Flea Market Madness and a Horror Bake Shop

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It’s not everyday when you find a place that is made for your little tiny insignificant spot on the internet. For a long time, I didn’t think that place existed. Well, not in this state anyway. But that all changed on Saturday when I had enough of a break from the world of responsibilities to go on a little adventure. I would have no idea what an adventure it would turn out to be.

I took a chance and went to my first flea market and whoa-nelly, what an experience!

Right away I knew this was blog worthy. I wasn’t even past the front door yet and the camera on the phone was primed.

No guns? Okay, I agree with that. No smoking? Sure! NO SNAKES? What kind of place is this?

This place was massive. It was a covered bizarre full of hundreds of venders and millions of oddities. I love this stuff and it was well worth the risk of being beaten with a Vietnamese bamboo shaft for an unwelcome photo moment. I had to be sure the flash was off. This was no place for a mistake like that.

Before I get into the obvious weirdness of a flea market I need to tell you level of people watching was all the way to eleven. Like this guy, for an example. A tough biker dude with gloves and a Harley shirt but has a butt bigger than my Junior year’s English teacher. This guy is clearly living on the edge…by eating Big Macs while riding a motorcycle. That’s talent, my friends.

I’m going to stop being mean now.

So this place exists. Like chocolate and peanut butter, mustard and hotdogs, Jason Vorhees and campers, hiphop and Kung Fu just makes sense. It’s hard to believe that this guy took an idea like this and ran with it but he did and we are all better for it. I didn’t venture inside the cage because I couldn’t see myself actually buying anything and he seemed very intense on the phone. I opted for this photo and to me, that alone is a gift.

This sign speaks the truth! Behind it sits an angry, albeit much smaller, Chinese man who I did not want to cross. Even though his store is mainly old cellphones and video games, he also gives out mean glares. But it seems he does have a sense of humor. I tried to by an iPhone 5 charger and was met with some confusing questions like “You power on for car?” and “I give you two for three!”. At that point smiling, nodding and backing away was my only choice. Then running.

Oh the swords. There were so many swords. Any cutting and stabbing weapon you can imagine was there. The really funny thing was the vendors who sold them. It turns out grandmas know quite a bit about the ways of the samurai. If you ever wanted to be a ninja vigilante, this is your first stop. Talk to Bobby Sue. She’s the one with a cat tattoo on her huge left arm and wearing a number four Talladega race day shirt.

I am always a sucker for Garfield ripoffs, especially when he is trying to eat a jumbo sausage but not before taking a test lick. I appreciate that this wasn’t a total ripoff, though. The artist did leave off his stripes. If there is one thing cats love it’s spicy sausage. Owners do not share this love.

There were so many little spaces like this that had no real organization or way to keep account of what stuff they had. It’s a mystery to me how they sell anything at all. Is this where hoarders buy their junk? Because I can see how they would think their lifestyles are normal if they shop here all the time.

If most of this bizarre was set up this way I would have merely peeked around a bit and called it a day. I hate wasting a Saturday inhaling asbestos when I don’t have to. But lucky for me, around the next corner was a day maker.

What the shit? Is this real life? There is no way a Halloween bakery exists in June. It’s as if God Himself guided me to this place knowing full well I needed blog material and there I stood, looking at cupcakes and Freddy Krueger AT THE SAME TIME! If ever there was a place that embodies VeggieMacabre, this was it.

Everybody was at the party, too! Here we see Pinhead holding his “box of fun” and hinting that the orange limeade is really refreshing. You have to be careful when taking his advice, however. His version of a good limeade has fishhooks at the bottom.

The walls are covered in severed limbs and menacing tools along with occasional macabre news articles. I especially love the skull wreath. During the Halloween season you could actually keep it up through Christmas without the neighbors having a leg to stand on. It is a wreath!

We see here a most excellent Halloween mood table originally coined by Matt of Dinosaur Dracula. A Halloween Mood Table is a hodgepodge of anything that gets you in the Halloween mood. Here we see quite a bit of great stuff but looking closer I am kicking myself for not noticing the Wolfman teeth with a toothbrush conveniently next to it. I could be writing this article wearing Wolfman teeth had I paid closer attention.

As if this place could not be anymore charming, there was even daily horror trivia. AND GOOD TRIVIA TOO! What place can you honestly think of that has a daily question involving a Dario Argento movie? If you can, I will personally learn this dance and film it for a vlog.

So after gushing all over the poor girl who owns this little plot of awesomeness, I had to buy something. The cupcakes with little dinosaurs and aliens on top were cute but I didn’t have an appetite for sweets. It wasn’t the severed heads or dead vampire babies that killed it, I just don’t have much of a sweet tooth. So, I opted for the lemon orange limeade. Not too bad. It had a hint of orange, lemon and lime without fishhooks or ears! B minus.

I like to think that this Pooh receptical has a story to tell. I am most certain he does not belong on a normal trashcan but something to match his top. Perhaps he came from some amusement park years ago only to end up outside of a mexican frozen treat stand in a flea market. It’s kind of sad. I gave him my spooky limeade.

Oh man, it’s the “Make you’re own smell” guy! What a concept! The dude was a character too and no one was safe from harassment when passing by his cube. I don’t think I need to go into his poor choice of a business name because words like “scent” or “essence” didn’t rise to the top of his list.

I bet he is the type who insults people when he means to compliment them. You know, like saying “your face isn’t as fat as it used to be” or something like that. I don’t believe words are his strong point but hopefully making “smells” are.

