I realized today that if it weren't for the drive into work and then happenings on my lunch hour, I wouldn't witness very much to write about. Because there are so many days where I think, "Hmmm, what the hell can I write about? I don't think I have done or seen anything of interest in the past 24 hours. I'm so bored." If I ever worked from home, this would be a downside. All I would see would be dogs and my own self. And who wants to write (or read) about that all day long.

Tomorrow morning is the Big Clothing Sale. Us ladies are selling off a bunch of our old clothes and stuff in a yard sale in my driveway. I figured it would be a quick way to make some cash to cover Trish's cat Fizzie's vet bills and the expenses for the NJ trip next month.

Gosh, yard sales. Boy, now that's a subject right there. We have had 2 since we moved out here and we made a lot of money off of our old junk. Over a grand on the first sale, even. It's amazing; the people just kept on coming and with them they brought the whole family crammed into the back of a old dented-up 1986 Sunfire. We had a lot of stealing going on, too... I saw an old Mexican woman blatantly slipping some jewelry off the table and into her purse, and a little kid run off towards his parent's car with some toy they didn't pay for. Price label swapping, people haggling down something marked 5 cents, people asking to use the bathroom (so they could case the joint, no doubt) and creepy wanderers who just look over your stuff and don't buy anything for about an hour until, finally, they take that old Great White cassette single of "Once Bitten Twice Shy" and peddle away on their dilapated old bike... we have seen it all, and we have seen it more than once.

Now, tomorrow, we sign up for more insanity. I don't know why we do it, really. It's always a hassle. Making the signs, lugging all that shit outside, pricing it, getting change at the bank, guarding the money like a Gringotts goblin (sorry, had to throw that in), and then the horrid clean-up. But then you see that cash and you're like, oh wow. (That's the best way I can write it. It's Friday.)

The first yard sale, I did a couple of sociological experiments, if you will. I brought out some of the most hideous old clothes I could find, and then some used bras. That's right, used brassieres. I wanted to see if anyone would actually look at a used bra; or, even worse, buy one.

To my shock, horror, dismay and amusement, all of my used undergarments sold in the first two hours of the sale! Some mexican lady hauled them all away for about $3.50 or something. It made me wish I had more used bras I could sell. But used bras are a precious commodity, as we all know. They can also come in handy for slingshot-based sports, cheap bungee cords, splitting atoms, hostage gagging situations, and iron smelting.

My ugly clothes sold, too. And some man bought my jeans. These were "Gloria" jeans, and he was holding them up to his hips to see if they'd fit. I guess they would, because he coughed up the 50 cents to take 'em home. Who wakes up in the morning and says, "I'm gonna cruise the yard sales and see if I can find me some used women's jeans."

Well, tomorrow, we will find out. I will try to document as much as my sunburned mind will allow me to recall. Wish us luck. Especially this year, as we try going the "used granny panties" route.
Kidding.
Maybe.