My Shark Boyfriend.

So, many were baffled by the meaning of this picture I posted on facebook. Allow me to explain. 

I'll keep it short. When I was a little girl, I had a reoccurring dream. In this dream, I live on a small island. The kind of small island town where nothing ever happens and everyone knows everyone else's boring business. A hot new guy moves into town. Simultaneously, girls start going missing. Where'd they go? Where'd they go? It can't be the hot guy. He's way to nice and attractive. No one knows. But I start following hot guy around. I follow him and some awful girl to the beach late one night. I watch them go out for a dip. I see a struggle out in the water. Awful blood curdling screams from the awful girl! Fins splashing around in the water! Silence. They've been eaten by sharks! But then, he slowly comes out of the water. Totally unfazed. Naked, but unfazed. They find her mangled body washed up on shore (what's left of it) and declare it a Shark attack!! (Why I didn't report what I saw, I don't know, but that's a 9 year olds dream for you) It gets weirder. I confront him. YES! I confront the boy who turns into a shark and eats people! He is of course bewitched by my brainy beauty and gumption and vows to eat only fish. Then we make out. (as best as a 9 year old dreaming she's sixteen can do). The end. Pretty good, right? I had this dream SO MANY TIMES throughout my life and I miss it. I miss my shark boyfriend! That ad for Shark Week just made me think of him. Sigh.

Off to bed I go. Maybe he'll come visit me. 

  

Shame Cleaning/Clean Desk Challenge 2010

We're moving. Me and all my pals in Design & Creative Services are being relocated up the street to a new/old building. (And we're not complaining) The architects of said building stopped in the other day to check out our current space so they could evaluate what our needs are. I didn't know they were coming. Sigh. You see, I'm a slob. Yes. There. I've said it. It's out there for the universe to judge. My not-so-secret shame. Anyone who's ever lived with me, worked with me, ridden in my car, or seen me from 100 yards away will tell you - "That girl is a mess."

Despite appearances, I don't think it's okay and am always horrified for people I don't know (and, people I do, really) to see my messes. It's probably how a bulimic would feel if they got caught bingeing. So, when the architects announced that they would be heading to the back room I had a full blown secret panic attack. The back room is a separate space from my desk - which is bad enough- where I do all of my paper-cutting. I followed them to the back while making my list of excuses. There was no stopping them though. They saw it. Lord knows what they thought. Really, they didn't seem to be phased. I'm sure they're around a lot of creative messies. But that doesn't make me feel any better.

This Humiliation, however, did induce a round of Shame Cleaning. Shame Cleaning is USUALLY a preventative measure you take BEFORE the crippling shame of someone seeing your mess. It's the fear of being caught that compels you, but, apparently the Shame itself can actually be used to fuel that cleaning fire, too. Who knew?

So, I cleaned both my desk AND the paper-cutting palace thanks to the help of my co-worker/neighbor/coupon clipping extraordinare, Nicole. And, as always, my fellow designers have taken bets on how quickly I will fail.

Despite the clutter, this is considered clean:

Note the presence of only ONE drinking apparatus. I've usually got 3 or 4 going at once.

Ooooo. So nice. Thanks to Nicole for her paper sorting expertise. Don't buy the purple handled hole punchers. They suck after the tenth punch.

I'll keep you posted.