It was an outstanding weekend for many reasons. Ecs got married on Friday at City Hall, and it was one of the best, most fun wedding days ever, and one of those rare weddings where you watch the couple together, and you are like, Yes. This is the real reason people should get married. There also seems to be a Jon Spencer Love Explosion going on right now among numerous friends (and self) who are usually permasingle. I also got some Aunt Co time in with my wee niece (adorable to the max). And most importantly, the biggest rummage sale in New Jersey went down in Far Hills this weekend.
This is the sale where for most of my life I've gotten pretty much everything I own (the rest I buy at the sale I went to last weekend).
Often at these affairs, I have an inner battle, and it goes something like this. Step away from the pink vacuum. You already have a working modern vacuum, a broken modern vacuum that you can't throw out until you retrieve your necklace piece from its bag, and your (also working) mustard-colored Hoover Constellation 88 that looks like Saturn.
Yes, I know it's pink, but you don't have any place to put it. Plus, you don't even vacuum. Just take a photo, and move on. Breathe. OK, good, you can do it. Back away, and let it go.
(BT-dubs, I thought I was OK but I am still not over this vacuum. Having the photo has only exacerbated matters.)
Other times, there is no reasoning. Vintage GE toaster with probably dangerous olde-tyme cord? Why, of course. It will be darling in that puddle that hangs out on my tiny countertop.
Did I mention I am into vintage kitchenware to a nearly fetishistic level?
Speaking of fetishes, check out these black-seamed nylon stockings. No practical use! Sold!
And I found the first radio I ever knew! This exact model was my family's kitchen radio forever, going back to when I used to think there was maybe a little band in that radio playing all the songs. Kids are dumb!
Karin, Mystery Mike, and I had a hoot in the barn of misfit toys. First stop, bag o' Garfields!
He's right! Diets DO stink! Oh, Garfield, you've done it again. You say what everyone is thinking when it comes to such topics as naps, diets, and lasagne.
And sometimes, toy franchises go too far. Pound Puppies, that makes sense. Pound Purries, OK. But there is just no reason for this travesty.
What's more creepy than a box o' dead Furbys?
A bag of dead Furbs, with eyes wide open! Dear God, please make it stop.
And here we have a rabbit that is quite obviously entrenched in the hip-hop scene. East Coast or West Coast? He's dressed more old school than anything, I'd say, so that was before such distinctions were an issue.
Then we helped Hip Hop Rabbit meet his match. You're welcome,
Hip Hop Rabbit.
We laughed, but we also learned. Lest we forget:
(Yay for the honest-to-goodness digital camera, courtesy of my gentleman friend.)