Folks, it's official. We are in fall rummage season. This Saturday's affair, which I've been going to as long as I can remember, was held in one of New Jersey's--and the entire country's--richest communities, so you know they have good castoffs, like a high-end Proton clock radio with subwoofer that I scored for $10, and that was the priciest item I bought there.
With prices this low (practically in-saaaane), I have a history of getting out of control in at least one department, typically records, books, clothes, housewares, or a combination of those. By a few hours in, I am lugging around desperately overfull paper bags about to burst but I can't stop.
This time, I lost control in the shoes. Normally it's challenging buying cool shoes since I don't buy leather. But that all went out the window yesterday. As I gazed at the shoe bins, my pals Patty & Karin were long done and off eating lunch shomewhere, rationalizations came flying into my head: vintage leather shoes are OK becuase these animals died a long time ago, and by extending these shoes' lives I'm helping to ensure they did not die in vain. And I'm a
living animal, andthe shoesmakemehappy,and...and...and then everything went black and when the frenzy was over, I had glazed eyes, a nonstop smile, and all this.
Not pictured: one other pair of shoes and one pair of black knee-high stack-heeled boots. All two bucks a pair, boots for four. That's including the three pairs of Bruno Maglis, the fancy eye-talian label made infamous by the OJ trial.

(These photos reminded me that I have a bit of a shoe thing that has gone repressed during the leather-free years. Cat lady details visible in this pic include my cat waiting at her bowl to be fed again, and one piece of Feline Pine litter.) I checked out
how much Maglis go these days and learned they are quite uggo but still go for well upwards of $200. (They're no Manolos, I suppose, but to a girl who normally PaysLess, it feels good to pay...uh...some very small percentage of their worth.) The ones I found are decidedly not uggo, but then everything looked better in earlier times.
Like this: by far the find of the day was this working vintage
vibrator "massager."

...IN THE BOX!

For some reason, the old man I paid my $2 didn't understand why I was so stoked about Super Douglas.
Now you may say, "Hola CoKane. How are you? I am fine. Say, I also enjoy bargain shopping and finding whimsical doodads to purchase. Where was this rummage sale?" But I'll never tell! Like I want some Williamsjerk boutique owner pillaging my finds? (Wait, like they'd be reading a blog that doesn't involve mean stuff about celebrities or the asymmetrical-haircut music of the moment.) (Zing.)
Speaking of Williamsjerk, guess who's selling these jerk boots she picked up to help offset the costs of her day's shopping:

Then I rejoined buddies Patty & Karin in what was probably one of NJ's lesser moneyed communities, the borough of Raritan, for another good sale, and it was already fill-a-bag-o'clock when we got there. Got a bunch more cool stuff I don't have room for, parted from my pals, then checked out Raritan's little main drag. The town seems to be mostly Filipino and (get ready for a shocker) Italian.
There would be no meatless buff wings in this town. So to end my scandalously cheegan day in NJ, I grabbed a slice...where I spied this shop-class project.

I like how the machine gun is dripping blood.