Welcome to my world.
I work with them every.single.day. Snicker.
Show me your friends and I will tell you what kind of person you are.
What if your friends are furry jerks?
Show me your office space and the real truth spills out.
My office space is a treehouse.
For Pete’s sake.
I’m in trouble.
There are furry jerks everywhere.
But they look so innocent 
Why didn’t our parents teach us this stuff?!
My parents did teach me one valuable thaaaang tho.
Show me your friends... and I will tell you what kind of person you are.
They didn’t even mention cats. Or furry things. Whattupwitdat?
I wasn’t so smart when I was a little chiclet. I didn’t always pay attention. My bad.
I spent most of my childhood trying to prove my parents wrong.
They were right.
Dammit.
I hate it when that happens.
I need to lay in a hammock and think about that.
I tried to figure out ways to outsmarty pants my parents.
I always wanted to be the cool kid and hang with the kids in leather jackets, smoking cigarettes on the street corner. I imagined my life all sparkly-Marilyn-Monroe-like and James Dean would surely be my boyfriend.
Okay. I’m not that old. But still.
I wanted to have the pretty clothes and be the popular girl in school. The truth was, I couldn’t smoke a cigarette. I tried. I rolled up old dried leaves in the backyard and tried to smoke them. It didn’t work. I moved on to Popeye cigarettes. A much nicer after taste.
After my smoking stint, I moved on to pretending I had a broken arm. That seemed to be the cool kid thing to do. Broken bones. I know. Smart. Smart as a rock.
I wrapped my arm in 5o blankets and bandages and pretended I had a broken arm. Full sling and all. Special. It looked official. Didn’t work. I still can’t believe that people didn’t fall for it. They were dumb.
I didn’t stop there.
I stuffed my training bra with socks and went out in public.
{ Insert } flashback embarrassment.
My new busty self. Overnight. Didn’t work.
I make better choices now. Sort of.
I work in a treehouse …
And I have friends that luvsssss me. They don’t even care if I stuff my bra.
I know how to pick my friends. I drink wine with them. I can’t help it.
I drink well with others.
I like to refer to it as friendship talent.
I’m a wealth of talent.
Just nod your head and go with it.
My talents are endless.
I know how to make coffee that tastes like motor oil.
AND
I can beat up a treehouse spider web like a wild ninja.
An idiotic, flailing arms ninja. But a ninja nonetheless. Those webs are wicked. Take that, spider. You just got schooled.
Do you ever sit back and think about how your friends really shape your life? I do.
I am so grateful for my beautiful friends.
I’m not grateful for spiders. Or squirrels. Or mice. They are all furry jerks.
The furry jerks are all hiding.
I’ve decided to add to my parents wise words, just to prove that I’m smarter than a fifth grader. And that I have endless talent.
Show me your office space... and I will tell you what kind of person you are.
Smart words, huh? Take that Mom.
It’s incredible how much your space around you is truly a reflection of you.
What is your office space like?
Okay, my office is a treehouse. So what.
I like to work in quiet. It keeps me in the land of make-believe so I can think straight.
Noises irritate the hell outta me.
Office cubicles irritate me too.
Cranky.
It’s bad.
I have the face of a cheerleader but the attitude of a sumo wrestler when it comes to confined spaces.
They make me bat shit crazy.
If I worked in an office cubicle, I would probably be charged with sexual harassment for calling someone a douche bag.
I’d be giving innocent co-workers the stink eye. It’s not even their fault. It’s the fault of the little square torture chambers desks with tight walls.
I’d have to be medicated. Possibly even a straight jacketed.
I’d probably punch down the cubicle wall like the incredible hulk.
I’d talk through my teeth.
Actually. Definitely. Teeth talk for sure.
In a nutshell : I’m anti cubicle. A cubicle racist.
An office setting, however…. would make me want to go out for lunch every.single.day. Wait. That actually sounds like fun. Real food. I’d buy diabetes in a bag donuts. That part would make me a happy camper at work foooshur.
It’s pretty sad that I’d rather work in a treehouse where squirrels make whoopsie.
