It was like seeing an old friend. I turned it over in my hands, spun its creaky wheels, and knew I wouldn’t be putting it back.

For .99, why not buy a few Little People [...]]]> Well doc, it all started when I spied a 1979 Fisher-Price Little People camper car for .99 at Goodwill.

It was like seeing an old friend. I turned it over in my hands, spun its creaky wheels, and knew I wouldn’t be putting it back.

For .99, why not buy a few Little People on Ebay and surprise my big sister with the gift of tangible nostalgia?

Visiting Ebay opened up a portal to my childhood.

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Suddenly, I couldn’t imagine being content with a few measly Little People sitting in a station wagon. Where would they sleep? They needed a home— the beautiful Tudor house with working doorbell (ding, ding!), garage door, and a mountain of chubby furniture! I needed more than the standard blonde family. I wanted redheads, babies, those mysterious angry boys, Little People of color, that dashing woodsman!

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YES! The woodsman could live next door, in his CASTLE.

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And no neighborhood would be complete without a big, red barn!

(Still available! Image source)

The Little People would visit each other via that bus that jostled its passengers up and down. On weekends, they might overthrow the circus train, liberate the animals, rush them to the hospital for medical care, then bid a tearful goodbye at the airport before the animals flew back to their homelands…  maybe the dragon could fly along for a visit.

Wait, who were these toys for again?

After two hours, I awoke from my internet-induced coma and recalled that I am (contentedly!) childless. My nieces and nephews live more than a thousand miles away. Furthermore, Little People are a choking hazard. And in case you hasn’t guessed, my part-time income does not allow for buying out Ebay.

But golly, a girl can dream.

Do you remember the old school Little People?

I’d much rather tell you how fun it is to find gaudy, dated, who-on-earth-paid-for-this-the-first-time stuff.

A small sampling of fairly tacky junk:

As seen in the opera’s costume garage.

(Your grandpa’s Spanx! Image source)

Note that this ad describes protruding bellies as “bay windows” (complete with quotation marks) no less [...]]]> While reading up on circumcision, I happened upon this swell advertisement for what is billed as a “health supporter belt,” but appears to be a “gentleman’s girdle.” Tomato, tomahto.

(Your grandpa’s Spanx! Image source)

Note that this ad describes protruding bellies as “bay windows” (complete with quotation marks) no less than five times. Five times on a single page! Was this hip new slang, or was someone campaigning far too hard to coin a term?

While body-shaming lingo usually leaves me wincing or punching the nearest wall, I laughed aloud at the idea of a hidden, pierced ‘bay window’ under my shirt. Maybe because bay windows sound so much more peaceful and romantic than say, “gut” or “beer belly.” Who doesn’t appreciate a nice, broad window to the world?

One has to wonder… did customers wear underwear beneath their Chevaliers, or was that “removable pouch made of a soft, comfortable fabric that absorbs perspiration” filling in for briefs? If so, one extra pouch  is hardly enough…

Ah well. Back to reality.

Back on April 9, 2010, I wrote a post called “I Have Never”

Two years later, I’ve STILL never done those things. Nor these:

— had a yeast infection — visited Europe — driven a bus — joined the “mile high club.” In fact… despite having flown many times, I’ve never used an [...]]]>

Back on April 9, 2010, I wrote a post called “I Have Never”

Two years later, I’ve STILL never done those things. Nor these:

— had a yeast infection
— visited Europe
— driven a bus
— joined the “mile high club.” In fact… despite having flown many times, I’ve never used an airplane lavatory
— performed karaoke. But then, I hate karaoke
— had a car
— joined a sports team
— eaten rocky mountain oysters
— been pregnant
— met a celebrity
— owned a dog

What have you never done?

Old grocery bags, labelled with blue painter’s tape and hints regarding its contents. Neat, eh? If you are a slightly fancier hippie, you could obviously use the plain side of the grocery bags and [...]]]> Once upon a time (September of 2010), my mother sent me a care package. Each gift was wrapped in…

Old grocery bags, labelled with blue painter’s tape and hints regarding its contents. Neat, eh? If you are a slightly fancier hippie, you could obviously use the plain side of the grocery bags and ribbon or twine. Whatever the presentation, who isn’t tickled to get exciting mail?

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I keep a pen and pad of paper on my bedside table. Why? So I can document any interesting dreams the instant I wake up. This hasn’t taught me anything profound about my inner workings, but it’s one top-notch cheap thrill.

Recently, I dreamed of finding a [...]]]>

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I keep a pen and pad of paper on my bedside table. Why? So I can document any interesting dreams the instant I wake up. This hasn’t taught me anything profound about my inner workings, but it’s one top-notch cheap thrill.

Recently, I dreamed of finding a stack of faded love letters written on beautifully colored foil. The letters were from J.M. Barrie and Robert Louis Stevenson, addressed to Julie Andrews. I have no memory of this dream, but I found a note describing it on my bedside table.

For me, that’s the real draw in keeping a dream journal: finding a record, in my own unmistakable chicken-scratch, of an event I do not and never will remember. Very Twilight Zone, except that the Twilight Zone scares me senseless.

Have you ever kept a dream journal?

I had the same problem with Robert De Niro and Al Pacino, neither of whom I’d ever actually seen in a movie. They both had dark [...]]]> As a young’un, I couldn’t tell Burt Reynolds from Tom Selleck. To me, they both fell into that broad category called “older dudes with mustaches” and were therefore interchangeable.

I had the same problem with Robert De Niro and Al Pacino, neither of whom I’d ever actually seen in a movie. They both had dark hair and played gangsters, so they must be the same person.

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Inexplicably, I also confused the themes from Last of the Mohicans and Wuthering Heights . (I mean the film scores, not literary themes in the novels.) THEY ARE NOT THE SAME. NOT BY A MILE. Still, every time I thought about Wuthering Heights (which is fabulous), I’d start humming the Mohicans theme. When you’re confused, you’re confused.

When an old roommate mentioned she couldn’t tell butter and margarine apart, I thought she was a complete fool. But then, I once made a friend a sandwich with Miracle Whip and described it as mayo—what, there’s a difference?— and she was so disgusted she nearly choked. Who’s the fool now, Jaunty?

What people/places/things do you mix up?