Here, There.

Currently taking Netflix Instant recommendations…GO!

I cannot tell you how many times

hejjmobejjmo:

I fall in love with a band and find out they played a show in Portland LAST WEEKEND

Yep.

Back in October I decided to move into the top floor of this apartment building for the view.

Who can I hold responsible for not reminding me that heat rises?

Growing up I used to think my mother was a little crazy…OK a lot crazy. She was persistent about us cleaning our rooms, dusting, vacuuming, no dishes in the sink. I would wake up on Saturday mornings to the sound of her rearranging furniture. Not just moving a chair here or there, but I would find her (my mother with the bad back) carrying the Grandfather clock from one corner of the living room to another.

I guess I was a typical kid. I hated this. I didn’t really see the sense in it. What does it matter if my bed is made? Who gives shit where the sofa is placed, or if company saw a little bit of dust on the side table? You worked all day, can’t those dishes sit in the sink until tomorrow?

I reached a turning point in college when I lived with the dirtiest kid. To clarify: This is when I began to understand the distinction between dirty and messy. Anyway. This is when my mother’s neuroses started to bloom within me. I would curse the kid out for not drying off IN the shower. “I HATE WHEN MY SOCKS GET WET!” I would shout. He is probably the sweatiest person I’ve ever met. After a run he would hang his shirt on the radiator to dry. (barf). Dishes would sit in a bin he filled with soapy water for more than a week.

Not only did I shock myself with how much like my mother I had become, but I got beyond the point of fighting it. I would throw a bath towel on the floor before Dirty Roommate showered, I put a drying rack in our common area, I washed his dishes twice a week, I vacuumed, dusted and scrubbed without saying a word.

I went from believing my mother was actually raised by Mr. Clean to realizing everyone else around me was a deranged, disgusting, filthy slob. 

Now that I’m currently cleaning my apartment from the ceilings down, and I can’t pee because I just mopped the bathroom floor (and like I said, I hate to get my socks wet), I’m coming to the realization that my particular cleaning habits which I’ve adopted from my mother are, in fact, crazy.

Dear Mom-

Happy early Mother’s Day. You’ve made me a nut-job and I love you for that.

xo,

M