I am the cleanest person you will ever meet.  I don’t mean my physical being.  I can go days without washing my hair, but all hell will break loose if I catch someone not taking their shoes off before entering the house AFTER TROMPING THROUGH THE SNOW… Ok, and maybe after just stepping foot outside, but that’s not the point.  And I’m not just one of those surface cleaners.  Those people don’t know jack shit about cleaning.  I am a deep, will use a Q-tip if I have to, kind of a cleaner.  I’m the real deal.

I’m not totally positive where I get this.  Maybe it’s a combination of an obsessive compulsive disorder (No, I have not been diagnosed) and the trauma of a very messy childhood home.  My parents were not tidy people.  My mom is now, but back in the day she sucked at keeping the house in order.  And since I was kind of the “mom” of the house (that’s an entirely different blog… perhaps several), I was always the one doing the cleaning.  There may have been a time or two when I screamed at the top of my lungs for my younger brother and sister to, “CLEAN UP YOUR HUT IN THE LIVING ROOM.  I JUST FINISHED CLEANING!”

It might sound strange but if my house isn’t clean, I can’t really concentrate on anything else.  My home is very important to me.  I spend a lot of time there, so it’s important that it not feel like a total shit hole.  So, I clean a lot.  (Do I sound like I’m justifying?) And sometimes Rob will say something like, “Do you think maybe you have a problem?”  That’s his nice way of asking why I’m completely anal retentive about the state of our home and if he should commit me.  But is it standing in the way of me living a full life?  Not really.  Does it make me want to swear like a sailor and start saying things under my breath like, “I’m the only one that cleans up around here” when I find an ass load of crumbs on the counter?  Absolutely.  As of today, I’m alright with my neat freak ways though.  And until someone wants to hire me a maid (and it better be one that cleans as well as me!), I will continue on my quest to being a God.

I am still having a hard time comprehending what I’m about to tell you… My dad is getting married!  Ok, you might be like, “yeah, so, what’s the big deal?”  The big deal?  The big deal is that 1) I never thought my dad would get married again, because you have to first have a divorce from you first marriage (yeah, my parents haven’t been “together” for like two decades but they just barely got an official divorce) and 2) He just met this woman like 10 minutes ago.  Ok, they actually met like a few months ago, but holy shit!  There is, apparently, no time to waste.  And I knew it was coming, but I thought I might have more than like, I don’t know, 8 days notice.  Yep, 8 days folks.  The best part is that I didn’t find out with a phone call from my dad or anything like that.  No, no, no.  I found out on my soon-to-be stepmom’s facebook page!  I logged on the other morning and there was the post, “Well, it’s finally here.  I’m getting married on May 25th.”  There are two things that are funny about this post.  The obvious, that this was what announced the wedding.  And second, the use of the word finally.  Finally?  You like just learned my dad’s middle name.

Honestly, it might sound like I’m not happy about this soon to be union.  The truth is that I am very happy for them both.  I don’t want my dad to be alone and from the hour that I’ve spent with her, she seems very nice.  I am bummed that I won’t be able to see the actual marriage take place (damn temples), but at least I’ll be able to take part in a reception at the lovely Edgemont Second Ward House (wink wink).