The Slob BlogBecause slobs need love too!

Things seem to go wrong for slobs more often than they do other people.  All my life, people have been telling me to spit out my used chewing gum into pieces of paper in order to prevent it from sticking to other things.  Everybody I know uses this chewing gum convention without any major hiccups.  Why, when I try this simple technique, does it go terribly wrong? 

The other night I was at Target buying my Halloween costume for our office celebration.  A coworker, who looks a lot like me, and I were dressing as twins.  As I reached for my wallet to pay for my purchase, a thin blue string of gum followed my wallet, stretching and growing like a blueberry spider web.  Oh no, I thought, this is gonna be ugly.  The gum I had spit out days before had escaped its paper enclosure and was now spreading throughout my purse in sticky blue explosions of gooey gunk.

It was on my food journal, my wallet, my makeup compacts…everything.  I ran out to the car and found a receipt with a thick blue blob in the middle.  Yesss! Found it before it got too bad.  Then I checked a few more items to make sure they were clear.  I grabbed my cell phone…sticky blue disaster area.  Why did have to be the phone?  WHY?  Then the real shocker.  I found yet another receipt with an even bigger, stickier blue blob.  Had I done this twice in one week?  Was the gum multiplying?  Had I created my own personal used gum breeding ground?

The only positive thought I can draw from the whole…excuse the pun…sticky situation, is that maybe seeing things like this happen to me will make people feel sorry for me.  Having people feel sorry for you is an excellent way to get them to lower their expectations, meaning you have to do less to please them.  It also means more favors, free stuff, and that they’ll forgive you faster when you do things to piss them off.  Yay!

The other night I went down town to see a show with a friend.  We each parked on the street, then took the mythical LA Metro (which is not as mythical as I expected) in order to avoid a parking cluster f***.  When we got back later in the evening, she asked me if she could hitch a ride back to her car.

I said, “Sure as long as…”

Without missing a beat she shouted, “I KNOW THERE’S TRASH IN THE CAR!”

A wave of pride swept over me (after, of course, a brief wave of thinking my friend was psychic).  Clearly, I have done such a thorough job of communicating my slobitude to friends, that I have completely eliminated the need to warn them about it.  They expect nothing less than an expert level of disorganized, cluttered, slobtasticness!!!

I love it!