The Slob BlogBecause slobs need love too!

MSNBC recently covered a story of two library books, returned 51 years late. The anonymous and obviously forgetful book-borrower, even included a $1,000 money order.

This story proves what I strongly believe, that slobs are just human.  Like everyone else, we make mistakes, and sooner or later, we feel guilty and want to make things right.  Often times, it is the guilt itself that KEEPS us from making it right.  We think that if we just cover our eyes and plug our eyes, the signs of our own stupidity will disappear.  They don’t.  Unfortunately, this story is starting to make ME feel guilty as, much like the slob in this story, I am no stranger to forgetfulness when it comes to library property.  I am pretty sure I still have a couple books on my shelf from the University Library from grad school.  I graduated like three years ago.  Maybe I should take a lesson from this guy and return them before I too, rack up a thousand dollar late fee.

When my boyfriend and I were first living together, we took great pleasure in our weekend morning routine of cooking a big breakfast, brewing coffee, and enjoying a movie or some mindless reality TV.  These days, we just grunt in a half-sleeping state, point at each other’s bed head and laugh mockingly, and stubbornly plop ourselves down on the couch until one of us grows desperate enough for caffeine to get up and brew some coffee.

One morning, we decided to make some of those buttery crescent rolls that come in a can.  These things couldn’t be easier to make, you pretty much just pull them out of the can, seperate them at the dotted line, plop them on a cookie sheet, and heat ‘em up.  No problem right?  Wrong.  The damn things require construction.

Unlike, biscuits which are just plop, bake, eat, crescent rolls must be formed into crescents.  These stupid pastries involved some sort of geometrically sophisticated maneuver in order to get them into the right shape, and for whatever reason, it was beyond my skill level.  I know what you’re thinking, and no…I’m not a monkey.  At worst, I’m a blond.

Normally, this situation wouldn’t bother me to much.  I’m a resourceful, problem solving type of slob, and just as I would if I had been alone, I got around my own fumbling incompetence by forcing the dough into a crescent shape with my fingers.  I molded it and pinched it, like Silly Puddy, into a pretty little moon shape.

My boyfriend, seized this as a golden moment to make fun of me ruthlessly.  He demonstrated over and over again how to roll the crescents correctly, but I just couldn’t do it.  By this time, I was ready to grab a snack bar and be done with the whole thing.  He made sure I’d never forget the humiliating incident by emailing me the manufacturers instructions, complete with diagrams, for rolling the perfect crescent.  Now I can’t even look at the moon without feeling resentful.

This situation was not my fault.  Furniture assembly requires instructions, delicious breakfast treats should not.  I am convinced that it’s not me who is too lazy and simpleminded, but it’s the world that is becoming overly complicated.

Some friends and I decided to try to tackle one of our favorite ass-kicker hikes this weekend.  We would meet at 9:00am (Yuk!!!) and drive an hour and a half to Mt. Baldy, one of the highest peaks in LA county.  Already annoyed at having to rise before noon on a Saturday, I employed my own infinite stupidity and suckertude (oh yeah, it’s a word now!) by offering to drive to the mountain.

I didn’t really think they’d take me up on it.  I generally dislike driving other people in my car, because it involves removing the mountains of crap I carry around with me at all times, and moving it to less conspicuous locations (ideally, the trash can).  I also assume that people will turn me down when I offer to drive, because they usually don’t WANT to ride around in my unwashed vehicle, while sitting next to my random bits of clutter.  This is also often the case, because I like to make friends with control freaks who are uncomfortable while others are at the wheel.  Their anal retentiveness also means that I usually don’t have to make the plans, start the phone tree, or bring a map.  Having super-neurotic friends is really the only way to go.  Type-A all the way! (That’s my little cheer I just made up, but I think I’ll start throwing into conversations to show my support)

I parked my car at the meeting spot and popped my trunk so we could start loading up all the daypacks.  One of my friends said, “Amy, I don’t know how you drive around with your trunk like that.”  I said, “Like what?”  At first, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to.  My trunk looked perfectly normal to me.

Then I realized that she must have been implying that my trunk was full of stuff.   My suspicions were confirmed when she said, “Your trunk is so full of stuff.”  I said, “But my trunk is half-empty.”  I didn’t just say this to sound like an optimist; there really was a lot of room still available in my trunk, and I’ve had it way fuller in the past.  So by comparison, it looked quite roomy to me.  Plus we were able to fit all the backpacks back there, and I was surprised, pleased, and very proud of that fact.

