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All content copyright 2010 by Chelsea Biondolillo. Seriously.

Friday, November 12, 2010

365 days of being a writer: day 88

My garage sale was today. I ended the day in OK shape, though to pay for apps I need to make about $100 more tomorrow. My flash fiction was also rejected by Hayden's Ferry Review.

Some notes from the garage sale.

8:30: First thing, a phoney hipster chick type wants to negotiate on a nice pair of cowboy boots. They are marked ten bucks. They have only been worn a few times, and I got them in Nashville. She first tries $5.. no, sorry, we just opened up, maybe tomorrow. She knows they won't be there tomorrow, because they are rad. She says, where did you get them? Nashville. I've never heard of this brand. Ha ha, lighthearted, if you had they wouldn't be ten dollars! I'm keeping my Lucchese's, you knowwhatimsayin? So she grabs three packs of incense, one is $2, and two are $1 each. How about this and the boots for ten? Again, polite, apologetic smiles: no. Sorry. Will you take twelve for all of this? Lips pursed now, I'm afraid not. Really, we've been out for an hour. OK. I'll put this one back. She drops $12, sets a pack of incense down, grabs the boots and bolts for her car. And of course, she set down the cheaper pack... So, she really showed me by stealing a dollar's worth of incense. Now she's going to have terrible luck, and will probably burn a hole in her rug with it.

10:45: Drunk ass woman from down the street. LOUD. She has a hard plastic green cup full of ice and something that I assure my companion is probably not Mountain Dew. She talks first someone on the phone, then just herself through all the items on all the tables. They got some hairbands, and some dishes. I know I'm not lookin in those RECORDS. I KNOW there's somethin in there I'd just LOVE. She takes a load off in the chair that's for sale. Whew, I am tellin ya, she tells us. She's coming back with some money. For sure. Gonna maybe get that hiking stick. She has thirTEEN granbabies. And you know? She made eleven Easter baskets up last Easter (I think: why didn't the other two get a basket?) Clarification: I only HAD eleven las' year. And I made everyone of them kids a basket. You know what? Only seven showed up! I had jellybeans. Everything. But I had a garage sale. Sold their baskets, all that Christmas stuff, and Halloween too. She never made it back with the money, and someone else bought the hiking stick.

11:30: Stringy haired Frank Zappa type guy. Hard life, most likely. He's walking two Lhasa Apsos. They get dangerously close to the rollerderby prints I'm selling. What do you see? You don't need any books you... Oh, you see the toys. You want a toy don't you? How much is this fuzzy camel thing? Oh, um it's a llama, actually. Let me see. I see it, a dollar. Yeah, she knows what she wants. He tells me their names, a boy and a girl, but I forget them the minute he gives my llama to the dog. She's so short-legged, the llama's legs drag on the ground, but the dog carries it off down the block. Just before the corner, a skirmish breaks out when the boy tries to wrest the llama away. Ten minutes later, he's back with another dollar to buy the sea otter. The little boy's apparently inconsolable back home without a new toy of his own.

My neighbors don't buy anything. Perhaps a pride thing. One woman helps me practice a little Spanish. "En aqui, dos dollares por cada piece." The things no one buys: a chair, some posters, a calligraphy set, yarn. They buy T-shirts, a candle snuffer, a shopping cart, and shoes. Early, lots of glares at our high prices and unwillingness to haggle. My sister says, they'll be back tomorrow, all smiles, for half price. She also knows that no one will come after twelve. And they don't.

This is all the writing I did today.

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