My Stream of Conscience Is Terrifying

Sitting down to blog this evening, my mind went blank -- please don't be alarmed; this is normal for me -- and I couldn't think of anything to share with you. Then I remembered: I wasn't signed on IM. As I've established before I'm incapable of thinking without Jessica online with me, so even after spending a week together, I lack the ability to think without Jessica IMing me. We even IMed each other while I sat in her living room and she was in her bedroom. We might need to seek counseling.

So in case you lost track of my itinerary, I'm home. I know this because I have washed dishes, done laundry and watched football. Seriously, there was no football at Jessica's house.

NONE.

I know, right? Who doesn't watch any football? I didn't realize how much I missed it until my mom, the kids and I stopped at CiCi's Pizza for lunch on our way home and there were highlights from the previous weekend's games on the TV. My heart leapt in my chest. I almost cried for joy. Oh Football, we were meant for each other.

In a vaguely related note, I heard a singer with a Scottish accent today and was immediately in love. Trent who? (I didn't mean that.) I sent the link of the song to Jessica, and she pointed out that he was a pretty funny guy. To that I say, "Who cares what he said?" What is it about accents that make them so hot? I don't know what he's saying, but I feel a little bit like taking my bra off. That might be because the underwire is poking my armpit, but most likely it's the accent.

In another vaguely related note:
Dear Victoria Secret, It is not ok to sell a product for $50 only to have it fall apart in two months time. If I wanted a bra that would draw blood from my armpit, I would have bought one from the Target Clearance rack. (The pun created by using the word "rack" was completely unintended, but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it.)

I'm starting to feel a little guilty that you stopped by expecting a post that was cohesive and made a little bit of sense (at least I assume you did), and here I took unfocused to a whole new level. By way of apology, I wanted to share a nice little story from my childhood with you, but I couldn't think of one. Jessica suggested I tell you about the time she and I made mud pies and convinced Jay that they were chocolate and he ate them. I don't really remember doing that, but it's a good story and it totally sounds like something I would have done.

Jessica also suggested telling you about the time that she, Jay and I played LaserTag as teenagers and how Jay kept shooting his own teammates because he's colorblind and couldn't tell which people were on his team so he just shot everyone. We laughed at him.

I suppose if it's possible to take anything of value away from this post it's that someone's always got it worse then you. You might have suffered through 2-5 minutes (depending on how fast you can read) of my torture, but Jay had 18 years of it.