Frankly, not only did I feel snubbed when nobody applauded the whole backpack fitting situation, I was doubly irked that they had totally disregarded the general lack of “stuff” in the rest of the car.  How was I supposed to even accomplish that without moving the clutter from the car cab to the trunk? It had to go somewhere.  Matter can’t just disappear, and even if it could, I’m pretty sure it would cause a black hole that would be a lot less fun to drive around with than a little clutter.  (I may be a slob, but I am totally up on my science facts)

So the lesson here is, that if you want praise for your skillfully slovenly ways, you’d better just praise yourself, because it’s not the type of thing friends appreciate the way we’d like them to.  The other option of course, is to demand praise while making inappropriate threats.  A good threat that I’ve been using since kindergarten is that I won’t be their friend anymore.  You can use that one too…I don’t mind sharing.

You might think you are bad at following directions, but at least you are not a bat. Bats turn left every time they leave a cave whether it’s where they were planning to go or not.  The next time you invite a bat to a party, give him plenty of time to get there.

Look.  I am unhappy enough about the idea that I have to shave myself, I’m certainly not going to bother to do it  for knit clothing.  Apparently, unbeknownst to me, my sweaters have begun to develop five o’clock shadow.  Well I refuse to be so presumptuous as to assume I know better than the designer.  Maybe the sweater is supposed to look like that.  I’ve never seen any sweater shaving instructions listed on a garment tag…not that I really bother reading those things.  But I think this whole sweater shaving concept is about control freaks wanting to project their own meticulous standards onto innocent winter clothes.  Sweaters are supposed to be fluffy, soft, fuzzy, and comfy.  If I’m not going to hear compliments on my sweater’s clean, close shave, then what’s the point?  I have far better things to worry about.  What’s next…Brazilian waxes for bathrobes?

This is one helpful gadget this slob can do without!

Here are a few helpful and completely real terms to help you better express your inner slob and its fabulously disorganized ways.

• Rogue Sock: Any sock without a mate.  Handle rogue socks by only buying white socks.  It helps if they’re similar in length as well.  Nobody’s fooled when you pair a knee high with an ankle sock…but nice try!
• Clutterference: Clutter that clinks and rattles around in your car, making it hard to hear the person on the other end of the phone.
• Slinky Dink: When you accidentally dink into something while trying to sneak into a meeting you’re already late for
• Slobgenuity: The brilliant talent slobs possess to use their disorganized ways to solve life’s struggles and achieve total success!
• Spontaneous Deafness: When you zone out while somebody is talking to you, missing the a major portion of what they have said
• Slobportation: When items suddenly reappear in random spots, and you can’t remember how or when they could have gotten there.  Ex. Finding a pair of earrings in the freezer
• Self Slobotage: When your slovenly ways wreak sudden, traumatic, and irreparable damage on your life.  *Luckily you are learning to embrace your inner slob, and you know that with some Slobgenuity, you can turn tragedy to triumph!

Despite what you may have been led to believe throughout your life, being organized is not natural.  At least, it is not any more natural than being a slob.  Nature has literally thousands examples of creatures that disregard the need to organize themselves.

Dogs are notoriously disorganized.  They take their favorite things like bones, chew toys, and your best sneakers, and they burry them for safekeeping.  Then what happens?  They forget where they put them every time.  Every dog owner has had to laugh at least once while watching his or her dog frantically sniffing around the yard for that one toy they’ve been missing for weeks.  Then, of course, we break into tears when the dog digs up our now mud-encrusted Prada pumps.  But, that’s not the point.  The point is that dogs are completely disorganized and they get along just fine.

Worried about your house’s Feng Shui? Move all the piles of paper or clothes in your house or office into one giant pile.  This allows the shui to move smoothly around your things and get the hell out.  You can feel safe that most of the shui is gone when your tower falls over. 

My boyfriend’s biggest pet peeve with me (yes, I’ve been able to keep a man despite my slovenly ways) is my treatment of softener sheets.  He can’t understand why I never throw them away after I use them.  He finds them on the floor, under the bed, on the bed, and floating throughout the house.

First of all, softener sheets are very pretty.  They look like little gossamer fairies flying about the house, and I don’t know why he can’t appreciate that.  Beyond that, I don’t think he understands my whole laundry system.  The softener sheet gets tossed in there with the laundry, and then who knows where it goes?  I think goes into deep hiding until it reappears…generally under his angry foot.

Now I know it would probably help if I actually put my laundry away, instead of piling it on our spare bedroom bed.  Then I might uncover those covert softener sheets in the process.  But that pile makes it so easy to find everything.  If I need a shirt, or a towel, or a sock or two, hey, look, there it is!  It’s all right there in my bed pile where I need it.  I just wish he’d understand that instead of shaming my inner slob.

For now I’ve taken to picking up random used softener sheets I find on the floor and tossing them at him.  That way he can see that I am now making a concerted effort to notice where those little sheets are going.  It also gives him the opportunity to throw them away, since he’s the one who’s bothered by them in the first place.