Today, celebrity bloggers John and Sherry Petersik are hosting a very special link-up. This little blog is obviously participating as I’m insanely jealous of their DIY, ikat-patterned, white ceramic animal success. My new bangs? Most people assume I cut them in an effort to mimic Michelle Obama’s new ‘do…but really, I was just copying Sherry.
(Sherry…if you’re reading this I promise I’m not creepy. I just really like your bangs. And happen to have a large forehead that desperately needed covering. I swear it was just a…er…coincidence.)
But back to the link-up. I don’t throw the term “very special” around lightly, but trust me, this link-up is totally worthy as it’s based on Macklemore’s rap song gone viral, “Thrift Shop”. I’m assuming you’ve heard the song as even my 64-year-old father is familiar. But just in case, here’s the music video.
(And yes…the fact that my Dad knows the song is deeply disturbing. Particularly because, in the words of Macklemore himself, Dad is what’s known as a “cold a** h—–”.) Yup. Totally just went there.
Here are John and Sherry’s guidelines for the completely unofficial Macklemore Thrift Shop challenge.
- Go to a thrift shop with – just as the chorus of the song says – “$20 in your pocket”and take a picture.
- Spend that $20 any way you’d like and photograph your spoils.
- Find one item (or more) referenced in the song and snap a pic.
Yeah…that’s gonna be a problem. Why you ask? I mean…aside from me being incredibly lazy and short on time?
Easy. It’s exactly -18 degrees outside right now. And that’s not even taking the windchill into account.
Sorry Macklemore, but this is definitely NOT effing awesome. Not at all. (Ironically, it does involve a big a$$ coat, though.)
So, I’m allowing myself to flex the rules a little. Surely, John and Sherry understand if I’m unable to actually get to the Thrift Shop on account of weather, right? But don’t you worry your pretty little blog heads about me…I’ve got something better.
And epic thrift shop story involving my aforementioned “cold a** h—-” father.
I’ve previously described my dad Mark as “The King of Costco”. While this is certainly true, his devotion to the Kirkland Signature brand is mere child’s play compared to his love of all things thrift store. If you’ve somehow found your way trolling the tie-dye laden aisles of the Spanaway, Washington Goodwill store? Let’s just say you’d better drop to your knees and bow down to the freaking emperor.
(AKA, my father Mark.)
Growing up, Dad would constantly lure my siblings and I into his endless second-hand shopping sprees. With promises of a 99 cent Whopper from Burger King–possibly a McDonald’s soft-serve cone if he was feeling generous–we would agree to accompany him into the deep, dismal crevices of the t-shirt aisle.
This always proved to be a misstep of epic proportions.
Sure, we would find ways to amuse ourselves for the first hour or so. But secretly reading raunchy romance novels and attempting to locate the shower curtain with the most mold can only entertain small children for so long. Being that Mark’s visits to the Goodwill were never under two and a half hours, we quickly learned the delicious dollar menu items simply weren’t worth the torture. By the time I hit high school, we had all learned it was best to just stay home.
Unfortunately, the only thing more dangerous than my father at the Spanaway Goodwill with four impatient children is my father at the Spanaway Goodwill with no one present to keep him in check. This brings me to “the incident”.
I was a sophomore in college the night Mom’s panic set in. When she called my dorm to chat one afternoon, I could tell something wasn’t quite right. “Mom…is something going on?” I asked tentatively.
“Oh, it’s…it’s just your father…” she hesitated, “He went to the Goodwill a few hours ago, and promised he would be back by now. He’s not answering his cellphone and…well, I’m just not sure what to do.”
“Mom,” I reassured, “It’s fine. This is what he does, remember? I’m sure he just got distracted by a bolo tie or something. Seriously…I wouldn’t worry about it.”
My words seemed to encourage her. Still, I could sense some underlying stress remained. I decided to follow-up on the situation later that evening.
When I called two hours later, only to discover Mark still wasn’t home, I began to worry. Naturally I started pacing up and down the halls until the fear of ”what if?” forced me to take out my apprehension on the dormitory’s basement vending machine.
(No, not by vandalizing it. Just by consuming all 11 remaining Little Debbie products. Let’s just say the guys on the third floor were pissed when they realized all the Fancy Cakes and Cosmic Brownies were suddenly missing.)
Ninety minutes and 12,000 calories later, my phone rang.
“Mom? Is everything okay?”
“Yes Trina…everything’s fine. You’re dad just walked in the door a few minutes ago.” I could feel the weight of the worry being lifted off my ever so tense shoulders. (If only getting rid of the Little Debbie snack attack was as simple.)
“Thank, God! Jeez, Mom — he really had me worried! So…uh…where in the world was he?”
“At the Goodwill.” she calmly responded.
“What?? Mom…he was gone for, like, five hours!”
“Oh..well, he sort of fell asleep.”
“I’m sorry? He fell asleep? At the Spanaway Goodwill store? Mom…how is that even possible?” At this point I had opened my laptop so I might Google whether or not sixty-year-old men can suddenly develop narcolepsy while shopping. I could hear my mom giggling softly in the background.
“Well…he was in the furniture section. He sat down to read a book and just…I dont know…drifted off for a couple of hours.”
Of course he did. Mark’s always been able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat if he’s sitting down…and why wouldn’t he go to the Goodwill to read his books? I could just picture him explaining that “Barnes and Noble pressures you to buy that…what’s it called?…that really pricey Starbanks coffee from their cafe if you’re going to sit down and read their books. The Goodwill is free!”
Indeed it is, Mark. Indeed it is.
I’m not sure which disturbs me more: the fact that no one thought to wake the poor man up after three hours of public slumber or the realization that my dad snores louder than a grizzly bear and was undoubtedly disturbing all the poor, unsuspecting shoppers who were simply trying to find a modest coffee table for their new apartment in peace.
What I do know is this — no amount of McDonald’s soft-serve could make up for the embarrassment that is peeling your passed out, snoring parent (and the copy of “Making Candles & Soaps for Dummies” resting in their lap) from a questionable smelling public recliner. I’m eternally grateful I was halfway across the country that night.
You know what? I just had a revalation. The most upsetting aspect of this entire account isn’t the snoring nor the fact that none of the employees took the time to rouse Dad from his cat nap. The real travesty? My father, Emperor of the Spanaway Goodwill, actually thought America’s favorite coffee shop was called “Starbanks”.
Main photo by thecomeupshow
Psst! Latrina is BACK. And we’re ringing in the month of February in style. Think roses, chocolate and you guessed it…blogs. Check out our #BlogMeFebruary page if you want in on the action!
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