HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY AUNT BEV! Here is to many more years of being awesome. Enjoy being 29, because you are only 29 once! (Or, in this case, several times, but hey, who's counting. I say you're 29!)
Thank you for always being there for me, and for just being awesome in general. Your kindness, love and support means the world to me, and I hope you know that! Thank you for just being you! (The cats and dogs agree completely with all of the above, just so you know, but considering the video, I think you do.)
And now, without further ado, I present to you my story of the day, even though it is not near as important, or as cool as Aunt Bev's birthday!
There are a few things I have learned in life, some important some not so important, but there is one thing that I consider to be number on on my list.
No one likes yard sales. This has never been more true in life than it was on the 14th, when Ziva David from NCIS walked into an unsuspecting yard sale, and then announced in Hebrew that junk is junk. Period. There's no way around that, and one man's trash is not another's treasure treasure. God Bless her.
That thing I've learned could could also be number two on my list, as it's just that important. I mean, I guess there's those people who do like yard sales, but no one likes having them. It's more painful than having your cavities filled, which I've done in the last week, more boring than watching grass grow, and more agonizing than getting a farmers tan, which is bound to happen with any luck. Not good luck, though.
That being said, guess what I got sucked into? I'll give you three guesses.
No, I did not get sucked into singing "The Song That Doesn't End." Although, comparably, I would have taken it. I like to sing.
Skipping while singing obnoxious songs? No, although I've been there, done that.
Watching an NCIS Marathon? Oh buddy, you best believe I wanted to, but I only caught the last three episodes.
If you guessed right, you would have guessed that I got sucked into a yard sale. Now history tells us that zoos have nothing on yard sales, and I'd much rather deal with angry animals than people. They are both smarter, and unable to steal from you. I was prepared for the worst.
What happened, however, was worse than I could have imagine. Hoards of people did not fall into line and wreck our unhappy yard sale. Things did not get stolen. No one asked me if the chair I just stood up from was for sale. (Save for later.) In fact, we probably had twenty people in the span of eight hours.
I made a whole five dollars and seventy five cents and it wasn't even my yard sale. I had less than ten things involved in it. I'm not complaining.
But this yard sale wasn't about the money. It was about proving Ziva David wrong. Okay, so it wasn't about that either, probably about proving her right, if anything, but it was about getting rid of junk. It was also about gearing up and dealing with the stupidity of people. I have yard sale stories, and now would probably be the right time to tell them, but instead I will only tell you one that is significant to this post and shattered my naive youth of how great people can be in a billion pieces, but therefore preparing me for yard sales of the future.
People will buy anything, period. They will offer you money for your shoes and sort through your car if you leave it unlocked, even if all the things you wish to sale are already displayed. Basically, people are scary little critters with a will and a way to snap up everything they see, whether they intend on telling you what they're doing, or paying for it. They're uniquely crafty. Yep, going with that.
A few years back, my grandma decided to move from her house that was larger than she needed, and into an apartment in a complex for people who are over fifty and super awesome. This has worked out well for her, by the way, but that's not the point of this post. The point is, I've been part of many yard sales prior to this, but never have I been more mortified than I was at this particular yard sale. It cemented my fear of them, and made me see that it was totally warranted.
Several things happened during the day, including people trying to go through our vehicles, and some lady trying to steal things off of my grandma, who was then in her late seventies. This ended in my grandma chasing her down the street and yelling. I don't wish I was kidding. It was pretty funny and my grandma got money for the stuff, and her exercise for the next month, as well as exercised her vocal chords. I say it's a win.
With all the debauchery going on, what really got me, though, was the story of the chair. There were supposed to be four of us running the yard sale, however my grandmother and aunt decided after awhile that it was okay to sit inside her house and not help at all despite all the stuff belonging to either of them, and the fact that we were being mobbed, but that's beyond the point. When all four of us were still working the yard sale, we had four chairs seated in an open circle around the table for those little down times when we did actually get to sit down, rest our feet, and get our shit together.
Eventually, though, someone was bound to come along and ruin this. I stood up to assist said person, and the second I got up she grabbed the chair that I had just gotten up off of from behind me and yelled HOW MUCH IS THIS? The bitch actually thought I was selling the chair. (If you were wondering why I just called this lady a bitch, please refer to Khloe Kardashian and her hilarious comment towards a realtor that obviously could not read.)
After chair-gate, I have since learned that you just can not get up and leave your chair, or even get up from it, without someone wanting to buy it. I took this into consideration during the recent yard sale.
The chair that I had with me was not any chair. Oh no, it was my much coveted Spongebob Squarepants (or SquareBob Spongepants, if you're Danielle's grandma), camping chair. No, I do not camp. I did once and that went extremely wrong, so we will not talk about that right now, even though it's not totally off limits for one day down yonder. My Aunt bought me the chair for when we woudl go to free concerts consisting of singers that were popular in the 1950's, and it is very comfortable, and I love it. Enough said.
I was all prepared for combat when it came to my chair, not wanting to lose it, or have it accidentally "sold" or "creatively borrowed" the moment I walked away from it to eat my yummy, yummy bagel. This is how I dealt with the fear of losing my chair.
Can't see it well enough? Well, here's a close up for you, then.
And you know where that sign got me? Well, do ya? Hardly anyone came to the yard sale and no one noticed the chair. All for lessons I've learned during yard sales. Sheesh! Where's the spirit? Where's the fear of woman on a mission trampling you and trying to bargain you into selling what's not actually for sale. Where's the sheer terror of the sport?
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