I Love A Clean House But I’m A Messy Hoarder

hoading1 300x225 I Love A Clean House But I’m A Messy HoarderTuesday, November 14, 2006

I was going to call this blog, “I’m a dirty bitch” but decided against it. I wasn’t overly enthused over the idea of comments being left confirming my dirty bitchness, so since I am nosey and it is relevant I decided to ask you,

How often do you clean/tidy your home?

I ask this because when I watch Wife Swap (yes I love ALL reality TV… wanna make something of it?) there is always the obsessive cleaner who is hovering, polishing, dusting, tidying, sweeping, mopping, every day! Every fukkin day for hours at a time, like her name is Superwoman. I don’t get how people have the time or energy to do this. I swear if I didn’t have friends (and shame) I would probably be living in a pit of chaos and squalor. As shameful as it is to admit this I generally do a tidy and clean up when people come round and rarely any time else. It is my sense of getting disgraced that gets the better of me. If I never had visitors I probably wouldn’t clean up half as much.

When people do come round I’ve normally spent a couple hours trying to clean and tidy and yet my skills aren’t good enough to make the place look immaculate. I’m one of those people that always says, “excuse the mess” whenever people come round, knowing full well that I have spent hours bussing a sweat. I say this so that people can think that the house is normally cleaner and tidier than it in fact ever is. The truth is even when I do get the place looking spotless (in my eyes) and everything is put away (as much as stuff can be put away when you are a hoarder like me) it’s like an out of body experience. Makes me wanna throw something to break up the emptiness. I’m out of my comfort zone without a little bit of mess.

At work my desk is a mess too. My boss always has something to say about it. I think it’s  somewhat rich considering that she can’t even see her desktop from beneath the rubble. This is the woman who has weeks of unread emails just piling up in her inbox because she is too disorganised to attempt even dealing with them. This is the woman who when I reported a colleague in the office saying that black men STINK said, “Soooooo, how does that affect you? What do you want me to do about it?” This is the woman who loses her keys on a weekly basis. Anyway I’ll stop there in listing her incompent ways because I’m sure you get the point. If you don’t… I’ma tell you now. It is my view that this woman needs to shut the fukk up about my desk being untidy and focus on herself. The way I see it is a little mess on my work desk shows that I’m actually doing something. Those people that have more or less empty desks don’t do shit but be neat. Sitting there looking smug and neat and doing jack shit.

I am also a hoarder. This is a contributing factor as to why my desk at work is so messy and why I find it hard to tidy up at home. I just can’t throw stuff away. Even when I find bus and train tickets from my travels I hold onto them. I did the same thing with theatre and cinema tickets, using them as some sort of diary of events, although I have got better about this in recent years. Up until a few years ago I still had both pairs of my 1994 Jodeci boots (front zip and side zip) I figured that since my shoe size was unlikely to change they may come back into fashion and I may be able to wear them again one day. When I realised that they would probably never make a comeback I kept them for sentimental reasons, and then later on justified their place in the closet by convincing myself that one day when I’m painting walls or decorating (I have never painted anything) I will need “scrap” shoes for the paint to drip on.

I blame it on my parents. They deny their part but when I look back it is painfully obvious why I am a messy hoarder.

Lets look at the facts:

My mother is an antiques dealer. Growing up, the house was always full of her junk. In time this spilt over to the garage. The garage soon kicked the car out leaving it homeless to a life on the streets, becoming occupied instead by my mother’s junk. Soon after this the junk took a greater position in the house leaving us without a sitting room at ALL (The junk was locked in.) Later on my mother decided that where we live didn’t have enough room, so we moved house. This was all in an effort too accommodate her hoarding addiction. She of course denies this and says that it is a business move and she needed the  space for that. Having known her my whole life I know better.

My father is almost as bad. In fact maybe he is worse because he always has something to say about someone being a hoarder, and how it is such a bad habit, knowing full well that he is that way too but just effective at hiding it. That is the fundamental difference between my mother and father. My father can organise his hoarding ways. When we moved house from the place that we always lived  and were organising stuff to pack and to throwaway why did I find hundreds (ok maybe like 50-70… but that is a lot anyway) of university prospectuses from 1979-1981? Now who the hell keeps shit like that for over 20 years? Now as bad as I am I’m not thaaaat bad. He also has this big box shaped and the size of a coffin (my brother and I actually called it “the coffin” growing up) that he would keep random junky things like crusty old combs that were beyond ever being used effectively in one’s hair and bus tickets from the 80′s (At least mine are from other countries).

So that is my background. I have been conditioned to be this way. It’s the only way I know

People that are anal about cleanliness get on my nerves. Hey check out Tamara! She is number one on my friends list. She is a clean freak. That is why when she called me on the weekend saying what she did I was shocked. She was basically expressing concern about a friend of hers whose house she is moving into. She was worried that they might not get along because HE was a clean freak! Can you imagine? All I could reply with was,

“I’m sure you’ll get on perfectly.”

However she seemed genuinely worried. She said that while she can be something of a clean freak this friend dries the dishes with a cloth straight after washing them and puts them straight in the cupboard. Now what kind of shit is that? What is the draining rack there for then? LOL I prefer to drip/air dry myself. She also said that while she could bear a plate in the sink for a couple of hours, he on the other hand would absolutely freak out. I don’t get that personally. Isn’t a sink for holding plates til you are ready to wash em? Or am I just a filthy scumbag? LMAO

This is completely off topic but a totally pressing issue right now.

I have an itchy tit.

Maybe something bit me.

The worst thing about this is that I have a padded bra on and the itch is about a centimetre or so below my nipple. Have you ever tried to itch your tit while wearing a padded bra? I tried to quickly make it like I was adjusting my top so that I could have a quick scratch but the bloody padding is too thick. I feel like a deviant because the only way to reach the breast is to slip my hand inside my bra, but then to get to the bottom of the breast will almost certainly free my titty from the constraints of the bra make me look as loony as “I breastfeed my husband” woman so I decide against that option. I then tried to make like I was picking up a pen from the floor in order to get the chance to slip my finger under the bra and itch but its not working out so well so now I got to sit with the itch till I can be bothered to take my ass to the toilet, meanwhile if I try to cop another scratch the receptionist will be looking at me like,

“Do you really love yourself thaaaaaaaat much, that you need to caress your titties in public?”

Oooooh the joys of the breast.

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