Crap...

Apartment Therapy just wrote a piece on 10 vintage things, to store your stuff in style.

I love old stuff to stuff new stuff in! I can't help it. Really, I can't and it's not my fault.
Here is why:

The blame belongs to the hours upon hours I spent being drug around estate sales, antique malls and fly markets by my parental units. Hey, parents are to blame for everything, right?

Over at Wife of an Artist, there is a great snippet of random things, buried deep in my subconscious, that pop up in my dreams.

wow. scary old-face head mugs. check. metal tractors. check check.

someday i'll have this half sitting, half mannequin in my home. and it will be awesome.yeah, well if you read my blog with any regularity, you know these die cast planes are in my childhood home. all.of.them. check.

hey mommy, why does Spot look so angry? and why is he sitting with bullets??

daddy, tell travis that the eagle is not going to eat me when i go to sleep. right?

mom...dad...thanks for giving me the ability to appreciate crap.