Straight up crazy with a side of turkey bacon

Something strange has evolved within me over the last three years or so. I have developed a nice big case of The CRAZY. I'm almost embarrassed to admit these shortcomings in the event that someone should read my blog and discontinue friendship with said crazy.

I began to turn into a hot mess when I moved in with FI [then BF - we've been kickin' it in sin for a while now]. He demanded that I stop throwing every piece of clothing I own on the floor each morning before I go to work. Unreasonable bastard! [seriously my room in college - you couldn't see the floor and my cat acted as though she was in the BK Playland. My mom would seriously come over and clean it. I was 22!]

In a valiant attempt to be a compliant wify [those who know me know this is total bullshit] when we moved in together, I wanted to keep the new place immaculate - no clutter, no messes, clean - everything. I enjoy calling it OCD, but apparently using this term is discriminatory, a clinomorphism if you will, and leads to societal misconceptions of serious medical conditions. Whatever - normal people are screwed up too. It started small, furniture must all be at an angle, pillows arranged neatly on the couch, make-up off the counter in a drawer. It has escalated since we bought our house. I want that damn thing clean and clear and when its not - I'm CRAZY! I throw out everything and anything that looks [to me] like junk [whether its mine or not].

I throw away stuff in the fridge after a few days because I imagine an ill-smell and need to eliminate it. In my world "sell by date" means if that date falls in the current week throw it the hell out! In fact, our relationship almost came to a screeching halt when I decided to chuck FI's beloved beef jerky - how the hell should I know that shit doesn't go bad?! (I swear it smelled funny)

I have stainless steel appliances and they somehow look like we are raising the Duggar Family?![only I'm the mom and I don't have a mullet]. I have a love-hate relationship with our garbage disposal and you had better not splat anything on the glass cook top [the backlash being the main reason our new roommate hates me]. I even wipe out the INSIDE of the washing machine - talk about a micro manager.

I am totally whacked and at the very least have just started to come to terms with my anal retentiveness. Roommates hate me, FI tolerates it and I will soon buy stock in Lysol spray. My poor future kid...how will I ever remember to feed it when I am wiping down the counter top three times a day?