A Consignment Groupie

I've never been much of a fan.

I haven't camped out for concert tickets for my favorite band.

I've never slept outside a movie theater to be the first in line on opening night.

In fact, I'll admit that I've even laughed at "Trekkies" or "Star-War-ies" or those people who dress up in character to attend a midnight showing of some cult classic. (Here's looking at you, Twilight Fans.)

It's just not my style. I've never been intense enough; I've never been into it enough to give up my precious money and time to do all that it takes to really go out of my way to make something like that happen, to be present at a moment that is semi-historical and/or momentous to any true fan worth their salt.

Until Wednesday.

On Wednesday, I ate my humble pie.

Because after getting word last month that our city was having a huge baby and children's consignment sale, I know this was something that I was interested in.

After hearing that pregnant mommies got special bonus shopping hours, my curiosity was peaked.

And after learning that several of my pregnant and new mommy friends were interested in going with me, I realized this sale was right up my alley.

Then I learned how truly awesome the sale was. How amazing the mark-downs were. How gently used all the gently used items were.

And I was sold.

Already a girl who enjoys her fair share of second-hand bargain-hunting, I now had a glean in my eye the likes of which I'd never a seen.

A glean in my eye that said, "Watch out world! I need baby gear at bargain basement prices, and I've finally found a way to get it! I am on a mission!"

Which is why, on Wednesday afternoon, I grabbed several good pregnant girlfriends of mine.

We packed coolers full of food.

We grabbed camping chairs.

And we caravan-ed over to the consignment sale site.

Four hours early.

Oh yes indeed, by 3:30 p.m., we had popped out camping chairs, broken out our snacks, and were chatting it up tail-gating-style right outside the baby sale.

By the time we went to wait in line, we were the first one's there.

Because of course, if I'm committed to something, I'm truly committed. I am plowing forward 100 percent. I don't halfway do anything, don't you know.

Which is why me and my three amigas were the first women in line, wearing matching T-shirts, mind you, and readily mapping out the best ways to get our top three needs - baby carriers, high chairs, and bouncy seats.

One woman tried to cut me, and I glared at her.

Another woman rolled her eyes at us, and my friend stared right back.

There we stood, armed with laundry baskets for stuffing and comfortable footwear for running. As one of my girlfriends said, "This isn't a battle; it's a war."

We were not messing around.

A beast I didn't know I had inside me had been unleashed.

I was like a new woman, ready to arm-wrestle another pregnant lady who dared to stand between me and that gently used bouncy seat I'd spotted from my vantage point at the door.

Those Twilight fans had nothing on me.

***

The good news is, it totally paid off.

I scored a high-end bouncy seat, a baby carrier, several outfits, and some beautiful wooden toys for all under $50.

And I didn't even make it through half of the room.

It was every bit of crazy as you can imagine.

Women were literally grabbing baby dresses by the fist fulls. Women were jockeying for the breast-feeding covers.

I even watched one very pregnant girl trying to wheel away three separate strollers.

It was crazy. And hysterical.

And if it hadn't been so financially worth it, I'd have been embarrassed to be a part of it.

But obviously I wasn't.

Because tonight? I'm going back. Me and my mommy posse in tow. We get to shop through whatever's left for 50 percent off before everything gets hauled off to Goodwill come Saturday morning.

This time, we'll likely leave the matching T-shirts at home. There won't be any pre-consignment tail-gating, either.

But I will be wearing my game face: My consignment-shopping, cheap-mom game face.

Now step away from that Boppy pillow, and no one gets hurt.

***

Happy Friday, everyone!

Breaking, Breaking...

I'm currently typing on a laptop on which the screen is, ahem, precariously attached to the keyboard.

Seriously, this old computer is the technological equivalent of "hanging by a thread."

Its CD-burner no longer works; its stopped streaming video. And, if you dare to shut it down, it takes approximately four days to boot back up.

Not that our other laptop is in much better shape.

Heck, it really doesn't serve as a laptop anymore, as it's lost the ability to connect to it's power source unless you are standing on your head, holding the power cord perpendicular to and approximately three centimeters above the floor.

Needless to say, once we establish a connection between the power cord and the computer, we don't move it. It's a desktop in everything but name.

Which is why I'm using the wobbly-screened oldster today. It, at least, allows me to sit on the couch, sip soup, and watch the news while blogging.

I know, I know. I know exactly what you're thinking.

Buy a new computer, Cheapy McCheaperson!

Trust me, that's what we've been thinking, too.

But then we had to pay bills and go to work and pay more bills. And, well, these old computers didn't seem so bad.

Until my husband volunteered to vacuum last week.

He got a good 30 seconds into gliding over the carpets when - splutterspluttercoughcough - the thing died. It whined pathetically and stopped sucking up dirt and dog hair altogether.

It was tragic, really.

So I immediately blamed my husband. After all, he's known in some circles as the Man Who Leaves A Path of Destruction in His Wake, even when he doesn't mean to.

My theory was encouraged by the fact that, indeed, when I flipped the vacuum back on, it worked, suction and all. As inevitably happens with almost all things that belong to both of us, he broke it with his sheer force.

Sigh.

I yelled at him for being too hard on our appliances and let him go on his merry way.

Until a few days later, when the darn vacuum did the same thing again.

And the same thing again the day after that.

And the day after that.

And the day after that and after that and after that.

Every single time we turned the vacuum on, it died. And each time, it also took longer and longer to revive.

It was not a comforting pattern.

Still, we are holding out.

We'll buy a new vacuum when this one really won't turn on anymore, we said. We can probably still get a few good uses out of it still.

This, of course, was before we realized we had to repair our dented front door - a penalty for having a very large and excited dog, who also developed hook worms, thanks to our plethora of neighbors who refuse to pick up their pooch's poop every time they stroll on by.

The vet bill was enormous, and Marvin the Dog was as good as new, albeit a little non-plussed with his parents, who began to dedicate all their free time to saving pennies in a jar to figure out how to buy a new computer and vacuum.

As well as buy plane tickets for the holidays and Christmas gifts for Christmas and food for our bellies and clothes for our backs, and, well, you get the picture.

Makes you wish money really does grow on trees.

Or that Target gave away free vacuums. And computers. And, while we're at, underwear and canned goods.

Don't even get me started on the Christmas gifts.

Because I've got two words for you:

Home. Made.

You're welcome.

***

Happy Tuesday, everyone!