Thrift Stores are not for the Faint of Heart.

So Saturday*, in honer of our anniversary, me and Scott decided to hit the town. You know. The town. We ate food at the local cafe, went to my most favorite book store and our favorite coffee shop. Then we decided to go look at the local thrift stores and antique shops.

Where we found such wonders as the box of remotes.

And the box of license plates!

Will the wonders never cease.

Wow, Garfield has really let himself go.

We are chained to our young in the afterlife as penance for our sins!

This is not the most racist thing I've ever seen.

Who doesn't want an orange ceramic dog with a poop mustache?

The other weird thing, and this almost borders on a phenomenon, is that each store had one of these:

 Or sometimes more then one.

It got so bad that I stopped taking pictures of them at this point. Is there some sort of metal mermaid factory that I am not aware of that supplies these things to the Middleofnowheresville? Was there a wholesale mermaid emporium that closed down in the town that the local antique malls stripped of these wares? These are the questions that keep me up at night people.

And speaking of things that are in every store- meet the white ceramic Christmas tree or as I like to call it, buyers remorse.

You know, who looked at a Christmas Tree and said, you know what this needs? This needs to be ceramic. We need to remove the joy and fun of durability and decorating and focus on making this look like a cookie jar with glass on it.

And they were everywhere.

Needless to say I didn't really buy anything. But I would like to think the experience made me stronger. As in I have a greater tolerance for horrible knick knacks and overly cutesy country decor.

Don't you want me in your house? Watching you all the time? Yes?

Be glad that I have braved the waters of insanity for you, gentle readers.

Be glad.

 *I would have posted this sooner but my shitty satellite internet decided I didn't deserve to upload pictures.