All week you have to drag me out of bed. Gary literally has to make coffee, prop me up with a pillow, and put the coffee in my hand (which I flavor with Rum Cream from Jamaica). Then I am off to the john and then to read for at least 30 minutes (I know this is TMI, but I’m getting to a point). Then shower, blow dry hair for 20 minutes (I have horse hair) and then take a swipe at applying make-up, find clothes that match, have Gary approve that outfit as I am horribly color blind and would walk out the door looking like a child of a golfer and circus clown if it wasn’t for him and Cheré. I make it to work by noon, if all goes well.
But on Saturday, glorious Saturday, I jump out of bed at the crack of dawn, thrown on sweats, put my hair in a ponytail and am out the door by 8:00 am. Why the change? Treasure. I am hunting for treasure. At Garage sales, Estate sales, rummage sales, crack head sales (that’s wh
ere the drug addict is selling all their furniture for drugs, you know these sales by the toothless deal makers, the bizarre pricing, like $15 for each item). I have been wildly successful in my treasure hunting and posses a house full of EXPENSIVE furniture that I paid literally nothing for. I have famous original works of art, hand constructed Persian rugs, Italian leather chairs and more. People walk into my house and think I am rich or the descended of an oil baron. I did not pay retail for anything in the house, except the framing of the artwork.
I outfitted every Child I raised or mentored or came over for dinner, house with every thing they needed. From TV to Couches to silverware, I get everything they need to be functioning adults. In fact, today, I got my son an Oak futon, with linen covered mattress, matching dresser, sheets, blanket, comforter, pillows, and towels for $20. Yeah- I’m that good.
The estate people know me by name, the thrift store people cringe when I walk in because they know I am going to haggle on price. The funniest part of this equation is I do all my hunting in my Jag. My biggest treasure. Husband found it and bought it for pennies. It was a 1996 that had been driven less than 40,000 miles, consistently garaged (and was even covered in the garage) and in the two years prior to me buying it had only been driven 100 miles. The previous owner had even taken it to the Jag dealer and had all the little stupid stuff fixed, spending thousands of dollars. It looks like I paid $75,000 for this car; I paid less for it then most people pay for two months car payments.
My friends are sure I was a pirate in a previous life. Give me a list and I can find anything. Two employees of mine one time gave me a list of needs as they had just got their first apartment together and had nothing. I ran around all Saturday and handed the list to people selling, telling them that I was buying it for two poooo’ people. At the end of the list, was “Toilet Paper,” yeah they were that poor. Four houses gave me big 24 packs of toilet paper.
I wish every day was Saturday or the garage sales went on past 3:00, but it is a short-lived hunt and I relish every minute of it. If I could only find a way to make a living at this, I’d be set.
But on Saturday, glorious Saturday, I jump out of bed at the crack of dawn, thrown on sweats, put my hair in a ponytail and am out the door by 8:00 am. Why the change? Treasure. I am hunting for treasure. At Garage sales, Estate sales, rummage sales, crack head sales (that’s wh
ere the drug addict is selling all their furniture for drugs, you know these sales by the toothless deal makers, the bizarre pricing, like $15 for each item). I have been wildly successful in my treasure hunting and posses a house full of EXPENSIVE furniture that I paid literally nothing for. I have famous original works of art, hand constructed Persian rugs, Italian leather chairs and more. People walk into my house and think I am rich or the descended of an oil baron. I did not pay retail for anything in the house, except the framing of the artwork.I outfitted every Child I raised or mentored or came over for dinner, house with every thing they needed. From TV to Couches to silverware, I get everything they need to be functioning adults. In fact, today, I got my son an Oak futon, with linen covered mattress, matching dresser, sheets, blanket, comforter, pillows, and towels for $20. Yeah- I’m that good.
The estate people know me by name, the thrift store people cringe when I walk in because they know I am going to haggle on price. The funniest part of this equation is I do all my hunting in my Jag. My biggest treasure. Husband found it and bought it for pennies. It was a 1996 that had been driven less than 40,000 miles, consistently garaged (and was even covered in the garage) and in the two years prior to me buying it had only been driven 100 miles. The previous owner had even taken it to the Jag dealer and had all the little stupid stuff fixed, spending thousands of dollars. It looks like I paid $75,000 for this car; I paid less for it then most people pay for two months car payments.
My friends are sure I was a pirate in a previous life. Give me a list and I can find anything. Two employees of mine one time gave me a list of needs as they had just got their first apartment together and had nothing. I ran around all Saturday and handed the list to people selling, telling them that I was buying it for two poooo’ people. At the end of the list, was “Toilet Paper,” yeah they were that poor. Four houses gave me big 24 packs of toilet paper.
I wish every day was Saturday or the garage sales went on past 3:00, but it is a short-lived hunt and I relish every minute of it. If I could only find a way to make a living at this, I’d be set.
