house duty hell

Let's get real here people, I'm probably the last person who should own a house because I have zero patience.

I have zero patience when my heat stops working. I want to be able to call maintenance to come and fix it and go about my day. I have zero patience for annoying bill companies either. When I lived in an apartment, I didn't have to deal with the Cleveland Water department. If you live in Cleveland have to deal with this company, I'm sure you can empathize and if you've been fighting with them for a solid year now, you probably understand my point even more.

Plus, there's gardening, roofs that cost as much as three trips to Mexico and other items that seem to break at the most inopportune times.

Last week, the BF and I got into it about housework.
"Allison, I think it's pretty clear which one of us does more work around the house."
"Ohhhhhh really, BF. Because you've cleaned the bathroom how many times in the last year?"
"When have you ever mopped?"
"I don't even know where you hide the mop!"

(Yes, he hides the mop. How the hell am I supposed to find the mop when he puts it in a closet I didn't even know we had?)

Happy homeowning I tell you!

this still doesn't mean I'm going to clean

Long view on the oldest Oreck known to man. Notice the yellow note



Upclose to make sure you can read it.


Just for that, the vacuum might go missing.

there is ONE place

The BF likes to me make fun of me for many things. He likes to pick of my individual talents and quirks. (Yes, I consider twirling my hair with both hands and not tying it into a knot a talent. Who wouldn't?)

He thinks I say any word with an "A" funny. Like saaaaalad. As if I draw out the 'a' sound in an annoying accent. (I assure you - it doesn't sound like that.)

He thinks I'm a bull in china shop. Maybe I'll slightly agree with him on this. Even when I'm trying to be quiet and courteous, I find a way to knock everything over in my medicine cabinet early in the morning, so it comes tumbling out onto the tile floor. This may or may not have included a brand new bottle of perfume that shattered all over my floor. (Still pissed about that mishap.)

He's says I'm messy. In my defense, I'm not all the time. The bedroom has a tendency to be engulfed with clothing, undergarments and shoes because let's face it - a girl needs her options. Am I wrong?

But there's one place I'm not messy or unorganized. Never. And that place would my car. Go figure I know. There's nothing worse than driving in a messy car. My car is so clean. I think people are surprised to see my desk covered in papers and then my ever-so organized car. There are no clothes, receipts, pieces of paper or a random flip flop to be found.

Not a thing.

You won't even find empty coffee cups in my car. But you will find two pairs of sunglasses and a lipgloss.

Nothing else.

Oooo and an umbrella.

So maybe my office looks like a tornado hit my desk and occassionally my closet explodes onto the carpet three times a week, but if you want to go for a ride, you will be riding in a clean car and singing along to Lady Gaga.

Yep, singing is mandatory.

Clean it like Beckham

I have issues with being a hard core cleaner. Or, at least up to my BF's expectations of what he considers clean with OCD issue. Well, apparently Posh doesn't clean like I don't either. (I eat though.)

Maybe if the BF was David Beckham, I'd close cabinets too. Check out this post from I'm Not Obsessed.

Cinderella has left the building.

Since I've said time and time again that the B.F. is the cleaning nazi, I'm surprised he didn't tell me that last week was National Cleaning Week. I would expect him to inform me of something like that. He'd like to point out something like that to me in hopes of sparking a need to clean.

It still doesn't. Nope. Not even a little. Thank god for separate bathrooms. I don't think we'd have lasted this long. Now that's something serious that has the potential to break up a couple -- sharing a bathroom.

Freedom for three days

Since Tuesday A.M., I have had our whole 1,000 sq. foot domain to myself. Just me! Can you believe it? The B.F. is traveling for work, and I'm destroying our apartment one day at a time with my shoes, clothes and empty drinking glasses. I put a dish in the sink and don't wash it. I kick my shoes off when I walk in, drop my coat where I please and leave both TVs on if I want to. And you know what? I love it.

However, my rampage will need to be cut short because Mr. Clean is returning tonight.

Role Reversal Part 2

Apparently, I'm not the only girl who appreciates her B.F. for helping around with household chores.

From Today:

I had a party not too long ago where a funny thing happened. One of the guests — a 30-something, single straight guy — came out to the kitchen and volunteered to do my dishes. “That way you won’t be stuck with a huge mess after everyone leaves,” he said, filling the sink with hot, soapy water.
As he started scrubbing wine glasses, I glanced over at my guests. Every woman in the room was staring at him with what can only be described as pure, unadulterated lust.
Behold the appeal of the dishy man.

Click here to read the rest of the article.

Role reversal

Since the B.F. and I have been living together for a little over six months now, we've indirectly taken on roles within the apartment. I'm a much better chef than he is. And, quite frankly, he's a much better at cleaning than I am. It's not that I can't clean, it's just that I can't clean up to his standards, which might even put Martha Stewart to shame.

So when we decide to go grocery shopping and then I cook, he normally cleans up after the mess I make. I make quite the mess when I'm cooking. I'm pretty much a bull in a china shop. I get everything out as I need it or it all at once. I'm sifting through cabinets and drawers looking for the right cooking utensil. But, something always develops from my madness that's pretty damn tasty. Needless to say, he sometimes has a big mess to clean up. Like I said, because I don't clean up to his standards, the only thing I'm allowed to touch are the pans -- I'm allowed to dry them.

Then last night he cooked and cleaned, and I offered to clean up because that's what I should do, right? Wrong!

B.F. -- Allison get away from the sink. You don't know what you are doing
Me -- You cooked, so I'll clean up the taco mess.
B.F.-- No, you won't, you don't even clean up the stove after you cook on it.

Here's my stove cleaning isssue. If I'm boiling water for some frozen vegetables or pasta, do I really need to intricately clean every nook of the stove? I don't think so. Well in mop boy's world, I really really need to. Although, in the grand scheme of things, I really shouldn't be complaining too much. I mean, I have a B.F. who likes to clean. In fact, he may just love it. He even mops.

In the cleaning wars, he wins. Hands down.