If you can't name that movie, you are tragically culturally illiterate. Consult your nearest corporate dweeb for immediate assistance. We can quote Office Space far more easily than we can quote the Bible, Shakespeare, or even old Star Trek episodes.
Here is my Monday Gift to You: Despair, Inc.. One of the greatest parody product lines EVER. Yes, I work for a company that actually displays those awful, lame motivational posters without any sense of irony. I avert my eyes. If I had the money to waste, I'd buy a few of these and sneak in early and replace the weak decaf -instant -motivation with something with real flavor. Espresso motivation! Bitter espresso, but still.
I want this one for my office: Pressure.
I've seen them before but that catalog arrived in today's mail and Girlchild and I read them out loud while I was home eating leftovers at lunch and laughed until we cried. It's funny because it's so, so true. I was home eating leftovers because it is probably my best chance to eat lunch all week. I should be thinner.
I love Baby. Baby is the bestest. Baby is fun. Baby's AWD will be most useful on job sites. I realized today, when hopping into my shiny cute red SUV, what a burden that drab Altima of Bad Karma had been. I drove it for three years after my husband died, and yes, I do love having a new kitchen and I needed the new roof and the carpet was a wise decision, and all the other things I accomplished in the interim were good and I did the right thing and was practical and all that crap, but I never thought "a year or two" would turn into over three years, and getting that fucking car out of my life was like shedding another layer of the Bad Past. I want to keep the Good Past, but the years between 2001 and 2003 are the stuff PTSD is made of, not memories to treasure. Leaving that car behind was liberating.
And yes, I am still knitting. I finished another hat for Dulaan last night. I think I've done about 10 so far, and I have a toddler sweater on needles. I'm also working on a crocheted shawl and a cardigan for myself. And I have about three pairs of socks in half finished state.
I had a profound thought yesterday, at least it was profound for me, about the false sense of virtue afforded by Tidy Storage Solutions. In addition to having bigger houses, bigger closets and more rented storage facilities than anyone else on the planet, I suspect the US leads the world in inventions like The Container Store and its ilk - all promising ways to make your massive accumulation of shit you don't need look Tidy and Organized! Aren't you the virtuous one, because you spent even more money on storage units for the crap you already spent too much money on! Go, Consumers, Go!
I was looking for a more-than-half finished pair of socks, and never did find 'em. The socks are neatly stored away somewhere, because my storage is all tidy and buttoned up, but I have no fucking idea where those socks are. I found two other unfinished pairs of socks. But not the Lorna's Laces sportweights I wanted to finish up real quick to ship to my son, because it's damn cold in Asheville right now. And I grew disgusted again, not just with my stash but with the false sense of virtue I had in putting it all away in neat storage containers.
Whenever I move, wherever I move, as GAWD is MAH WITnuss, I will not move a shitload of Neat Storage Containers. My goal for 2007 is to get down to a stash small enough to fit in one small 18 gallon Rubbermaid container.
And on that note, I'm gonna go knit. And try to remember where I neatly stored those socks.