"Ain't nobody dope as me I'm just so fresh and clean..."

My kind of girl

People who know me well know that I really like to clean. I don't even mind cleaning the bathroom. I love how the house smells (that combo of Lysol lemon-scented wipes, vanilla candles, and Pledge is just perfect) and how it feels to walk into a neat space and find everything right where it should be.

I was not always a neat girl. My parents would tell you that they had to yell and scream at me to get me to clean my bedroom, that there were piles of laundry everywhere and that all the missing mugs in the house could be found, still with a hot-chocolate residue on the bottom, on the top of my bookshelf. Somewhere around college this changed. I don't remember how or why. And we're not talking a gradual growth into a slightly neater person. I confess that I am a full-on neat freak. I was once Pigpen from Charlie Brown, and overnight I became Monica from Friends. This obsession takes several very specific forms, and since organizing things into categories is one of the best things ever, they are:

Food - I am irrationally terrified of old food, and completely intolerant of "food mess". A piece of fruit that has the smallest rotten spot makes me feel like we're about to have maggots in our house. Leftovers left too long make we want to not just throw them away, but destroy the container they've been in. I absolutely cannot stand having dirty dishes in the sink. And the salmonella phobia? Let's just say I wash my hands roughly 50 times when making chicken, and practically use a power washer on the kitchen when I'm done.

Other people's germs - When Jared and I got engaged and started receiving gifts, one of the first things we got was a great set of sheets from my brother (thank you, Jesse, for making a thread-count sheet snob for the rest of my life). Jared opened the package, took them out of the wrapping, and started to put them on the bed. The marriage was almost called off at that point.

"You have to wash those first," I told him.

"HA! Who washes sheets before using them?"

"EVERYBODY!!!"

Luckily they never actually touched the bed or I would have had to get a new mattress. The other people's germs fear is also the reason I don't eat nuts at a bar, why I hate sticking my fingers into the holes of bowling balls (to say nothing of the shoes), and why I've perfected my public bathroom routine so I never have to sit down or touch anything directly. The OPG phobia obviously reaches full-tilt when I travel, since everyone knows that airplanes are basically just flying ebola carriers. Needless to say, the post-travel routine includes scalding showers and lots of Purell (don't you just love Purell?).

Clutter and Disorganization - I hate when things are out of place or crooked. Unopened mail on the counter, cookbooks on the bookshelf instead of the cookbook shelf, a DVD with it's spine facing in instead of out? All of this will get me off the couch to fix it. I could be in the middle of an engrossing book, a scintillating debate, even a new episode of Glee, but I can't take my eyes off the mess. This has become increasingly challenging as we live in a teeny apartment and my husband has a lot of triathlon gear. We've managed compromise by assigning certain areas to certain things. So while some people might think it's crazy to have 5 bike wheels leaning against the wall and 3 helmets hanging on it, it's OK with me as long as it's the correct wall.

The can't-win battle is, of course, the dog hair. For my last birthday, my mother-in-law bought me the special Bissell pet-hair vacuum. No, this wasn't a passive-aggressive hint on her part, it's what I actually wanted. George sheds more than any dog I have ever met. He sneezes and pieces of his fluff literally go flying off of him. With daily Swiffering and weekly vacuuming I can just barely keep up with it. But skip a day and it looks like we exploded a bunny rabbit in the house.

Many people might consider all of this work to keep things neat (and the resulting hysteria when the bookshelves get too dusty) "crazy". Many people are right. It is crazy, but I've decided I don't want to do anything about it. Thanks to all the kind roommates who helped me clean up immediately after parties when we were still tipsy and in high heels, the understanding husband who cleans up the little pool that forms under the dishrack for me every day, and an ever-expanding number of cleaning products available (Aisle 5 at Target = Nirvana), I am 100% committed to maintaining this lifestyle forever. Or at least until I have a baby who throws his toys around everywhere and spits up on my furniture (they learn how to clean around 6 months old, right?).