You Live, You Learn

I'm sure you've had words of wisdom imparted to you by your elders, yes?

Did you heed those words of wisdom?

If you are anything like me, you did not.

And then those words eventually came back to bite you because, damn it, those wise elders were right.

If there is any wisdom I can impart to the youth of America (because yes, I am so damn old and wise) it is listen to your parents/teachers/mentors/elders - they know of what they speak.

It's funny, actually, because now I call my dad begging for advice.

"Come on, Dad, tell me what to do."

"What do you think you should do?"

Seriously, when I was sixteen he was chomping at the bit to order me around. It would appear that now that I am an adult I have passed the point of imparted wisdom.

Here are some of the life lessons I have learned - the hard way:

1. Never ever, under any circumstances, live with friends.

2. Never ever, under any circumstances, borrow money from or lend money to friends.

3. Don't live in Buffalo, NY. It sucks.

4. Don't attempt to get a lawyer or a doctor to love you. They love themselves far too much to let anyone else in.

5. Don't attempt to get anyone to love you until you love you. You have to be your biggest fan, and your own best friend.

6. Broken hearts do heal. They leave scars that can sometimes twinge at the oddest and most unexpected moments, but they do heal.

7. There is never a good reason to wear spandex.

And the lesson I learned today, and one that has been a long time coming. . .

Never ever, under any circumstances, should you work for friends, or have have friends work for you. It may even be advisable not to become friends with any of your co-workers.

It is all very messy.

You think you can draw the lines - the lines between personal and professional. And maybe you can draw them, but then you have a hard time staying in between them. And the next thing you know you are stuck working way after hours, doing things you would never do for any other co-worker or employer, cursing your friend to hell and back, and cursing yourself for being so damn nice. (And we all know I'm not all that nice to begin with.)

So. . .

You live. You learn. You move on. You try not to make the same mistakes twice.

Or at least not three times in the same year.

Secret Slob

So here's the thing - I'm a bit of a neat freak. I get it from my mother.

I can remember waking up to the sound of the vacuum on Saturday mornings, the coffee table being dusted with my blanket, and putting a half-empty glass down, walking away, and coming back to no glass because it had already been washed, dried and put away.

My mother was serious about her cleanliness. Dust was the enemy, to be annihilated at any cost. Clutter was sacrilege. Beds were to be made every morning, drawers neat, closets organized. Everything had its place.

I inherited most of this.

I say most because I like things to be clean. I have glass-topped tables that I Windex every day. There is never a dirty dish to be found in my kitchen. I am borderline obsessive about the carpet - it's been steam cleaned twice in the 18 months that we've lived here. Tim gets the look of a guilty 4 year old if he spills something on the carpet, and the cats have been trained to yak on the tile. Towels and clothes on the bathroom or bedroom floors? No sirree. Open shower curtain? You might as well stab me in the eye with a fork. Tim's most used phrase is "Baby, where did you put my..." because while everything has its place, I often change my mind about what that place should be.

Here's where the most comes in:

I don't make my bed every day. It's an argument from childhood that I still see the merit in as an adult: Why bother, when I am just going to get back in it in a few hours? I do make the bed occasionally - every Saturday when I change the sheets, and whenever we have company so the bedroom looks presentable.

My drawers? Closets? Kitchen cabinets? Beneath bathroom sinks? Under the bed?

Pig sty's, each and every one.

If I can get rid of a mess by pushing it under the bed, shoving it in a drawer, or hiding it in a cabinet, by gum that's what I'm doing.

So, I am outwardly neat.

Or a secret slob, whichever definition tickles your fancy.

Here's the problem.

Mom - outwardly and inwardly neat mom - is going to be here tomorrow.

Now, my mother has seen my apartment, as well as several other apartments I have lived in. She has even gone so far as to be impressed with my cleanliness.

BUT - Mom has never been in any of my apartments unsupervised, because my parents have never stayed with me before. In the past, they have stayed in a hotel. (To make a long story short, before Tim and I got married we were living in sin. My parents are Catholic. If they slept in my apartment they would be condemning themselves to hell by association. Or something like that.)

I fear that my secret slovenliness is about to be discovered.

Why?

I figure I came by the nosy know-it-all-ness genetically.

P.S. I dedicate the blog post to my Aunt Sharon, who all but demanded that I post something before 11PM tonight. I had planned to write about how I think I am allergic to mushrooms (it's fun being a vegetarian) but this seemed more appropriate, since my parents are sleeping in her house tonight. I love you, Aunt Sharon! Thanks for being 1 of at least (and probably only) 4 people who read my blog every day - you keep me writing.