I’m sure I seem reasonably entertaing and amusing here on my weblog. What you may not realize is that I can be somewhat annoying to live with. Just ask George, since he’s been doing it for years now.

Awhile back Jaeme wrote a fun entry about all the things about her that made her husband a little crazy and I’ve been meaning to do the same ever since. I already knew a couple of pet peeves George has about me but when I actually asked for ideas, he only came up with one. I think he’s just trying to be nice.

Anyway, based on his one suggestion and some things I know really do drive him nuts, here are some reasons why I might be annoying to live with.

I don’t wring out the dishcloth when I’m done with it. This was his contribution to the list. I’ve actually made a point to try to remember to wring it out since he mentioned it awhile back since I know it bugs him. I’m not entirely sure why it’s an issue since I do the dishes 99% of the time so I’m the only one who deals with it, but it’s true that I do tend to just hang the dripping cloth over the tap. I don’t know why.

I leave books everywhere. I’m usually reading one book for the sheer joy of reading. On top of that, I’m usually reading at least one parent-related book, as well as magazines. I tend to bring one of them over to the couch to read or at least glance through while I’m feeding Breanna, and then when I’m done with nursing her, I get up with her and walk away, leaving my reading material on the back of the couch or the arm. Or right on the seat. Sometimes I leave magazines open in the middle of an article on the kitchen counter where I skim it as I’m stirring supper or at the table. It’s uncontrollable. Every time I think I’ve gotten everything picked up I notice another book lying out. Oops.

I have a tendency to rack up multiple glasses/cups with varying amounts of water. I leave them on the night table, my dresser, my desk, the counter, the table, the deep freezer, the dryer in the bathroom (because I get thirsty folding clothes you know). If I want something to drink and have to spend more than ten seconds looking for the glass I was using, I just fill up a new one. It’s insane. If I don’t rein myself in every day or two, we’d run out of glasses.

I have a bad habit of depositing my dirty clothes on the floor beside the bed despite having a hamper AND a dirty clothes basket. Every so often I get determined to stop, but then after a few days or a week max, I get back in the bad habit. What I clearly need is a house with a laundry chute in the bedroom.

I crack my toes. I do it a lot. I do it inadvertantly while walking, especially if I’m barefoot. I do it on purpose when I feel a need to. I think it would require hypnosis to stop this since I’ve been doing it since I was 13.

I bite down on my fork and keep my teeth clamped down while I pull the fork out. Apparently this makes a nails-on-chalkboard sound which is a little irritating. He only ever mentioned it once or twice a really long time ago and I got really self-conscious about it, but I bet if I really paid attention I’d find I still do it I think he’s just tuned it out.

I talk ad nauseum about shows he doesn’t even watch. He could not possibly care any less about American Idol. He’s seen maybe three or four episodes of Lost. He thinks Grey’s Anatomy is crap. He only sees All My Children if he’s home during the day and has no other choice. And yet I feel compelled to talk about them anyway. I’m sure he’s totally thinking about his own music while I yammer on about what Simon said on AI or explain the details of the computer and countdown on Lost.

I get random urges to re-organize things. This leads to George rummaging, frustrated, through various cupboards before finally asking me where the HELL the frying pans are today. This is another long-time habit. He should ask my mom about all the times she came in my room at 11 pm to see what had fallen with a loud crash, only to discover I was completely re-arranging my room. Which was particularly obnoxious since we lived over our early-to-bed, early-to-rise landlady. He should consider himself lucky that it’s just little things and not all the furniture in the living room.

I serve him food with cream of mushroom sauce. He’s a little tired of it, but hey. I’m the primary chef so tough, you know? 🙂

And despite all of that (plus trust me, I have my pet peeves too, ahem) here we are on February 22nd, 2006, celebrating seven years (!) together. It feels like forever and yesterday all at once. I still remember how exciting it was to be able to say we’d been together for one year, because it sounded more permanent once we could stop thinking in months. Now we’ve added another six years. It’s hard to believe that at this time seven years ago I stayed late at the studio to work on a very mushy song with him (with lyrics that I pretty much wrote FOR him), and ended up starting a relationship. In seven years we’ve travelled, moved in together, shared every holiday, worked together, spent an insane amount of time in bars together while he played in various bands, and had two kids together. We’ve had rough moments but even more amazing moments. We’ve had seven years of memories to practice for all the years of the future.

We’ve come a long way, baby. (Okay, that was dorky.)

Happy anniversary, George. I’ll see what else I can do to annoy you for the next seven years.