Selling Out

Every year (apparently) my subdivision has a garage sale. They do all the advertising, and anyone who wants to have a sale can piggyback on, instead of having to get permits, make signs, etc. themselves. Plus, since it's a multi-home sale, it's bound to grab more action.

Last year (less than two months after we moved into the new place, mind you), I seriously toyed with the idea of setting up shop, only to find that the date was a Saturday I was working at my real job. I pushed the notion aside, thinking that I'd do it this year.

One of the bad things about my homeowners' association is that they have a problem with getting information out in a ...timely matter. So, I got the notice about this year's sale date about 8 days before the sale. To confound matters further, I got the notice in the mail the same day I had my wisdom teeth out, meaning, I was not in the right mind when I thought a week was more than enough time to throw a garage sale together.

By "throw" I mean strategically place, price and design a layout that would rival many of the second-hand shops I frequent, with specially printed signs, a beverage stand and leather fanny pack that I have proudly sported on several occasions (including, but not limited to, a bar crawl celebrating college graduation).

We brought in a decent amount, got rid of the dining room table we hated and cleaned out some other random junk we had either accumulated since the move or brought with us. And I had several bags of clothes, shoes, purses, etc. I wanted to get rid of (if only to make room for new...more about that in another post).

Bottom line - I'd totally do it again. Maybe not while recovering from surgery, maybe not with the assistance of codeine, but certainly again.

Drugs, Not Hugs

So for about a decade I had been putting off getting my wisdom teeth pulled, a) because of my deep-rooted hatred of the dentist, b) my fear of getting sick from anesthesia and c) my lack of quality insurance to cover the costs. But I had to bite the bullet finally and get all four taken out recently.

I've never been put to sleep for anything before, but I tell you what, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. It helped that my anesthesiologist reminded me of a flamboyant Tony Shaloub, and he let me talk myself to sleep about my distaste for McDonald's (they gave me happy gas first, and apparently it went to work right away).

Next thing I know, I'm being awakened by a blond nurse I'd never seen before, and I've got a craving for Twinkies and a mouth full of cotton. I think I may have been in the best mood of my life.

My mom was cracking up at me the whole ride home. She has video on her phone of me trying to tell her of my "fabulous" anesthesiologist (which she has shown to every person she has seen since that day). I was numb, drooly and bleeding pretty profusely, but boy, was I jolly. I even tried to go in Walgreens with her to pick up my pain meds.
Me, grunting: Ont oo in, oo.
Mom: You want to go it?
Me: *nods*
Mom: You sure about that? *flips down visor mirror*
Me, noting the streaks of blood and drool ALL OVER MY FACE: Uhhh, uh uh.
Mom: Didn't think so.

Spent the rest of the weekend popping pain meds and eating mashed potatoes and milkshakes. Not a bad life, I tell you. Didn't get sick, didn't really swell up, wasn't the worst weekend I've ever had by far.