(no subject)
The sign on the utility pole reads "Just Married Garage Sale - Sat. and Sun. 8-4"
The subtext says "We just got married and she has five complete rooms of matching Pottery Barn furniture with accents in pistachio and burnished cinnamon and just the occasional pop of sueded heliotrope! He has bitchin' stereo equipment, milk crates in assorted shapes and sizes (all gray, though), that poster of Heather Thomas in a bikini, a life-size cutout of Darth Vader, a black leather sofa, the ends of which are barca lounger thingies with drink holders, various and sundry things made out of a combination of chrome and glass, and approximately 87 boxes of back issues of Sports Illustrated. Guess whose stuff you're going to find at this garage sale?"
Apparently it's been 25 weeks since I last posted. I find I only really have something interesting to say twice a year. I bet you all appreciate how careful I am with your time.
Derek bought toilet paper at Costco this weekend. The package has 36 individually-wrapped rolls of toilet paper, which is just about the dumbest package design I've encountered in forever. Let's not even get into the part about how all that plastic is going to end up in a land fill. You can't really carry more than say six rolls of the stuff from one floor of the house to the other in order to stock various bathrooms. They don't stack well under the sink. Also, when you need a roll of toilet paper, you have to unwrap it. Really, I just want the roll ready to put on the holder and then I want to get on with my life.
Apparently there is a database out there that lists all state employees by name, agency, job title, and SALARY. And the Denver Post was kind enough to write a story about said database and post the link on their web site, which, as a state employee, I appreciate very little. I can't even imagine what public interest can be served by having my name and salary available to any all douchebags who choose to look. Now, I readily admit that I am such a douchebag, because I had to know how much more than me everyone in my office makes. Turns out, surprisingly, I didn't really want to know. This must be a nightmare for every manager out there who has to hear their employees bitch and moan.
So, there you go. Look for me again in 25 weeks.
The subtext says "We just got married and she has five complete rooms of matching Pottery Barn furniture with accents in pistachio and burnished cinnamon and just the occasional pop of sueded heliotrope! He has bitchin' stereo equipment, milk crates in assorted shapes and sizes (all gray, though), that poster of Heather Thomas in a bikini, a life-size cutout of Darth Vader, a black leather sofa, the ends of which are barca lounger thingies with drink holders, various and sundry things made out of a combination of chrome and glass, and approximately 87 boxes of back issues of Sports Illustrated. Guess whose stuff you're going to find at this garage sale?"
Apparently it's been 25 weeks since I last posted. I find I only really have something interesting to say twice a year. I bet you all appreciate how careful I am with your time.
Derek bought toilet paper at Costco this weekend. The package has 36 individually-wrapped rolls of toilet paper, which is just about the dumbest package design I've encountered in forever. Let's not even get into the part about how all that plastic is going to end up in a land fill. You can't really carry more than say six rolls of the stuff from one floor of the house to the other in order to stock various bathrooms. They don't stack well under the sink. Also, when you need a roll of toilet paper, you have to unwrap it. Really, I just want the roll ready to put on the holder and then I want to get on with my life.
Apparently there is a database out there that lists all state employees by name, agency, job title, and SALARY. And the Denver Post was kind enough to write a story about said database and post the link on their web site, which, as a state employee, I appreciate very little. I can't even imagine what public interest can be served by having my name and salary available to any all douchebags who choose to look. Now, I readily admit that I am such a douchebag, because I had to know how much more than me everyone in my office makes. Turns out, surprisingly, I didn't really want to know. This must be a nightmare for every manager out there who has to hear their employees bitch and moan.
So, there you go. Look for me again in 25 weeks.