I hate to clean. I don't mean that in a namby-pamby kind of way. I mean I really hate to clean. I avoid it as much as possible which is why my apartment looks like a tornado tore through it. I've been thinking about why I have such an aversion to cleaning. I think it might have to do with the fact that my mother was a total perfectionist. No matter how I cleaned my room, or did the dishes, she always had a complaint about the way that I did it. Since I couldn't possibly please her highness, I just stopped trying.
My mother was the type of woman who would clean before the cleaning woman came over. When I asked her why, since we were paying to have someone clean our apartment, shouldn't that have been her job, my mother replied that she didn't want the cleaning woman to see the house a mess.
I know that there are people who get great psychological and spiritual satisfaction from cleaning. I don't know any of those people. They probably live in studio apartments also. I don't. I have 6 rooms to clean people. I know there are people who might be reading this, who live in New York, in tiny one bedrooms who can't believe I'm complaining about having 6 rooms.
I'm not complaining about having 6 rooms. I love having an actual dining room, as opposed to just having a dining table. I know how lucky I am to have hit the real estate jackpot in this city, but cleaning them is a bitch. The only good thing about cleaning my bathroom last night was the fact that I probably worked off that cupcake that I ate earlier in the evening.
I still have more cleaning to do. Yippee! I have bags and bags of magazines that have to be taped up and desposited on the sidewalk for the sanitation workers to remove. I also have records, yes, honest to god records that need to be gotten rid off, preferably in a way to make me some cash. I have vaccuuming to do, plus I need to buy a vaccuum so that I can vaccuum which necessitates a trip to Target to buy one. Not to mention washing my kitchen floor. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.
Watching Desperate Housewives last night and seeing Carlos tearing up the pre-nup, I thought to myself, if I had a pre-nup, the only thing I would ask for would be a cleaning lady. No alimony, no settlement, just pay for the maid or cleaning service for the rest of my life, thank you, and I'll be grateful.
Plus I need to find a new laundromat since my usual one was seized by the landlord for non-payment or something. Not that I do my own laundry. No siree, I pay someone for the privilege of washing my unmentionables. Not that I'm not capable of doing it myself. I used to have my own washing machine. But why should I have to spend all day in the laundromat, sorting through colors, getting the correct change when I can just pay someone. Really, it doesn't cost that much more than doing it myself. And they fold everything up so nice when they put it back in your laundry bag.
I haven't written much about GH on this blog, not just because I don't want to bore people with my ravings about how the soap has lost it's way, but because I have really nothing to say about the travesty this show has become.
Today the new Carly starts right in the middle of an intense storyline. Why the TPTB couldn't extend Tamara Braun's contract until she finished out this storyline I have no idea. To throw a new actress in the middle of a storyline as intense as finding out the child you thought was dead is alive is ridiculous. It would have been so easy for them to wait until they finished up this arc, and then sent Tamara Braun off with her two sons to her ex-husbands island or something to recover, and then brought on the recast.
But TPTB obviously don't care how jarring this will be to the fans, nor how awful not to let TB finish out this arc, where she has done such gut wrenching and powerful work. Thus cementing my opinion that Guza and Pratt are prize jerks.