Margarita and Boogers

I promise you that this post will read nothing like the title eludes to.

I confess that I stray from shabby chic yumminess when the job calls for it.  I do beach cottage, many faux finishes and other looks as well.  This was the case Sunday, when my HGIC (head girlfriend in charge) texted me to tell me there was a dresser loose on a street close to her.  I ordered her to “Get it!” as I was busy at the warehouse and decided to make her my immediate employee that I would repay by way of dog sitting or taking her to her car dealer to drop off her Jeep for an oil change that would otherwise hold her hostage in the “Customer Lounge” all day.  BTW, why do they call it a lounge?  I have never seen a lizard or a cocktail come out of there…. Liars….

At any rate, my friend dropped off the dresser while I was away.  It wasn’t what I expected.  I had expected a very french ornate deal.  I got a faux bamboo number.  It was jacked up with thick shiny/gloppy paint and hand prints from the owners younguns on top as well as lots of grime.  Inside, (and I know you like to know what was left behind) there was a little Minnie Mouse sweatshirt.  I assume it was outgrown… I removed it with my drawer tongs and disposed of it.  The inside was as clean as could be.  The drawers were all turned around. The good news was that was all that was wrong.  They were not on their tracks  Once put in the right places and on correct tracks, all drawers opened like buttah!

The top had to be stripped to the original finish, which was in perfect shape.  The rest got painted in white with gray dry brushing and the lyrics to the beginning of a Jimmy Buffett song…or so I thought.  I had gone through life thinking that these were the words:

Livin off Sponge cake,  Watchin the Sun bake……..  Wasting away again in Margaritaville.

I awoke the next day with the instant thought to go to www.lyrics.com to look up the real lyrics.  “Nibblin on Sponge cake….. Wasted away again in Margaritaville.”  Now that was different!  I had to repaint and reword the dresser.  Jimmy would be ashamed of me, for sure.  Besides, how can someone live off sponge cake and waste away at the same time?  It cannot be done.  I know, I’ve tried.  Here is before and after of “Margarita”

Now…BOOGERS.  This has nothing to do with Margarita..but it was and has been on my mind today.  Raised in the south, we have many uses for the word booger, none of them what you think.  Here’s how I was taught the word that I detest but probably often say:

Booger- defined

1.  Man, that storm was a BOOGER!  (meaning it tore down a single-wide and Bubba’s front porch coke machine)

2.  “Boy, you better get outta that old truck bed, a BOOGER will jump on ya!” (a southern parenting technique to get children off of or away from dangerous places or situations, inferring a spider, roach or snake attack.)

3.  “Honey, I saw Gerdine down to the Piggly Wiggly and her hair looked like a WOOLY-BOOGER!”  (Even this is a variation on the term, it means a heinous hairdo and assumes the woman resembled a drunken Teamster.)

4.  “I love you, BOOGER.”  (A term of endearment usually meant for children.  This probably confuses them.  Refer to #2.)

I hope this clears up BOOGER CONFUSION.  It is common here in the central part of Florida.  You’re welcome  🙂

Here is a picture of a little corner of the Vintage Warehouse!

-Dana

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Pause

The above video is the theme song to my drive-bys, pick ups and midnight junk runs.

This is a song we Zumba to. (Zumba:  a dance class for crazy people who think they look like Usher and Janet Jackson dancing when they really look like Cee Lo on meth.)

At any rate… This is the song I hear in my head when I am on a curbside furniture rescue. I prefer to call it rescue and NOT theft.

It’s sometimes a surprise as to what is lurking in the forgotten corners of abandoned or thrift purchased furniture. Just this week I came across these tidbits:

1.)  In a set of 1950’s french provincial night stands:  1 pair of tweezers and a pair of cuticle snips, a lace hanky and a picture of someones ass. Literally, a picture of someone’s ass~ circa 1960.

2.)  In a dresser:  A fake fingernail and  2 hits of acid on stamped paper.

3.)  In a roadside rescue dresser:  A crayon,  a nickel, a twenty-dollar bill, all wadded up and stuck between drawers… and  a tooth.

4.)  In a cabinet: A shoe lace,  cassette tape of David Bowie, a chicken foot and a  cowboy boot.

So, with these little details I have assumed that many people who I cosmically or financially transact my furniture from are an eclectic group of  highly groomed, drug addic,t voo doo enthusiasts with a flair for country western?  Also, I figure I am up $20.05 , two hits of acid and an ass picture.  Surely the street value of the latter two would be worth at least a ten spot.  (KIDDING…..I WOULD NEVER SELL THEM ON THE STREET!  That’s what Craigslist is for…)

It does take some doing to figure outl what all is left behind in a piece of furniture.  You see, it shifts in transit and things become visible again when once they were hidden.  The tooth and the fingernail, both gag-worthy items, came rolling out at me like marbles when I pulled out the drawers.  I handled them with tongs that I have rigged up with spongy grip so I don’t have to touch them.  The single tooth did help me understand the mystery of so many toothless people in my county.  (Evidently the tooth fairy is heinous and just yanks and stashes teeth in furniture so that her quota doesn’t go over… something like that.)  I imagine the press-on nail became a resident of the night stand on a drunken evening when lady and her man were having a squabble about which youngun pulled up all the onions she was growing in the yard and chucked them into the above ground pool.  I imagine that the argument grew hotter and in the midst of her finger-waving monologue about how there. “Won’t gonna be no damned onion rings at Skeeter Mae’s birfday party!” that the one nail flew off and hid in the drawer next to her Lucky Strikes and Vaseline.

So, I am replacing the song, “Pause” by Pitbull (Video attached) with a shout out to my boy David Bowie as I blare the cassette (turned MP3) song “Let’s Dance”  and deem it my new FAS (Furniture Acquisition Song).

Anybody want to buy a cowboy boot?  Size 10. Mens.

My pulls were once knotted telephone cords