Practical Baby Storage

Welcome to the 2016 season of Yardsaling to Adventure, everyone! I can’t wait to see what wonderful treasures we find this year, and—oh. Here’s two babies jammed into a glass jar.

babies-in-a-jar

(The guy was kind of giving me the stink-eye while I was photographing it, too, like was the one doing something weird. YOU HAVE A JAR OF BABIES. THAT’S NOT WHERE BABIES GO.)

Happy New Year, everyone! P.S., don’t Google “jar of babies”. It doesn’t help.

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G.I. Woe

melted-baby-GI-Joe-tray

The name you should be cursing aloud right now is @MaconBlair, who writes to us on Twitter:

“How much for the melted baby / GI Joe tray combo?” “Eighty five bucks.” “DEAL.” (I’m crushing this yard sale.)

I thought he was just making fun jokes, but holy crap, the price tag says “$85.” (Or 85 dash marks, I guess.) That’s what, like a week’s worth of groceries? Or, a videogame? There has to be cheaper ways to get a melted baby than this. I know a guy.

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I Heard You Like Haunted Dolls

melting-baby-doll

“Yessssss,” Mr. Pigsnucker said, as he dug the doll out of his backyard and brushed the remains of its former owner off of it. “Someone will definitely want to buy this.”

(The weird thing is when you press its hand, it just says “I hate Mondays.”)

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I Was a Teenage Baby

spy-through-the-painting

Christina H. writes to us on Facebook:

“Checkout this creepy painting I saw in a tiny shop in Aberdeen, NC today. Thought of your blog when I saw it. Notice the hole under the right eye. Almost, but not quite, got the hole-in-the-eye-opening-through-which-we-will-spy-on-you-through-the-wall down pat.”

I’m also a little concerned that they grafted an adult’s head onto a baby’s body. Has science finally gone too far? (That said, apparently this is a trend not uncommon in the art world [link NSFW].)

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How Not to Tell Mom You’re Pregnant

tiny-baby-giant-hand

Daughter: “I have some big new, Mom—Steven and I are expecting!!”
Mom: *HAS RUN TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE EARTH*
<awkward pause>
Steven: “I knew we should’ve told my parents first.”

Hi, so let’s talk about all the creepy things that apparently got past the dollar store’s quality control here:

1) The baby is being held by a GIANT SEVERED HAND OF UNKNOWN ORIGINS.
2) The hand is wearing a bow-tie (this somehow makes it worse).
3) The baby’s eyes look like it’s terrified out of it’s goddamn mind and I wonder why.
4) The fact that the baby’s name is apparently “Baby” (look at the hat).
5) Steven was dead the whole time.

BONUS REFERENCE FOR WWE FANS: “It’s a hand! C’mon, let’s give her a hand!!

This Old House

Mmmmmmm. Can you smell that? Other people’s garbage. Unwanted wares, plopped unceremoniously into a yard or garage in hopes that someone with too much money to waste (although frugal enough not to buy things brand-new) will want to part with a quarter or a dollar for the honor of bringing home your rusty old fishing poles, or perhaps your fifth-grade art project.

The 2012 yardsale season starts not with a bang, but with a “Hey, is that a yardsale?” The weather report was calling for rain, so I’d assumed sales would be light-to-nonexistent this Saturday morn’, but lo: on the way to the supermarket, we found it. The season’s first sale. An estate sale, in a house that, from the outside looked nice, although from the inside, it appeared as though one errant stomp might send the whole thing crashing down.

We trod lightly.

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Season Finale

And so the yardsale season comes to kind of a puttering end, as so often it does.

This week my wife Lizo joined me, for one of only a few times this season, because I believe she’s put off by just how much time I put into looking through people’s future-garbage. There weren’t a lot of nearby sales to choose from this week, and so we had a big decision to make—the kind that all couples have to go through at some point in their relationship:

Did we want to visit the big church sale on one end of town, and risk smelling like old people for the rest of the day? Or did we want to visit the “30-vendor sale” at the high school on the other end of town, and risk having to find nothing but vendors?

We went with the latter, and while we didn’t actually buy all that much (more on that in a bit), we still managed to find a few choice products:

“Homemade” banana bread! I shudder to think of the meaning behind the quotation marks. Is it something as innocuous as “we actually just bought them from a store”? Or is it something more sinister, like “enjoy your loaf of razorblades, bloody-mouth!” We steered clear, for obvious reasons. Continue reading

Babies Everywhere!

Let’s just open with this, the single greatest thing I’ve ever purchased at a yardsale (note that I say that about everything I purchase):

Oh my god, how horrifying is that? I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, but every time I look at it I see a sneaky Santa Clause giggling to himself and whispering “I have all the babies. I have all of them.” You just know he’s going to eat them afterwards. I can’t wait to serve people cookies on it, come Christmas-time. The look on their face as they take that last chocolate chip away, and they have that staring up at them. The true meaning of the holidays. Continue reading

Antique Paper! Benjamin Franklin!

Here’s what I picked up yesterday at the sales! In the order of least interesting to OMG, that’s a thing that exists?!

First off, we’ve got this little guy:

I don’t know why, but he just speaks to me. Maybe it’s because he’s doing the same exact pose as a Smurf figurine I used to own, or maybe it’s the fact that he has a Pac-Man symbol tattooed on his belly. Maybe it’s the carefree way he’s holding that candle; I’m don’t know. Either way, he’ll be bringing some dignity to our Christmas tree this year.

I found this little guy (along with the next item) at a community-wide church sale, amidst other antiques (“Daddy, can I get this book?” “Sorry, son—that’s not a book, that’s a VHS tape.), ugly sweaters, and a whole lot of other junk that I had to forcibly not purchase because it would’ve made my house look like grandma’s.  At one point while I was poking around (examining, if I recall, an enormous rubber octopus doll), this elderly woman said “excuse me,” indicating that I should get out of her way. I obliged, assuming she wanted to get past me, but as soon as I moved she took over my spot and started examining the octopus herself.

Now, I’m wondering…Is this an OK thing to do? Doesn’t “excuse me” usually mean “I need to get by you,” not “stop what you’re doing, because I want to do it instead”?

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