My life is a mess...

My life is a freaking mess. I realized this after actually looking at my desk while working yesterday. You see, I office out of my home which makes life a little easier, yet at the same time a little more complicated. See Exhibit A:


That, my friends is my “Office Armoire”, or more appropriately “Office Disaster Area”. You know those people who are really quite put together on the outside, but a freakin mess on the inside? Yep, that would be me.

I am normally a pretty clean person, but for some reason when it comes to my work area I just all of a sudden decided not to care anymore. Like, I’d get really busy and just shove things in there, close the doors, and then leave in a hurry to go visit clients not realizing that I was creating a monster, a document-fed scary mess of a monster. And believe it or not, there is a method to my madness...a sort of "organized chaos." Come to think of it, it’s really quite existential, or Freudian…whatever.

It was when I subconsciously moved my work area from the office to the kitchen counter that I realized that shit needs to be cleaned. So I started cleaning it, and found a few interesting things inside, things that generally wouldn’t belong in/on an office armoire.


Every office area needs a pair of maracas. I don’t exactly know why they are there, maybe in case I felt like creating some sort of fiesta while knee deep in sales reports and client phone calls. Maybe they help me keep my sanity. I wish I could say that, honestly I didn’t even know they were there.


This is an authentic 1950’s Ken doll which once belonged to my sister. He used to don a pink cowboy hat which has been lost, but instead now wears a plastic star from Mike’s Smokehouse that was given to me from my friend Andy my freshman year of college. Ken was shoved between the bottled Gas Duster and a box of old Christmas Cards. The star went, the cards went, but the doll stays.


At my house I don’t have to worry about sexual harassment, that’s why I can have not only one, but TWO penis necklaces at my desk. Most probably resurrected from one of the multiple bachelorette parties that I have attended. One is actually a whistle, I’m thinking of attaching to my keychain in case of emergencies.


This really dates me. Not only is it a cassette tape, but it is a BON JOVI “SLIPPERY WHEN WET” cassette tape. For those moments when I’m feeling all nostalgic I can pop it into my cassette player and sing along with good old Jon and the boys. “WOAAAAHHHHHH….WE’RE HALF WAY THERE…WOOOOAAAAAHHHHHH!!! LIVIN ON A PRAYER….!!!” Wait, do I even have a cassette player anymore?


Not only do I not have to worry about sexual harassment, but I also don’t have to worry about inappropriate racial stereotypes. You’re probably wondering, “What the hell is she doing with a model size Mexican in an outhouse?” I got this from my Grandma’s house when we were cleaning it out after she passed. You take the cap off the mushroom and fill it with water and then when you open the door to the outhouse the Mexican turns around and pees on you. It’s so not politically correct, therefore it totally belongs in the Armoire.


And last, but certainly not least, I have the crème de la crème, the icing on the cake, the stuffed armadillo. Yes, ladies and gentleman, that is a stuffed armadillo that has somehow found it’s home on the top of my armoire. The same armadillo that was bought on ebay by a certain someone (Josh) for a bargain of $115. The Lonestar beer that he was holding has long since disappered and I am no longer scared of it, so it stays.

And that’s pretty much it. I’m sure I could have pulled a few more things to write about, but I only have so much time here, and I don’t want to seem like a total freak. What? Too late? Oh well….