We were beginning to feel like the odds were against us the night before our first ever Mills hizzy garage sale extravaganza.

We’d spent a few days clearing out, prepping and tagging. But our babysitters nearly fell through. There was a seventy percent chance of rain for Saturday. Because of those daunting stats, we decided to hold it in our garage. Only when we went to clear it and make a space for the sellapalooza, we found a rogue can of polyurethane had spilled all over the garage floor. I feared the simply unbearable stinch would drive away potential customers. {That, or make them all incoherently high so they would experience an unexplainable spending spree phenomenon…Could be a good thing.} As we desperately tried to air out the smell, in the grand tradition of our SFR home (Swiss Family Robinson) Jamin found, and then quickly massacred a snake, who had apparently decided to take up residence under a spare cardboard box. {yay.} Side note: I’m speaking too soon, and tempting fate, but I’m kind of wondering why a rabid deer hasn’t dove through our dining room window, or my children all been sprayed by a skunk. A bird pooped on Emmy’s face, and a psychotic wombat from Satan’s lair flitted through our living room, so I’m putting nothing past Mother Nature and her never ending plethora of a secret arsenal at the moment.

The next day, however, the garage sale gods smiled favorably upon us, and apparently sprinkled our home with some good juju selling vibes. The smell was bearable, the sun was shining, my parents were able to babysit, and the snakes were still beheaded.

It turned out to be well worth the trouble. I, at least, consider 350 smacks for something I no longer find useful that’s been sitting in our nooks and crannies taking up valuable real estate, well worth the trouble. People basically paid me to purge my home. I soon got over that fear of the whole public display, strip-me-down-and-circle-my–proverbial-home-cellulite/oh-my-gosh-I-can’t-believe-you-actually-owned-this-brass-duck mentality. I didn’t feel so odd once the cash started rolling in. Old wedding gifts, my unwanted jewelry and Jamin’s Indiana Jones hat sold like hotcakes. {Yes. Jamin had an Indiana Jones hat. Yes. It sold like a hotcake. If by singular hotcake I am referring to the elderly man who nearly beat everyone else down to carry home his new find. No. I didn’t want him to keep it even though I had a childhood crush on Harrison Ford…} Trash truly is treasure when it passes to the right hands.

Most of the people who visited the sale were totally normal. And then, of course, in the secondary Mills grand tradition of attracting the psychos like moths to a flame, magnets to a fridge and fatties to a donut shop…there were the total wierdos/borderline psychopaths who ever so graciously paid us a visit. I’ve decided someone out in the Monty area has placed an ad on Craigslist in the personals. Regarding my mug, the idea of stalking me, and the chance to make guest appearances on my blog. {It’s every freak’s dream, after all. I take great pride in my fabulous ability.}

It started with our first visitors. The sale began at seven, but we decided to welcome the early birds, including the strange woman driving up and down our street at 5:30 in the AM in a giant black beaten up van. Up our small hill and into our garage, the influx of shoppers began. And so did the haggling.

Pause: I get haggling. Really. That’s great if you can do it. You’re basically an idiot or completely loaded if you haven’t haggled for a better deal at some point in your shopping career. But I truly fail to understand the people who obsess over the difference of a dollar. Or fifty cents. It’s one thing if you simply can’t afford it. It’s quite another if you’re just. That. Cheap.

The first group of women to enter our setup, were the ones to break us in. They walked around our sale, molesting and disheveling my obsessively nicely piled goods for nearly fifteen minutes, having overtly and offensively loud conversations about how Janice would like this frame, and they should call Tish to see if she wanted that onesie. This was before placing said purchasable items back in their NON-original spots wrinkled, pulled apart, or nearly broken. They then approached us with their desired finds. The oldest woman, (we’ll call her Rhondalita) made a beeline for me with an armful and asked me to make her a deal on the pile she had in front of her. “How much?” Overeager Rhondalita kept asking edgily. She was swaying back and forth while simultaneously waving money in my face. The combination of the swaying and the molestation of my things made me nervous. Note to Rhondalita: It was six o clock in the morning. I hated to break it to her, but early birds aren’t going to get the good deals. Just the great finds. Simple math. I’m not desperate. DUH.

Rhondalita offered us eight dollars for her finds. Some of these things included brand new frames, a fake coach purse, and a gigantic shelf.

“That’s 25 dollars worth of stuff, “ Jamin said to Rhondalita, after he simply responded to her by going through and reading the PRICE TAGS, adding it all up.

“You won’t come down on any of this?” Rhondalita replied indignantly. She then waved her wadded cash in our faces again. “All I have is eight dollars. That’s all I have. Eight dollars. Let’s see…”

I won’t bore you with the details. Because at this point I think distraction was key for these women. By the time Rhondalita was done bargaining, I was ready to pay her eight dollars to get off my lawn. Leaving was something they couldn’t do soon enough. I came down on a few of my prices, and she returned to her car with her finds, after ever so sloppily replacing the ones she couldn’t “afford.” She then came back nearly a second later to purchase something else. Even though she “only” originally posessed eight dollars. She now had nearly three dollars and haggled us down only to pay us in pennies. PENNIES. Jamin cast me an all too familiar look of annoyance as he politely accepted her cash. He then assisted her in dismantling the two dollar shelf she’d just purchased. Sadly, the time it took to dismantle and load said shelf was not worth ten.

We breathed a sigh of relief as we thought they were ready to leave, when Rhondalita (ever so predictably) headed, for the third time, back up our hill. She wanted to purchase yet another two dollar frame, after she attempted to haggle us down AGAIN. This time, Overeager Rhondalita paid up with a twenty.

Jamin accepted her cash (ever so begrudgingly) and then promptly took his time as he counted her change back to her.

In her own pennies.

• I took another impromptu vacay last week. Again, with the whole, simplifying my life thing, it’s been kind of nice. Three chillins can be more than overwhelming at times. I’ve been busy with a few projs around the house, {more coming soon this week} and I’ve been organizing my site and make it easier to access. Too many people have been all, “What? That was on your blog?” So I’m now all, “Hello. Look at my big pictures. And links. Click on them. And read. Yay.”

As usual, there are more posts below. Have a fabo week!

blue prints and old letters

our innermost sanctum of innermost sanctums...

partay on the playmat