Santa Busts Loose!

santa-busts-loose

“Santa’s Drawers Are Coming Down”! “I’ll Change Pants For Christmas”! Man, just the perfect holiday tunes to get anyone in the mood for shaking their head and rolling their eyes and wishing for the holidays to end already.

I’m sad to say I can’t embed YouTube videos for any of the songs though, because this is actually gum.

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The Not Safe For Work Post.

Sometimes it’s best not to try to figure out the story behind how a particular item ended up at a yardsale. For example, you might not want to know why, exactly, someone’s selling their collection of used bedpans. (Best case scenario: The homeowner likes peeing in buckets. Worst-case scenario? Grandpa’s gone to a better place.) You also might not want to know how so many “World’s Best Dad” mugs ended up on the 25-cent table. (Best case: He actually just is the World’s Best Dad and has an abundance of them; worst case: there is a sinister reason why he doesn’t deserve them anymore, and would you mind calling child services?)

I really really didn’t want to know why this young couple was selling a wedding dress (and matching shoes) for only $10:

So when they caught me looking at it with what appeared to be interest (but in reality was  me trying to surreptitiously take a photo without becoming known around town as “the guy who takes pictures of used women’s clothing”), I quickly bolted to the next closest thing and started stroking my chin thoughtfully—as though admiring a great work of art and contemplating Deep Thoughts, like “ah, the master brushstrokes are clearly indicative of the artist’s blah blah blah,” or “man, I really wish those people would stop looking at me.”

…which is unfortunate, considering what I was standing in front of at the time:

At that point I pretty much had to resign myself to moving.

(By the way…between this and the painting I saw a couple of weeks ago…is there some kind of tiny-headed epidemic that I should be worried about? Are the melon heads of Connecticut real? Is this why the election has mostly been about birth certificates and tax returns, rather than anything even remotely importantbecause people’s brains are literally shrinking?)

The rest of today’s finds were less embarrassing. …For me, anyway; I don’t think I’d ever want to admit to owning, for example…

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A Summer Punderland

Exploring the deer-infested wilds of New Jersey.

I was back in New Jersey this weekend to celebrate a few more family birthdays, and while our yardsale trip was cut short because 1) the sales weren’t biting much this morning, and 2) none of us were able to get out of bed before 9:30, we still managed to do our fair share of picking through other people’s garbage.

Some sales were a bit more garbagey than others.

Here are some of the highlights:

And you thought driving while texting was bad. A coffee maker for your car! Haven’t you ever wanted to brew some Joe on the Go?

…Man, that would’ve been a MUCH better slogan than the one they went with: “Just plug into your LIGHTER SOCKET!!!!!” And hey, if you decided to pick that up…

You could always grab some “genuine” second-hand coffee filters from 1984 to go with it.

At the same sale: Continue reading

THE MOOOOOOOST, WONDERRRRFUUUULLL TIIIMMEEE

This past weekend I was visiting my parents’ house for Birthdayfest—that traditional time of year when all the summer babies in my family gather together, and mourn the fact that we were all born so close to each other and therefore don’t get our own special celebrations. It’s a somber, subdued event where we play games like “Pin the Tear on Your Own Cheek,” and  (later) “Ow, My Cheek!” I look forward to it every year.

Now, I’m not the only one in my family who enjoys going to yardsales—as I stated in my very first post here, I’ve been going to them ever since I was a little kid with my mom, and I was cute enough to get free things with just a sad pout and a “my mommy said it’s too expensive…” Practically any weekend we’re together at the ol’ homestead, the whole family (or at least, anyone who can wake up early enough) piles into Mom’s minivan for a fun-filled morning of stimulating the American economy, one quarter at a time.

…Even if it’s pouring rain. Which, as it turns out, it was this weekend. Most of the sales this past Saturday that weren’t outright canceled looked like a post-apocalyptic version of Hoarderswith junk hastily packed shoulder-deep into garages, scattered contents spilling onto the tables outside—tables that were circled over again and again by we intrepid yardsalers, in hopes that something worthwhile would finally reveal itself, if only we stared hard enough.

Sad bedpan.

After about an hour of this, that orphaned plastic lid was looking mighty tempting.

But I did discover one benefit to rainy-day yardsales that I hadn’t previously realized: There’s almost no competition for the quality goods. Most of the regular salers stay home, because they assume that all the sales will just be canceled. And true—many of them were. But many of them weren’t, and we were able to find a lot of choice (and not-so-choice) merchandise. Continue reading

Awww Yeah, it’s a Tag Sale!

Now THAT’s how you advertise your sale.

Despite going to over a dozen yardsales this Saturday, I didn’t end up with all that much loot. My actual purchases included:

I’m actually kind of in love with the car. One of my favorite parts of the Christmas season (to this day, mind) is piling into the car to hunt down a Christmas tree—not in a lot, because my wife and I aren’t weenies, but in an actual farm—and then chopping it down myself with a friggin’ AXE, just like my forefathers used to do it.
 
That’s not the best part, though; the best part is drinking free hot cocoa while someone else spends the next twenty minutes struggling to tie the thing to the roof-rack.

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