There's this older guy with a grey ponytail and lots of silver jewelry that has a yard sale every weekend in my neighborhood. I secretly want to be friends with him. He sells turquoise jewelry, swiss army knife-like roach clips, brothel tokens, and lots of woven rugs. I buy the woven rugs. So many, in fact, that Jeremy is starting to voice concerns that (paired with the antlers and the feathers from the wedding) our apartment might be taking a sharp turn towards the Southwest. Maybe so, but if it ends up taking a page out of Ralph Lauren's Colorado ranch- I'm fine with that.