One Friday New York Times crossword, as conquered with enthusiastic arrogance by myself and Captain Holt (or Erique, as you may know him), a victory which included the obligatory semi-weekly cursing and voodoo hexing of the immortal soul of one Will Shortz, sadistic wordfucker-at-large, and which was, some would say, cherry-topped by a particularly nannyistic solving of clue #38 Across, the answer to which was- that's right- "Dora the Explorer."
One backseat of my car, recorded here for posterity as a record of the fact that once I did have a car, but no longer have one, and that once it was filled with cute things for babies and children, but not anymore because I don't have it anymore (or won't in two weeks, that is if someone would just please please buy it from me, please thank you.)
One view of the La Jollan ocean, which has tried unsuccessfully to eat me every summer for the last five years, as seen from the hill where the snobby people live, on a cloudy day unlike today, which is unseasonally and unsettlingly hot.
One pair "real shoes" to add to my growing collection of such shoes purchased for purposes of not severing a toe on the subway, which I wore to work yesterday, surprising and confusing the baby, who has never seen such a thing, and who spent the morning following me around pointing and saying "shoe, shoe, shoe!" and who may or may not have been permanently damaged by all the excitement.
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