Wednesday, May 13, 2009

No laundry, no dishes, I have no purpose

I'm finally in the mood and have the time and energy to write something. Those three things hardly ever happen at once lately. As I'm sure you've noticed.

A couple weekends ago was the citywide garage sale. A couple just a few blocks over has two little girls and impeccable taste. We scored five outfits and a hat. I really wish I'd gotten more, but I didn't want to blow all our cash on Grace clothes. We ended up with about $50 left over from what we'd taken out, so I'm kicking myself now. Maybe it's a good thing, though. Two of those outfits turned out to be a little small (even though that brand usually runs big, and it was one size up from what she's wearing now). And the booties that came with them barely fit on Grace's thumbs. The child has the biggest baby feet I have ever seen in my life.

Bowling ball head, skinny little body, legs like sausages, and feet like yardsticks. Poor kid.

So, at another garage sale, I'm standing at a table, flipping through a bunch of cute clothing that will never fit me in a million years and sobbing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man sidling up to me. It's a we-are-intimate-friends sidle, not a I'd-like-to-look-too-so-please-move sidle. And then. THEN. There is a HAND on my BUTT.

I whirl around and burn a hole in the guy's face with the power of my mind. Or just glare real hard. He turns a spectacular shade of vermillion and says, "OHMYGOSHIAMSOSORRYITHOUGHTYOUWEREMYWIFE." Which, I don't know. His wife was my height, but much stockier, and had red hair. And we were wearing completely different outfits. But if he was lying, he should get an Emmy award. I'm not sure I've ever seen such horrified embarrassment. Anyway, I laughed and told him not to worry about it, but he stayed at least twenty feet away from me for the rest of the day. We kept coincidentally showing up at the same yard sales. The poor man probably thought I was going to stalk him to death as punishment.

And finally, we got a pantry cabinet for the kitchen. It is EXACTLY what I've been wanting since we got the house and have not been able to find anywhere for less than a frillion dollars. It has no door, and it's not very stylish, but I don't care. I mean, we have forest green cabinets with bendy hinges, so there's not much style going on in that kitchen anyway. We got it for 8 bucks from some people down the street. And the man put it in his truck and delivered it for us as soon as we bought it.

I had to laugh (in a good way, not a mean way). He had a long braid, insane facial hair, scary tattoos, and "JESUS SAVES!" on the back of his motorcycle jacket.

I'm kind of a snob about garage sales. I have a thing about other people's dirt. James kept wanting to go to these sales at run-down houses, and I kept guiding him the other way. I mean, look at our house! From the outside, it looks pretty shabby, too. I just get the willies wandering into a dank garage with ancient furniture and creepy smells and handling the stuff in there. The ones we did go to at houses that were less than pristine did mostly seem to have dirty, junky stuff, so I feel a little justified. But still pretty snobby.

CFF came over Monday. We had fun. Well, I had fun. I'm pretty sure she did, too. I'm such a dork about meeting new people and hanging out with them. Well, she's not new, really, but we don't see a whole lot of each other. Anyway, when I'm making new friends, it's like I'm back in junior high, and I write a note that says, "Do you like me? Check one: __yes __no __maybe" And then I give that note to a friend of mine to give to a friend of my crush, to give to him. How is it that I was so good at and comfortable with waitressing and chatting with strangers upon whose favor I depended for a decent income, but making friends is so weird?

Speaking of making friends. Remember how we had our neighbors over for dinner way back in December (Shirtless Yardwork Neighbor Man is one of them)? They've hardly spoken to us since. It is very weird. Maybe they're just pissed that we haven't mowed the lawn yet this year. SYNM has mowed three times. Our jungle lawn is going to eat his lawn, and then he'll come kill us.

So if you don't hear from me for ANOTHER two weeks, SYNM has either buried us under his basement floor, or we got lost in our own grass and starved to death.

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