I’m not, mind you, entirely certain that “antiquing” is actually a word, nor that I spelled it correctly, nor that I used it correctly. After all, it appears to be a gerund of the verb “to antique,” which, to the best of my knowledge, is not actually a verb.
Regardless of the existence of such a term, that is what I was dragged into participating in yesterday. Mandrina received some funds for her birthday from her mother, earmarked for either an antique piece of furniture or… I forget what else; you can guess fairly accurately that Mandrina chose to use it for a piece of furniture, or more accurately, as justification to shop for a piece of furniture.
Some of the items we came across were fairly nice. Antique knives, antique swords, antique books. Unfortunately, Mandrina was busy looking at antique tables, antique dressers, antique beds, antique warddrobes, antique clothes, antique tea sets, and other things I did not realize it was better to buy USED, rather than NEW. Apparently, and for the guys in the audience, this might be a bit of an education to you as well, “used” items, if they were used long enough, become “antiques.” So those of you who might like to shop at Value Village (and you know who I’m talking to, don’t you?), your shopping choices would apparently be more acceptable if you were to only buy those items that are 15 years or older at time of purchase.
Fifteen years is, in fact, an accurate measure, as I’m about to elaborate on, for it was the most depressing part of the entire antiquing experience.
Walking around, seeing a bunch of old crystal and china is one thing. Old wooden furniture, fine! Toys I know my mother had as I inherited them when I was a child, that’s okay, too.
Seeing toys that came out when you were grade school in an antique store is pushing it.
Seeing toys that came out when you were in HIGH SCHOOL was just terrible. I feel OLD.
That was not fun. I’m sorry, I just don’t think that items that were made fifteen years ago (I wasn’t in high school that long ago, mind you) belong in an “antique” store next to hundred-year-old handmade wooden something-or-others. Antiques are items that have outlived their original owners, and not just because they died in depression after Lucas ruined Star Wars (which would be since he did the reedits of the original trilogy up through the release of Episode 3: Revenge of the Suck). It’s just not right! In my office (at work), I currently have a “laser-tag”-esque system my dear brother bought me two or so years ago. I think he picked it up on ebay — but it still works!
I saw ONE of the pistols in a case yesterday, with a $25 price tag on it. Gah.
So, the second and much calmer part of my entry (I’m lying): I hate the bus.
Now, those of you who know Mandrina know she REALLY hates the bus. I’m usually fairly ambivalent about it; it keeps idiots off my road, and if you happen to live in the right place (ie, not where I live), it’s a much more convenient way of getting to and from work without dealing with the idiots on the road.
I hate the bus.
I was on an interchange, transferring from I-405S to 520-E; it’s a cloverleaf interchange (with exceptions), but has poor visibility due to a concrete barricade. I drive an Audi — I’m not slow to accelerate, and I’m not slow on a curve. So I get down to where I can actually see oncoming traffic — and see a bus barreling down at me. A double-length bus, on top of that. And it’s followed immediately by another bus.
There are three lanes. The buses are, inconveniently, in the right-most lane, where I’m supposed to be merging in. Thank God there was no one behind me; I didn’t have enough space and time to get ahead of the bus, so I had to come to a dead halt — at the end of the entrance ramp. I may have been able to make it in front of the bus, provided there was no one on the far side. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see around him, so I got stuck sitting at the end of the entrance ramp; had anyone been behind me, there would have been a massive collision, with me being, well, dead. Pity, I could have sued the hell out of the bus company.
I know how to merge. I’ve done it thousands of times. I also know that if possible you’re supposed to get out of the way of merging traffic — which these buses did not do.
Alls well that ends well and all that, but next time… Change #@$#@$ lanes, you damn bus!
As a side note: after I ran my errand today (more on that later), I was driving back into the parking lot, and an idiot ran a stop sign while blissfully pulling out into traffic right in front of me, watching the STOPPED CAR on the other side of the street. It had been raining, there was skidding, there was a car behind me. Thankfully the car behind me was paying attention, when the idiot in front of me was not.
*grumble* And I still have to drive home.
