Safety Pins or I'm the Cleanest Motherfucker You Know

I am fairly anal retentive when it comes to keeping my house in order. 

This is odd to me for several reasons. 

If you look at the other parts of my life, they are anything but tidy.

My desk is littered right now with papers, projects, cords, empty water bottles, a real stuffed dog wearing a captain's hat that I bought at a thrift shop and a mysterious stain that I'm going to guess is from a Taco Punk taco. Hold please, let me check.

Yes, it's left over black bean drippings from last Thursday.

I also keep my car in a state of havoc. Mainly so anybody who would ever want to steal it, HA!, decides not to because it looks like a homeless man is living out of it. There are t-shirts, shoes, socks, a busted ass lawn chair and a funk that is a mix of gym fumes, gasoline and creeping death. I think I cooked a squirrel family last week inside the motor and didn't know it.

So with all the crap I have to deal with, I hate coming home to disorder, cat vomit on the floor and dishes piled up in the sink. 

While I can't stop my ancient, dementia-riddled cat from throwing up, I can stop the dishes in the sink from happening and try my hardest to never leave even a spoon in the sink.

So, while I was cleaning up the house after my divorce, I noticed a few odd things. Let me say this, I am not bashing anybody here, all I am saying is I have NO idea where/how/why what I'm about to write about happened.

After sweeping up several rooms of the house, I gathered these... 

Yes, this is a fuck ton of safety pins. There must have been 150. This is only about half of what I found and they were everywhere. I mean everywhere. Corners, shelves, drawers, floors, cabinets, stuck in the molding, I think I found one inside the bowl of my ceiling fan.

I have no idea how you accumulate this many safety pins and never notice it. It's as though I went to bed one night, there were two safety pins on the dresser and when I woke the two safety pins had just finished an epic evening of tantric sex. I am to only assume that these were the discharges from their marathon session of metal banging.

How the hell do you not notice this many safety pins?

Since then, I've instituted a house ban on paper clips, safety pins and clothes pins. I don't want to be ganged up on while I sleep and find myself punctured, pinched and organized.