23
Apr
08

Lord, Why Am I Such A Damn Slob?

Hey, ya’ll like the latest shot I added to my portfolio? I don’t know, I’m just not as pasty and bloated in this one, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with it. I asked the makeup girl to go a little lighter with the bronzer, but she just kept puffing my face shouting, “Miami! Miami! Miami!” I guess she’s trying to get me ready for all those bikini shoots I have scheduled down in South Beach. Which reminds me, I hope those custom snakeskin thongs I ordered are ready, I sure have been looking forward to them. And man, I think I need to grab some more root touch up while I’m on my frozen burrito/gatorade run to Rite Aid. Didn’t realize I was showing so much gray!

All my life, I have had a bit of a problem in the slob department.  The problem seems to stem from the fact that I am a slob. I have tried many times over the course of my life to rectify and cure myself of this sloppiness, but every time I try to clean up and get myself organized, I just get distracted, bored, or just plain fall asleep.

I can tell it’s starting to grate on my boyfriend’s nerves, he shows it in all these really funny passive aggressive ways, like calling me names under his breath while taking the teetering tower of Diet Coke cans I piled so delicately and skillfully out to recycling (Doode! It’s Modern Art!), cursing as he trips over the 12 pairs of heels strewn about the living room floor (Honey, they’re part of my new workout routine called Hopscotch Hurdles. You’re supposed to jump over them! Now, don’t be a spoilsport, just do it, hop! it’s good for your heart) and tossing the 118 months of back issues of CatFancy I had loving accumulated even though I don’t own a cat out the window in a fit of fury (Hey! I WAS SAVING THOSE FOR A REASON!!!!!). I don’t get what his problem is. It’s not like a months accumulation of Qtips encrusted in earwax is a health concern or anything. Sheesh, lighten up. I try to make the trash can, sometimes, I just miss and forget about them. You’re not perfect either,you know.

I’ve been this way all my life, although I’m not sure why. Maybe it does stem from Mama, she was a bit of a packrat. She used to keep EVERYTHING, and I mean EVERYTHING. Instead of buying me toys, she used to give me bags of her old prescription pill bottles and empty Afrin Nose Sprays to play with. Which was kinda fun, all my dollies were so healthy and always had the cleanest nasal passages! I remember one time when I was in high school, my friend Jarrod was over and he started going through this drawer of random shit in our den, and he pulls out this bottle filled with what appeared to be maybe rocks of some form or another, or perhaps some miscellaneous car parts leftover from a tune up, and asks me what exactly they were. Upon closer inspection, I realized that those had been Mama’s leftover teeth from when she had them pulled and gotten her dentures.

Why she was saving them, I could only imagine. Maybe she thought they were heirlooms, and wanted to pass them down to me as part of her legacy. I imagine that’s probably the only thing she’d leave me in her will.

If you were to peer into my room as a little girl, and didn’t know who lived in it, you would most likely have concluded that this was a crawling hole for a schizophrenic rat from the land of H.R. Puffinstuff, or wondered if Sanford and Sons had expanded their business by opening a shop out on Sesame Street. (Did you guys miss that episode?) The floor just always seemed like a logical place to store things. It’s not like I used the floor to actually walk around on or anything, so I needed all my key items piled up close to me where I could reach them without breaking a sweat.

Every year at school, I would start out so resolute, with all my nice new folders and dividers, determined to make this year the best year ever! and transform myself into this UBER-organized autotron, consistently and effortlessly filing every scrap of schoolwork neatly into its rightfully designated place. “I will be organized this year!” I would chant to myself. “I will be successful! I’m going to pay attention and make good grades and be the best little Aldine Senior High School Student, EVER!”

And then, I’d get a crush on some stupid boy who had no idea I existed and would have screamed in terror if he had have known I existed, and daydream about having sex with him all day long, even though I had never had sex or even been kissed, but -I had read a lot about it in Cosmopolitan and those Penthouse Forums my dad used to sell at his grocery store, and so I had a pretty good idea what it was all about. {editor’s note-evil grin right here}Needless to say, although my mind was focused on biology, it wasn’t exactly the type that would get me a passing grade, and I became easily frustrated, and not just sexually….I just started cramming papers wherever, whenever I bothered to even to the work, and by the middle of the semester my locker looked like I must have been studying up hard for Bag Lady 101 or maybe Advanced Theorums In Hoboitry. In fact, my senior year, I was voted Most Likely To Reside Out The Cardboard Recycling by a panel of my teachers and counselors. I love awards, so I was pretty stoked to have been recognized.

But you know, it does get a little old struggling with the same old self-defeating habits, and I guess it would be nice to maybe wake up and not think, “Damn girl, you smell like foot”. I have been trying harder to change lately, but it’s one hell of a process. Every day, I pray soooooo hard, “Pleeeeeeaaase God! Make me a Type A personality. Even just for a day. PLEASE!” And everyday, I’m lucky if I come up a Type B-. It’s just really hard when you have a hard time paying attention, and your mind wanders, and you can’t ever finish what you sta

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