Buffy ,'Showtime'
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
I usually only go to that area with Hec and Emmett, whose collective vintage and thrift tolerance is... let's see, nuthin' minus nuthin', carry the zero... red-hot blazing hate.
I beg to differ, ma'am. When I was there in November, I went to one of the thrift stores on Valencia with Hec and Emmett -- in fact, I'm pretty damn sure that Hec suggested it -- and watched them scavenge with the intensity of vultures.
My problem is I'm just the wrong size for thrift stores. And I have no idea what looks good on me. So it is not so much that I go looking for soemthing than I don't ever expect to find anything my size and when I do I have no idea if it "works" for me.
I need a personal shopper.
Wanna come thrifting with me and Lee and possibly juliana next weekend?
Oh hells yeah I'm there. Just try to stop me. I have a MUNI pass and I ain't afraid to use it!!!!
Are we talking the 25th or the 18th? I'm assuming the 25th, but I am unwilling to rely on that whole memory thing.
Valencia has the best thrift-shop area I've ever seen. I'd often take BART home from work (to the 24th St. stop) and just wander around that area for ages.
Huh. Just picturing the area in my mind is making me miss SF.
I beg to differ, ma'am. When I was there in November, I went to one of the thrift stores on Valencia with Hec and Emmett -- in fact, I'm pretty damn sure that Hec suggested it -- and watched them scavenge with the intensity of vultures.
Okay, well, fuck. Apparently they just hate thrifting/vintaging with me.
::nails self to cross, gazes up to heaven with big wet eyes::
We could go to Valencia Street too
awwww my old hood! I lived a couple of blocks from the 24th st. BART stop. My best friend in SF is the Mistress of the Thrift. If I go with her, even if she is not explicitly helping me shop, I always find something perfect. She's got a magical touch.
When we went thrifting with Teppy, it wasn't clothes. It was that big place full of wacky furniture and odd items.
I think with thrifting, if I understand the secret, is to not be looking for anything specific, because you're just setting yourself up for a letdown. If you're just browsing, that's when you find the amazing ass-flattering gold sequin-ed pants for $2.
Actually you need to have a set of principles that guide your process, as well as a go with the flow approach. You can't be completely unfocused either. You need to go in thinking: I'm looking for 40s vintage painted ties on sale that will go with my vintage suit; any tab collar shirts under $10; bakelite bracelets; and any megadeals on cunning little hats for JZ. Like that.
Okay, well, fuck. Apparently they just hate thrifting/vintaging with me.
::nails self to cross, gazes up to heaven with big wet eyes::
Maybe they know they can't handle your thrifting energy and zeal, whereas one look at me and even a blind person would know I am SO Not A Shopper, and therefore not likely to thrift until the cows come home. (I'd be the one tugging on Hec's shirt asking "Are we *done* yet? Can we gooooooooo now?")
When we went thrifting with Teppy, it wasn't clothes. It was that big place full of wacky furniture and odd items.
There was clothing, though, wasn't there? I mean, I know you and Emmett weren't looking at the clothes, but I distinctly remember pondering whether or not a nifty shirt would fit The Boy. (Who was not, at the time, The Boy; rather, he was just *a* boy.)
Teppy, I have indeed seen the Edward Gorey bat earrings. They're darling, but oh so wee! I'm not willing to pay that much money for tiny tiny bats.
vw, I hope things start to get better for you.
JZ, I don't suppose I could plead with you to keep an eye out for black dresses that are fitted in the waist, with skirts full enough for petticoats, and that would fit a 42" bust/34" waist?
Graaaaar. I am tired. My shoulder and neck haven't stopped hurting all week. I'm still cranky. And because of all those things, I snapped at Pete when he dropped me off at work. (He was trying to tell me that having my purse slung over my shoulder was crumpling my fur capelet, because he was worried that would damage it. Which, yay, I'm glad he wants to tell me these things, but I was trying to get my totebag out of the back seat and get into the office as soon as possible because of pouring rain. Still, I feel bad for snapping at him.) t /me me me me whiiiiiiine
graaaaaaar