Divorce, Popsicle Wrappers, and "Why is it Always My Fault???"

Boyfriend went grocery shopping this week and bought me a copy of the magazine Real Simple. I don’t read Real Simple religiously, it’s no Metal Floss or US Weekly people, but I enjoy reading it at LSU Friend’s house or every now and then shelling out the 4 dollars for it. I like that it is large, has a lot of pictures, and because it’s not made from that shinny, glossy paper, it is easy to fold it over and crease the binding so it stays open on your lap. Sometimes they have parenting tips which I don’t enjoy, because of my lack (thank God) of off-spring, also if I have to read one more Midwestern housewife write in that “The Notebook changed my life because…” I might die a little on the inside. All in all, I would say it’s a solid B on my Magazine Ranking Scale.

The article that really jumped out at me was “Ten Ways To Make Your Marriage Divorce Proof”. Now I’m not married, but divorce scares the crap out of me, intrigued I read further…

1. Realize that if you can both agree on what constitutes a clean room, you can agree on anything.

FUCK!!!! My marriage is doomed before it has even begun.

Boyfriend and I have technically lived together for just over a year. Before that I lived in a 400 square foot efficiency. He practically lived with me for a year and a half and really did move all his things in when his lease was up and we were waiting to move into a larger place together. Before that, when we first started dating, I pretty much lived with him in his small efficiency. The point I’m trying to make is this, if we could live together in 400 square feet (without walls!!!) we can live together anywhere. Right?

Right?

Everybody that I know, knows I’m not the most clean person that ever walked the earth. Even I wouldn’t call myself a clean person, but I am defiantly not a dirty person. I think I used to be a dirty person. Growing up as a dirty person I would leave glasses in my room until they grew five layers of mold, I wouldn’t clean my bathroom tub until it looked like Schroder from Charlie Brown lived under the showerhead, and I’m pretty sure when I was moving out of my first apartment freshmen year of college there were five or six empty to half full beer cans under my bed.

I am 100% better at not being dirty. However I would classify myself as a messy person. Now being messy has nothing to do with being dirty. A messy person can make a mess and then clean it up with the proper wipes, brooms, and chemicals. I believe I am messy because I can’t spend 10 minutes sitting on the couch without making a mess. Seriously, I don’t know how it happens. I sit down to watch House reruns and an hour later… Poof! The living room looks like I haven’t cleaned in a month. I’ll stand up and somehow there are Popsicle wrappers everywhere, a ring of water on the table, four unfolded blankets, the futon cover is all messed and scrunched up, five magazines are laying about, and there is a pile of crumbs on the floor. I have no idea how all of this happened. No idea. Do I remember going to the fridge for Popsicles? No. Was I really cold and needed four different blankets and throws? No. And where did these F-ing crumbs come from??? I mean, come on, I only ate popsicles!!! And don’t get me started when boyfriend and I are both home on a Sunday. Multiply the previous mess by 5 hours, add some Scrabble tiles, breakfast taco bags, cereal bowls, and papers where Boyfriend has written down our dream travel arrangements and that’s just our living room.

Now I understand that living with someone is all about compromises. I could fill a whole blog with old roommate stories about missing spoons and takeout containers that were put on my bed, but compromises are so much more important when the person you live with is also the person you are going to spend the rest of your life with. Take old roomie, Davis Girl. I love Davis Girl. Not a lot of people are classifies by me as totally, awesome, and Bad Ass. She is. We lived together for 3 years. Thank God we both moved out into our own places when we did or we probably wouldn’t be friends today. I take that back. I would still think she is totally, awesome, and a Bad Ass (although a little neurotic and anal). She would HATE ME!!! Her dirt phobia and anal-ness greatly outweighed my slightly annoyed “you’re not my mom” attitude. What I’m trying to say is, anytime we got into a small minor argument and we started screaming at each other I knew I would survive because one day we would no longer be living together and I would not have to listen to her bitch about prewashing the dishes and lecture about how her dad made her clean everything in her house even the baseboards.

I can no longer dream like this. I love Boyfriend and I know that Boyfriend loves me, but when it comes to cleaning we (to say it nicely) get on each other’s nerves. Really, we annoy the shit out of one another. And there is no dreaming of the day when he moves out, because as much as I sometimes want to kick him when he brings up my cleaning my car, I don’t want him to move out. This is it. We’re in it for the long run.

I come from a family where Saturday afternoons or Sunday mornings was made for cleaning. Cleaning our rooms, taking the crap that piles up on the stairs to our rooms, dusting and vacuuming, yard work… it was a part of our schedule. It was structure. Boyfriend came from a family with a “do it quick and fast everyday” and you won’t have to spend three hours on it later. Our family’s cleaning philosophies don’t exactly mesh well.

Me: (sitting on futon, eating popsicle, and watching family guy) I love you…

Boyfriend: (smoke coming out of ears, evil frown on face) Look at all of these shoes!!! Why do people ever have more than one pair of shoes??? Look at all these DVDs not in their cases!!! Can you not feel the sticky floors??? AHHH!!!!!

Me: Those are quite a few pairs of shoes. I think we own more than one pair because I can’t wear flip flops to work and in the winter my toes would get cold. Yes those are a number of DVDs not in their cases, but don’t worry, we are going to bed soon and one of those Arrested Development DVDs will go into the computer to watch. So there is one taken care of. Oh, and I didn’t want to wash the floor in case you wanted to play another game of Beer Pong tonight. (Yes we play Beer Pong on our vintage hardwood floors. Sorry Mom.)

Boyfriend: Well I just don’t understand why we (read you) can’t pick up after yourself more often.

Me: Why is it always my fault??? You’re the one with three pairs of flip flops by the door. And it wasn’t me watching Strange Brew and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Oh, and you left little hairs on the bathroom sink after you shaved last week that are still there!!!

Boyfriend: I didn’t say it was just you.

Me: You said “Well I just don’t understand why YOU can’t pick up after yourself more often”!!!

Boyfriend: I said “we”!!!

Me: You said, “you”!!!

Boyfriend: No I didn’t!!!

Me: Besides I’m planning on cleaning this Friday because I’m getting off work early.

Boyfriend: But that’s 3 days away!!!

Me: But I’ll knock it all out and then we won’t have to clean for like… forever…

Boyfriend: I’ll clean my hairs in the sink if you wipe the floors and it will be done in 5 minutes…

Me: Fine…
(Five minutes later…)

Boyfriend: Don’t you feel better.

Me: (sulking) Yes…

Boyfriend: You know this means my family’s cleaning style is superior, right.

Me: FU.

Boyfriend: I love you…


This happens about once a month.