So You Think You Can Dance?

These photos of mine sum up life in my office. Keeping our noses to the grindstone. . .

When we first moved into our new office together this spring, my office mate, Tep, decided to barricade my desk and me in the back corner with packing crates, chairs, and other miscellaneous items from our office. Strangely, this did not bother or offend me in the least. It actually made me feel slightly more important--like I had a tiny office of my own. I liked the privacy. Plus, when people stopped by to talk to me, they couldn't tell if I was actually there or not--which I enjoyed immensely. Leave me alone please; I am very busy back here in my corner. We frankly didn't have the room to store everything we'd both accumulated from our projects over the past two years (well, that and we're lazy), so the crates hung around unpacked for a long time. For months, people would walk by, looking at all the crates and ask, "Just moving in?" Um, not exactly. Facilities finally had to come and ask for the crates back; apparently the company is charged weekly for renting them or something. Who knew?

Now that we've finally unpacked, the office is fairly clean, and I'm feeling out of place. Backwards, I know. Clutter just makes sense to some people.

On another note, Tep and I do have amazing dance parties in our office. Tep's trying to teach me how to dance like a normal human being. It's not going so well. We especially like to shut the door and party like rock stars to the tunes of Gloria Estefan, Hall and Oates, and occasionally a little Milli Vanilli when in need of a good pick-me-up. Good taste, right? With the exception of one casualty (knocking a lamp of a shelf and breaking it during our dance fever), our dance parties serve as lovely stress and/or boredom reducers with no harm done.