How I got here

When I'm not acting like I know what I'm doing at work or watching horror films with my sisters and brothers, I can be found at local thrift shops or estate sales trying to ease my restless soul with a fab vintage find along with my husband, Chris, who is equally enthusiastic about finding hidden treasures. This, I bore witness to when we went on our latest thrifting adventure. Yesterday, Chris and I spent the day driving around the city going from thrift store to thrift store. Our first stop was at a new thrift boutique called Anjou on the city's northwest side. I'm excited about it because there are not many thrift shops on this side of town. Anyways, while I was perusing the women's clothing racks, Chris walked into the room in the back next to the register and the shop's owners, saw an unopened box of old, beat-up cars on a shelf full of discarded toys and proceeded to sit on the floor indian-style, voraciously sift through the box, and pluck out old hot wheels and matchboxes one by one and inspect them as if he were Dr. Henry Lee, forensics scientist, trying to piece the puzzle of the events leading up to a murder/suicide at the scene of a crime. Yes, I can relate death to virtually anything. I don't know what to do with this talent other than create morbid metaphors and interject them in my daily ramblings whenever possible. This is not the first time he has done this. Chris, not Lee. And this is quite possibly one of the reasons why I love him so. He gets totally lost in the hunt as do I. And he's always on the lookout for one of my favorite vintage things, owls. So, after going to about seven or eight...lost count....thrift shops mainly around the Fredericksburg/West Ave area I came out with a pair of owl bookends, a girly kitsch stapler, a vintage nightgown, and a few shirts and blouses. The picture above is of the stapler on its side and an owl that we got from an estate sale last month. I just put them side by side because of how well the mustard yellow color found in both complement each other.

P.S. We ate lunch yesterday at the original Blanco Cafe. The one on Blanco. They have the best cheese enchiladas. Just like my grandma's. But, after eating the first one I felt like the bulimic model whose death was featured on the show "1000 ways to Die" who died after gorging herself on room service and couldn't throw up fast enough. No. I will not do this all the time.