Not all shops were so strange. This was a killer vintage toy store that was full of some of my favorite childhood memories. Since the show Toy Hunter has been my mandatory Wednesday night watch, I have been fascinated by how much these toys go for. And oddly curious to see how much money I could have made by simply taking care of my stuff. It’s a little sickening.

This place had a ton of stuff from Star Wars to GI Joe to Transformers. What caught my eye the most were the Masters of the Universe line and TMNTs. All of them were unboxed in a giant bin for $3 a piece and the old lady in a wheel chair was bargaining with me for the whole set. I just don’t know enough about toys to buy a huge box of a mishmash of characters. Plus her constant nagging over what I need was a little too reminiscent of this…

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I escaped with a future post worthy toy that I will write soon. I love it and soon you will too.

What I thought would be an hour trip turned into three and I still had a long list of real chores to do so I made my way to the exit feeling very fulfilled with my findings for that Saturday. But just before I was about to leave I spotted this..

Do you know what this is? It’s a fully automated embroidering machine. They just type in a word or phrase and the machine will stitch it on to most any article of clothing. And it costs next to nothing! You could write “ALLEN THICKE IS A DICK” on a piece of paper, slide it to the clerk and before you know it, you have a shirt advertising you disdain for the dad on Growing Pains. It’s not magic but it makes me feel magical.

You know I had to.

They forgot the dot.

Thanks for reading.

I’m In A Mood

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Most of my life I have been in a pretty good mood. I always try to see the bright side of life and even in times of strife, there is usually a tinge of happiness to be found. Call it optimism or call it stupidity, I call it a survival mechanism. But even us “glass half full of beer” people can have moments of “fuck my life”. (That’s my new exclamation. Like it?) Here are some resent MRAAHHH’s!

I love NPR. For those who don’t know what NPR is, it stands for News…ahem…National Public Radio and most liberal arts universities have a relay for it on their campus. I particularly enjoy the evening program, “All Things Considered” which along with news, they have stories on topics rarely discussed in the crap we call news on TV. You can be driving in the most desolate areas of the country but in mind, you are in a hospital far off in the Congo or a kitchen in south Bronx listening to a 15 year old girl who raises all her siblings in the midst of gang violence. This program allows us to understand what many choose not to.

But there is a segment that makes me want to jerk the wheel into a goddamn bridge abutment. It is when they allow authors and poets to read their own work. People who write shouldn’t be allowed to read their stuff, especially those who All Things Consider’s, well, consider. You wouldn’t want Stephen King narrating his stories, would you? He’s as close to a human beaver as it comes.

A particular poet/reader had me fidgeting like a day three meth-trip. She spoke so softly I had the radio volume turned all the way up as she over enunciates every single word. I could only liken this to a woman trying to teach a deaf person to read lips by repeating “EGG! MC! MUF FFFF FFF IN!” This made my patients dip so low I took a huge swig of my boiling coffee, completely forgetting I just bought it and still, as I type, I taste only cardboard. Oh! I forgot, you could hear her nose whistle come through loud and clear. Fuck my life!

I know this is petty but still, given the choice between listen to a smug poet read her work from the next room of a recording booth or having a fat guy eat an apple out of anger over a megaphone in a small bathroom, I would choose the latter.

Text messaging is a great invention. Those of you who read this and actually know me in “real life” know that I abuse texting. To me, it is to the point and it leaves out opportunities to be stuck in a conversation about how someone’s dog ate blueberries from the kitchen table and shit a Jackson Pollock on the living room carpet. But there also is a time and place.

Recently I went out to dinner with a friend. She’s a good person but she is also one of those people who have little regard for other people. I guess everything has come easy to her and it doesn’t occur to her that there are other people on the planet. I tolerate her.

Well, about halfway through dinner she gets into a texting battle that lasts the rest of the meal. My phone went off at least six times but I would never think of that disruption at dinner. She just didn’t get that when two people are at dinner and one is on the phone, that makes the other feel bad. And look bad. By the time she was done I had drunk two shots, had three beers and spelled “suck my ass” in peas upside down on my plate of Pad Tai. Like I said, she can’t help being who she is. That’s why I tolerate her.

Nonverbal facial gestures with eyebrows from someone I don’t know makes me want to reply with nonverbal hand gestures with my middle fingers. I was next in line at the bagel shop and when it was my turn the tattooed, pierced, blue haired dude gave me an eyebrow gesture as if to say, “You are next retard”. I didn’t thank him after the transaction. Showed him. Wait a minute…he didn’t thank me!

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Got my car totally fixed! But in the waiting room I had to watch “The View” on their TV. Don’t even get me started and don’t get me wrong, I am all about women and 100% equality but this show actually removed very important brain cells. When the mechanic was finished he asked for a form of payment and I responded, “Yes. Have some.”

If this makes some people angry, I am sorry. I just lied to you. I’m not and I don’t care. Whoopie needed to stay in the 1980’s. I am still disappointed in Ted Danson because that’s gross, man. That officially killed Cheers.

It just hit me that I am a 31 year old guy, living by myself with a cat in Idaho. I am Jon Arbuckle. Fuck my life.

*Back on track with the Fall theme tomorrow folks! I’ll be in a better mood by then. ;)*

Poor Jon Arbuckle

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I confess I was a huge Garfield fan when I was younger. In fact I think I had numbers 1 through 32 of the comic books in my library. They would keep me occupied on the sixteen hour road trip to see the grandparents or any social event where children are to be seen and not heard. As a kid, of course I read them as a Garfield the cat fan but now that I am older I realize how sad Jon Arbuckle was. In real life, if there was a guy who confided in his cat I would feel compelled to say he was pathetic. If you remove Garfield all together, I would say it is disturbing.

Dude needs some serious meds.