Still sick, but I've got thrifting to cure me.

Is it bad when I call out sick from work (because I am) and instead of sleeping I Google Maps all of the Goodwills in Queens?

Meanwhile, I really shouldn't leave my bed but the only view is my cluttered room and the junk I already have in it:
I spy with my little thrifty eye: 3 metal floral frogs, folding ruler, air mail envelopes, building blocks, vintage children's books, a Love is...1970s glass, Fiesta flatware (in the flower pot that looks like a giant white pencil cup), some old stamp books...this is just the 1.5'x1.5' table directly in my line of sight. Help.

Some finds at an Upper West Side estate sale below. I haven't been to too many estate sales (I think mostly because the city is filled with so many new people, and the Rockefellers and whatnot don't advertise their estate sales on Craigslist), but I feel a little weird digging around through a family estate, especially when it's not a company running the sale.

This one was ran by I think the son of the woman who owned the apartment. He seemed younger than me, and I'm 25. I thought it was an incredibly sad situation and felt uncomfortable until he told his friend who was helping him that "the dog paintings in the hallway were appraised for 3 thou each." Then...I stopped feeling bad. I don't know. How do you feel about such scenarios? Onto the finds:

Clutter and Chaos: A New Organizational System

Sadly/scarily enough, I just hunted around for something I sold and needed to ship for the past *1.5 hours*. I store things in boxes and label them, but as previously stated room in my apartment is getting tight and I don't have the space to store everything in one place.

To never let that happen again, I made this list and will add to it when I add things to the shop. Oh my lord I'm tired. (Yes, I found the thing. In the box I labeled.)

Note the crazed slant as time passes and item still hasn't been found. Also note, vintage 70s cutesy clipboard AND vintage ledger paper.

No room at the inn

Probably shouldn't off with a Jesus reference, but oh well. There is NO ROOM at the inn for all the junk I've been buying up the past couple of weeks (er, months?) because I've gotten heavily into thrifting. I live in Astoria, Queens, about 35 mins away from the city, where I work. Compared to Manhattan apartments, my rent is nothing and the space I get is definitely manageable. When I started living here, I was in a Zen existence - my bed, my clothes, some books, and this weird bottle of booze I'd been carting from place to place since I graduated college. I think it was a cheaper version of Peach Schnapps, but I finally got around to throwing it out this year. 2008. I graduated 2005, and acquired that bottle the summer before my senior year.

Ahem. Zen existence, plus some old liquor. Anyway, fast forward a year or so to my 2nd apartment in Queens, and I am jam-packed with stuff. Pyrex, old children's books, Christmas ornaments, vintage office supplies, ephemera (learned that junkin word this year thanks to thrifting blogs)...it's scary. This morning I woke up intending to go to 184th St in Inwood/Washington Heights (if you google maps Astoria to Washington Heights, you'll know how bad the thrift bug has gotten me) to get a big white Pyrex bowl I spotted in their Craigslist ad, but it's pretty gross out there with the snow we just got. (City snow is not as cute as country snow, fyi.)

So I'm in my room, sorting through the crap, trying to figure out what goes in the store, what will be turned into a future art-craft project, and where I can put it all without forgetting where it went, or turning my bedroom into a glorified Goodwill. Why did I throw out that bottle?