So I have this new favorite website, Etsy.com, in case anybody hasn’t noticed. I mean, I’ve been talking to my mom, my sisters, and people at Whole Foods about Etsy – I think I started burbling to the (male) cashier at 7-eleven the other day before I realized where I was and stopped myself.

Sometimes Etsy is like freaking paradise, OK? It’s like, oh, I want a set of tiki coasters that kind of remind me of high school. And bam. Fifteen dollars later and two weeks later, I’ll have the most awesome quasi-reminiscent private joke tiki coasters on the North Shore.

Sometimes you find perfect gifts for everybody you know, and life is so beautiful, and they just raised your credit limit. And sometimes you find this black rayon jumpsuit that you never knew you needed but you know you’ll never want to live without. It’s being shipped to me right now from Thailand. Yes, it is.

But seriously? Sometimes? I look at this stuff and I’m like, you know, I have this plastic bin over in the corner that could probably be vintage, and I have these super-old hamburger shaping tupperware things from my grandma. I have a chewed-up Barbie knockoff from 1962. Why don’t I go and open my own Etsy store?

Etsy.com, sometimes you are sublime. And sometimes you are the biggest, shittiest thrift store ever.