No one is ever bored around here. If someone tells you that living in the country is boring, hit them.
Now before you go thinking that an office in a treehouse is all sugary syrupy perfecty perfect and sweet… let me fill you in on a few treehouse secrets ;
1. Treehouses get mile long spider webs. You can find them when you walk straight into them. Guaranteed. Special delivery. Right into your face. Thank you very much.
2. You become an expert at batting the air in fists of crazy when you walk into said spider webs. Do you suddenly feel itchy? Ohmergerd.
3. Squirrels are rodents dressed in pretty fur coats. Don’t be swayed by their good looks. I can assure you that they are bastards. Handsome furry bastards. But still.
4. Mice invite themselves in. They are bossy. And they eat curtains. And you think I joke. That theory is tried, tested and true. Furry jerks.
5. You have to pee in unmentionable places. It’s not dignified. The Queen would definitely frown on it. There are no options for acting like a lady. None. Zero. Zip.
6. Bugs find their way into tree houses . Oh. My. Word. There is a reason why they are called stink bugs. They stink. To the high heavens.
There are stink bugs in there. I promise.
7. Splinters happen. The splinters feel like pieces of lumber lodged in your finger and you can feel the pain up to your ear. I have no idea why they have such an innocent name like splinter. They are tiny weapons of pain. They make a paper cut seem like a walk in the park.
8. Comfy? Get ready. That is the time when bugs fly on to your bed. You suddenly become capable of bolting out of bed at turbo jet lightening speed. And trip over yourself. I can assure you. Quite humbling.
9. You better be feeling sorry for me right now. I could have a stroke. A bug inspired stroke.
10. Cats are furry jerks. They hog the view. Serious. Furry brats.
I spy with my little eye
Cats are not afraid of heights. Or splinters.
Dude, make yourself at home. Pfffft.
Dear Goldilocks, you have nothing on me.
Do you have to deal with reckless dudes at work too? My word. I feel your pain.
What does your work space look like? Is it invaded by cats? Spiders ? Wooden weapons of torture? Furry jerks? Or hairy backed men? Same thing. But different.
What is your work space like ?
* Do you love it?
* Do you have your favorite things on your desk?
Favourite things
* Is it free of clutter so your mind can think straight?
* Or do you like the clutter? Wild child. I bet you like hairy, furry backs too.
* Do you have photos or a favorite candle? Do you set off the smoke alarms at work?
* Do you have your favorite pens & markers and awesome doodle thingies ? Does a cat attack them? I told you I have problems. Serious. Fur problems.
* Do you have all your techie stuff? Your mobile phone, laptop or iPad ? Does it land on your face in the middle of the night too? Mobile devices should come with night-time warning labels : Do not sneak a peek at work emails in the middle of the night. The device will hit you in the face when you fall asleep. Sheesh. Ignorant.
* Is your chair comfy cozy so you can pound away at those keys and feel good at the end of the day?
Note to self: Do not play musical chairs at work. That game is a panic attack waiting to happen. The cat always wins. Furry jerks Cats should not be allowed at work anyway.
What were you thinking?
Ha ha. Beat you to it.
* Do you take breaks and take the time to breathe it all in? Or pummel a cat? Did I just say that out loud?
* Or do you get overwhelmed and feel the urge to punch someone?
* Who do you spend time with ? Do you laugh?
* Do you make your space all that it can be so you feel inspired and rejuvenated and ready to slay some dragons ?
* Do you have creative things to inspire you?
Tell me all about it. I want to hear your fur ball stories.
Connect with me on-line. I’m all over the place.
I’m a hot mess over on pinterest. I’m going bat shit crazy on twitter. And Google + is taking over the world. Just not mine. I have no idea what the hell Google + even is. What the what what? Can someone please tack on more hours in a day? Thank you very much.
P.S.
I somehow landed a spot as a featured blogger on Cityline. Holy smack dab. Pinch me. Pinch me now. Don’t tell them that I have a potty mouth and furry jerks living with me. Shhh.
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Kisses from the treehouse,
