Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Slap some dirt on it

Bad news, everyone. Turns out I've probably been slowly but surely breeding super bugs in my own home. I came to this realization last weekend over a loverly Mexican dinner with Geo and two of our friends, and I haven't gotten over it yet.

Before I proceed, let me assure you all that I DON'T DO research. I listen to things people tell me and if I like that person and think they are smart, I'll just go ahead and believe whatever they tell me. I'm fun like that. Now, if I DON'T like you and think you have dumb hair or something, I will probably not believe a word you say and decide to forever contradict you at every opportunity. That's how I get my facts; and that's how I like it. (Case in point: I've never ever liked Jenny McCarthy, and look how that whole anti-vacc thing turned out.)

Okay, moving on. So since getting married, I have suddenly decided to care about my home. This means that I like to clean certain things. Bathrooms and kitchens, in particular. There is nothing I like more than a clean counter, sanitized toilets and sparkling clean bathtub. It makes me feel like a grownup.

The problem I learned this weekend is that just about every cleaning product I own contains antibacterial. And the problem with THIS is that apparently, now I'm OVERCLEANING.

My friend Chad told me about this at dinner, and I completely believe him because he has nice hair and I like him. Also, he's a doctor. So, he's pretty legit. He was like "If you keep using antibacterial, you could just force some bacteria to mutate in order to become immune to antibacterial. And the things that do survive could turn into super bugs." Now, this is all a VERY messy conclusion of what he actually said, because he used some big science-y words, so I just went along with it and picked out things I could grasp. But the gist seems to be that too much clean equals I may have to live in a bubble someday.

This was devastating to me. When I was growing up, my parents were firm supporters of the "sewer rat" theory. This theory basically boils down to the fact that sewer rats are not exposed to sterile environments, and have therefore built up an impressive immune system. So, my parents weren't overly concerned about us (me) standing on the kitchen counters with bare feet or playing outside and then eating a PB&M(ayonnaise) sandwich without washing our hands. And we're pretty much okay now. Also? I'm not allergic to ANYthing. (For 2 years I thought I was allergic to bananas, but turns out I just didn't like them and they made me gag.)

So, their theory pans out, as far as I'm concerned.

And now I feel like a total failure. I've been drowning the very things that kept me healthy and strong as a kid in an absurd amount of chemicals. Have I ruined everything?! Is it too late to jump on that weird organic/chemical-free product bandwagon that I completely wrote off because of that uppity chick I knew in college who would wipe down the bar stools with a homemade organic sani-wipe?

I also am annoyed that I have unknowingly contributed to this super-bug-breeding movement. But I swear, I don't SET OUT to get antibacterial products, I just buy the things that smell good and are easy to use. Screw you, Lysol wipes.

I've never been a germophobe or clean freak or anything. I just thought that grownups clean and so I should clean. I'm not scared of dirt or cooties. I'm okay with tap water. I will faithfully adhere to the 10-second rule. Public restrooms don't scare me. My favorite T-shirt in the world is one of Geo's that I picked out of the garbage. I assume that the hands of my nieces and nephews are, you know, clean ENOUGH to dig around in my mouth for the gumball I put in there.

Well, the only conclusion I can draw from all this is that cleaning is for chumps. And when I do clean, I can just smear a damp paper towel around and call it a day. So, who's coming over for dinner!?

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

The Princess and the P(haron)

Being married has shed some light on some personal traits of mine that I failed to recognize when I was all being an independent warrior. Some are delightful to learn (I love cleaning bathrooms and kitchen counters, and can take incredibly good care of my husband when he is sick). Others? Not so much.

Apparently, sometimes I snore.

It shouldn't be a big deal. I know this. But it has become a very real and very dramatic development in my marriage. See, not to brag or anything, but I'm very good at sleeping. I grew up in a house with six other people and often shared a room. I've had roommates for 99% percent of my adult life, including the three years I lived with nothing but men. I can sleep through darn near everything.

Geo? Not so much. Geo doesn't fall into the drooling mess of sleep that I do. He sleeps soundly but is always alert. Like a cat ninja or something.

I apparently turn into body lump that conjures up dragons with my breathing.

There is nothing more un-ladylike than snoring. Nothing. And quite frankly, it's EXTREMELY embarrassing. Every time Geo nudges me at night or gently whispers "OMG, please stop snoring for the love of all that is good and holy," I fall into this weird spiral of humiliation and stress. I hate it when I wake him up. I hate knowing that I can't control what I do in my sleep.

But mostly, I hate that he can't just be better at sleeping.

I downloaded an app that records sleep patterns and sounds. Every time noise is made, it records until the sound dies down. I have recorded multiple nights of my sleeping and only twice have heard myself snoring. And while it wasn't some adorable, girlish, giggly type of snoring, it only lasted for like 6 or 7 "KHUUUUUUUGH!"s. Hardly something that would ever drum me out of a blissful REM cycle.

And also? Nine nights out of 10, I don't snore. It's usually only when I'm EXTREMELY tired or after a night of drinking. But the anxiety that I MIGHT snore and wake up my beloved is enough to make me incredibly restless and nervous on all the other nights.

It's really been upsetting me lately. Maybe I'm sleep deprived. But I don't like waking Geo up; on the other hand, he should probably just learn to sleep harder. Is that possible to do?

Really the worst part is being annoying or disruptive when I can't even do anything about it. It's an incredibly helpless feeling. Also? It just makes me feel so, I don't know, so NOT like a girl.

Part of me feels bad for Geo. He's tried nudging me, whispering to me, shoving me, and just straight up yelling at me when I'm snoring. Everything he has tried is met by my tears, apologies, or outright rages, depending on how sleepy I am.

But the other part of me is so wildly offended. I have literally recorded myself sleeping and found that the impression I get from Geo's nocturnal notifications, which is that my body is an angry volcano of relentless sound, is not as bad as I have imagined.

It really has become a point of contention. He keeps having the nerve to be awoken by my nasally alarm and I keep insisting that he's overreacting. Will either of us win?I highly doubt it. All I know is that I'll probably sleep just fine tonight.