion recently that there is a side to me that hasn't manifested itself until this point in my life.

I am Monica Gellar.

I would never have considered myself a neat-freak or a maniac when it comes to organization or cleanliness or what shade of green is the only acceptable shade of green for the towels in our bathroom. Yet, all of a sudden, after the wedding and I moved in to the apartment, I have these out of body moments where I'm watching myself throw a fit because there is a fleck of food left on the dish that my husband washed. I want to throw myself to the ground and yell, "WHY, GOD, WHY? WHY MUST I CARE?" I try not to, I really do. And yet...I care. It's odd. My older sister was always the uber organized, must-vacuum-her-room-every-week, drawers neatly organized, even-the-bulletin-board-isn't-cluttered one of us. Me? Well, I wasn't MESSY messy, but I will admit to paying my younger sister $1 to get myself out of vacuuming my room. Ah, yes, those were the days. So, to make a long story short, I would have never guessed that I'd be this crazy.

To be honest, when I come home from work and there are papers scattered on every shelf, table and ledge, the dishes are all over the counter, and clothes strewn throughout the rooms (courtesy of the love of my life), I actually can feel myself tense up. I get angry and start running around, huffing and puffing, cleaning until everything looks the way I want. I know it drives my husband crazy. Especially when he's gone and helped me out with something, and I go and re-do it, so it looks "right".

I have no soul.

It's a mystery to me, what I've become. Maybe it's just different now that it's a place of our own. Maybe I am just accustomed to the way things were growing up, when my mom would clean the house every day, and would never go to bed with dirty dishes on the counter. Of course, here I am, and things are just different. I have to pay $1 each time I want to run a load of wash (and I have to run back and forth to the laundry room to do so), I have to handwash every dish and glass (do you have any conception of how many dishes that two people produce?), and I have a linoleum floor in the kitched that looks dirty no matter how many hours I spend scrubbing it. Mom makes it look easy.

So. I'm working on it. Hopefully the husband won't choke me with the vacuum cord in the process. I'm so lucky that he has the patience of a saint.

Oh, and another apartment tid-bit:

You know it's going to be a good evening when you're heading home and reach the block where you live and there are absolutely no. Parking. Spots. Anywhere. Well, within 5-minute walking distance, that is. It's kind of a problem. And I'm not a girl with a mouth like a trucker, but oh, does the profanity find a way of making it's appearance when I'm driving around for a full 15 minutes and am not able to find anything remotely close to our apartment. (I'm sorry, Jesus.) I'm just hoping that tomorrow morning I'll make it to my car without being murdered in the process. Note to self: buy some mace. Yeah. Fun times. I try to make my husband grasp the severity of the situation when I leave for work and he's sleeping, and I haven't had the luxury of snagging the garage for the night.

"I love you! Have a good day baby! I'm just on my way out! Keep your phone on! I'll call you if I get molested out there on my walk to the car or attacked my some wild dingo!"

(Not that there are dingos anywhere in Orange County, at least that I know of.) In any case, I don't think he gets it.

1 comment :

  1. For the love of everything holy...Fight against the Monica Gellar Syndrome (MGS)! My husband has it, I think...he likes everything done the way his mom did it, and has grown accustomed to...

    MGS can ruin marraiges...this is not to be confused with MGD, Miller time can often infuse marraiges with fun!


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