signs

The Beast Coast

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New York is different from California. This may come as a surprise to those of you who have only lived on one coast or the other, or (God forbid) any readers who got stuck living in-between (I’ve driven through your states twice now; I’m so sorry). They’re both big states, with lots of…trees…and they’ve both made me realize that I should look out the window more and see what they’ve got besides trees. But certain things feel like they’re a step away in a random direction; even the yard sales.

This past Saturday in New York, I overheard a guy talking about how he (his company?) recently had to pay a $200 million fine, in the same regretful tone that one might remark that they left their phone charger on the bus. “Aw gee,” I could imagine him shrugging, then giving the propeller on his beanie cap a twirl. “What a boo-boo I just did.” (And we don’t even live in the rich part of New York. We live in the cow part.) In Humboldt County—our home in California before moving back east—the only time you’d hear the word “million” was if someone was breaking the record for number of buds grown in a single field.

Another example. In California, I found some pretty adorable quilting-themed goods at an estate sale…

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What’s Even the Point?

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mustache-kissing-sign

Fun fact: This sign went through several iterations before they finally settled on a slogan. Here are a few versions they tossed out:

  • Kissing a man without a mustache is like going to the zoo and skipping the rain forest area.
  • Kissing a man without a mustache is like going to the bathroom without your phone.
  • Kissing a man without a mustache is like getting a dog, but not a cool dog.
  • Kissing a man without a mustache is like when the waitress asks you if Pepsi is okay.
  • Kissing a man without a mustache is like forgetting to bring your skateboards to high school:

  • Kissing a man without a mustache is like wearing pants, even when there’s no one home.
  • Kissing a man without a mustache is like voting for Donald Trump.
  • Kissing a mustache without a man is just totally f***ed up.
  • Kissing a man without a mustache is like reading this blog but not buying my new videogame.

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She Was Eaten to DEATH

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*ahem* Let’s get doewn to business; we have a lot of madeerial to cover. (…I’m so sorry. Those are some of my worst puns yet. My Aunt Ler would be so ashamed.)

Today’s adventure started off with a “blue light”—which is, as described earlier, a term my mom coined for yardsales that sneak up on you, like that axe murderer that’s creeping up behind you right now. Although as it turned out, I did see this one listed on Craigslist the night before. The post just had one critical flaw:

They didn’t include an address. Which—as you might imagine—is a bit of a problem when you’re trying to visit someone’s house. My GPS is an older model; it doesn’t understand how to get me from Spring Street to “near Route 67, past where the old supermarket used to be.”

So how did I know it was the same sale? They mentioned in the post that they had a bunch of gravestones for sale, and, well…

They sure did!

My favorite, by far: “Here lies BETH. She was eaten to DEATH.” (Although “SALLY BASS got overcome by GAS” comes in at a close second.)

A whopping $50 for the whole lot though; they must’ve read my post about ridiculous Connecticut Prices, and took it as a challenge. “Oh, he thinks $4 for a scratched up CD is bad? Just wait until I charge half a hundo for these cardboard things I painted!”

Although that said, for only $5 I could’ve taken home this fantastic lobster rug:

…but it’s a good thing I didn’t get my claws into that; I ended up buying another awesome rug at a different sale, and I think if I brought them both home my wife might’ve boiled me alive. (Like a lobster.)

Later in the day, I came across… Continue reading →

Awww Yeah, it’s a Tag Sale!

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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.

Guest Post: How to Have a Yardsale (That Isn’t Awful)

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Hi, I’m Christian Porter. Normally I write with Paul over at his videogame site, GameCola.net. Today, however, I have a pressing issue to discuss with you, the yardsale community.

Recently I’ve noticed that, well, let’s not mince words—your yardsales are lame. Don’t worry, you want to sell your crap and I want to buy it. Let me show you how to have a proper yardsale and we’ll all benefit. It breaks down into two parts: how to promote your yardsale, and how to have a yardsale worth going to.

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