Ciblek Mania

This weekend I intended to do three things:

1. Sleep
2. Clean
3. Rinse and repeat

Here's what I actually accomplished: sleep, watch 7 consecutive hours of the ID channel (Dateline lover's dream), almost pass out in the bathroom from the wicked second hand maryjane smoke wafting up from the downstairs neighbors, hit the jackpot at the local flea market and SEE TORI SPELLING.

Yes, friends, I saw Tori Spelling. Up close. And Liam, Stella, Patsy and James. *dies*

As a former diehard lover of the original 90210 (I answered and immediately clicked if you dared call during that sacred weekly hour), and a fan of Tori and Dean's reality show this made my day. There we were looking for parking at the flea market.

Me: 'Hey that looks like Tori Spelling.'
Chef: 'I think there's one over there.'
Me:  'Hey! That IS Tori Spelling!!' *bangs on insides of vehicle window as we drive by*
Chef: 'Hey yeah, it is her.'
Me: 'There's Patsy OMG Liam and Stella back this thing up!!!'
Chef: 'You sure about that?' *eyebrows raised and slanted grin* He knows me so well.
Me: 'I love her. Man I love her show. She is so balls out. Did you see that little Liam? Yes I'm sure back this thing up. No don't. These people deserve privacy. Do you think she'll tell me to frig off if I just wheel by and say hi? I can't do that. Douchey move. Seriously dude who am I right now?'
Chef: 'I don't know, but it's kind of hilarious.'
Me: 'Forget it.  I think they're leaving and I don't want to bug them. Do you think I should? No. Don't answer that. Let's go find some goodies.'

Whispers to self: 'Dude. I just saw Donna Martin,' whilst wandering aimlessly toward aisles of jackpot.

Thirty minutes later, up to my elbows in artifacts, bobbleheads and one of a kind vintage finds, I realize she is standing right.next.to.me.

Do I scream, "I love you for fearlessly having children in your 30's and living your own life!!'

Do I shamelessly fling myself at her, administering a hug?? (seriously considered both of these options)

No I do not (this is what we here at the bird refer to as 'the self-control'). Instead I silently side eye her antiquing prowess while her children taunt each other and have a mini slapping match right in front of me. So normal, right?! So me and my brother back in the day, anyway.

Observation: that woman knows her used treasures.

And I'm a freak, although not a completely intrusive one.  I let myself have 2 minutes and then wandered off into a sea of good finds.  Tell you about that part later.

Donna Martin lives! And she's superbly boho, too.  Snapped this from waaaaaay across the parking lot when I thought she was leaving.  No kids.  That's just too much.

...and it's not from Blogger.  Holy shazam was that a gong show or what?  Bloggers far and wide lose marbles over site being down for what seemed like an eternity.  Can someone give me the 411 on the miraculous upgrades we're supposed to be experiencing because all I've got is about 35 missing comments?  Uh, yeah.

Onward and upward to the weekend dear readers.  This has been the week from Friday the 13th and I, for one, am relieved to see it end.  On the agenda for this weekend is the local flea market.  Count back to a year ago and there is no way you would have heard me waxing on for a flea market find.  Every time I went all I could see was bobblehead Garfields and more dirty old cups than I'd care to count.  Then about 6 months ago I started meandering through without an agenda to see what I could see.  Low and behold it all began to make sense.  I began to actually see the goods that were there.  Somewhere out there my mother weeps with glory.  Her daughter has caught the frugal find bug.  But even more than that I began to see the value in the vintage treasure.  Just last month I choked up over missing out on a pair of vintage leather disco boots circa 1975.  Verklempt doesn't even begin to cover it.

I did however stroll out with a seriously old leather concho bracelet from an authentic dealer, a crazy maxi skirt to carry on the craze and an off.the.hook. detailed leather belt that the Chef swears came off the pants of some tiny man in Mexico.  I'll take the man's belt and give him $9.  Yes - $9.  I later saw a similar belt in a very "cool" hipster hangout for...wait for it...$140.



Here's to a slow moving, relaxing weekend.  I think we could all use one of those.

We got a late start on Sunday, but decided to head over to the local flea market to take a quick peek anyway.  Suffice it to say a couple days of pouring rain held crowds at bay, but there remained some interesting cats to see (did you catch Sunday's post?) as well as a lot of really cool finds in amongst the junk.  I'm sorry, but I have to call a spade a spade.  I mean is anyone really interested in a 25 year old faded out plastic Garfield that's missing a leg?  Anyone? Anyone?  

Thanks to brisk temperatures there were very few people perusing the racks, so I was able to take my time.  Somewhere in there I think I caught it:  the flea market bug.  The thrifting fever (not to be mistaken with Bieber fever just to be clear).  Second, third and fourth hand mania.  Whatever you want to call it there was a moment of clarity where I realized I'm finally getting the hang of this, and could actually select and get excited about picking up a couple things.  Okay one thing, but there were almost 5.  And 2 days later I'm actually regretting the 4 things I left behind.  Can you imagine??