This is all that’s left of my 120CFN Holga camera.

In a moment of sheer stupidity, I left the Holga perched on the trunk of my car and drove home oblivious to it falling off, into the road and pulverized by traffic. By the time I realized what an astronomically stupid mistake I had made, the camera ceased to be. After 20 minutes of squinting into the night, the road illuminated only by the headlights of cars passing by, my boyfriend found the Holga lens and handed it to me. This is when I burst into tears.

I’m not an artistic, experienced or even talented photographer by any means, but I thoroughly enjoy taking photographs. I was especially distraught over losing a roll of 120 film which contained shots of my boyfriend and I taking his saluki to a local dog park. The weather was tolerably warm and the park was situated by a lake which provided fantastic photo opportunities of dogs frolicking in the water, the sun setting behind the trees.

Later this week I’ll finally pick up the Holga prints and find out whether a replacement is in order.

Lost with the Holga–a roll of ridiculously overpriced gaffer’s tape. I’m sure someone’s cardboard box will be kept in perfect shape. You’re welcome, hobo!

I’m guilty of trying out certain products in stores if I can get away with it. I’ve been known to swipe a few gummi bears from the candy aisle at Target (I use the plastic shovel, THANKYOUVERYMUCH) or I’ll slather on a dab of lotion at the local CVS drugstore.

Recently, I’ve come to believe that all my unauthorized sampling has caught up to me in the cruelest karmatic fashions:

My boyfriend and I have this “thing” about going to CVS on a regular basis. Some couples have date night but we head off to the CVS for an hour or two to browse singing hamsters and air fresheners. As per usual, I’m grabbing items from the $.99 aisle and sniffing, dabbing and feeling at the ones that catch my attention when I noticed a small, key-chain sized breath spray bottle and without hesitating, spritzed twice into my mouth.

It tasted like battery acid. There was nothing minty or refreshing about it and I promptly began frothing at the mouth.

“God, this is horrible!” I said to my boyfriend, holding up the bottle to see which company had somehow skirted basic FDA regulations.

The label read: HAND SANITIZING SPRAY.

I had sprayed two generous amounts of HAND SANITIZER into my mouth. Let me tell you, I think I lost nearly 89% of feeling in my tongue but my mouth is now 99.9% germ free!

This is supposed to be Banana Creme Pie with Meringue. You can’t see the meringue not because we ate it all, but because it ended up on the floor. So this is what happened:

My sister and I made this pie and it was good. Very good. So we were very proud of ourselves. I put the finished pie on a cookie sheet and attempted to put the pie into the oven to brown the meringue. Unfortunately, I completely underestimated the weight of the pie and my ability to put the cookie sheet into the oven with one hand. My wrist, which has, say, the circumference of a toothpick, started to strain as the pie slid towards the edge of the sheet and teetered precariously over the edge. I started shrieking for someone, anyone to help me.

I think I was saying, “SAAAAAAAVE IT!”

It was too late. The pie went free falling and landed with a splat on the tiled kitchen floor.

My sister, not 2 feet away, still maintains that she was too far away to save our dessert. Pregnant or no, I expect a full out game-saving, bases-loaded, baseball slide for Banana Creme Pie.