You know those people who dislike blogs? That whine about how they're just an opportunity for a stalker to learn too much about you and track you down and how most bloggers just use their blog as an outlet for venting? Apparently my computer at home is one of those people, because it refused to let me post this summer. But now I am back at my university, writing to you from my laptop which is less independent (the technological equivilent of a very stupid dog compared to my tarantula of a desktop) and adheres to my commands, such as "speak" "play dead" and "let me post this stupid entry already".

My friend Buffy called me up the other day to make sure I got to school and did not crash into a semi on the highway or anything, and informed me that I was to make a blog post because her summer had been humor-free. This seems to be a very tall order for me, and makes me feel a little sad for Buffy. If my sparse postings are the sole source of humor in her life, she must be very sad most days of her life. Also, I do not think my blog posts are especially funny and on top of that, it is nigh on impossible to be funny on command. See this sentence? Not funny. Not this one either. I blame Buffy my lack of wit. Fie upon her, fie.

I'm sure anyone reading this is simply dying for information about my summer. Well, reader, you're in for some disappointment, I'm sorry to say. My summer was event free, except for one incident which I will share. I am fairly certain I was driving in front of David Schwimmer a couple of weeks ago. I went to see a friend in Illinois, and on the way home, I was stuck on a highway in the middle of Chicago. The kind of traffic where you move .00382 miles every five minutes. Anyway, I looked into my rearview mirror and right behind me was a sleek and shiny black sports car of some kind. And there, in the driver's seat, was either David Schwimmer or his evil twin (evil because of the black car, evil twins always drive black sports cars and I know this because I used to watch soap operas when I was sick and skipping school). I was very tempted to get out of my car (because I was barely moving anyway) and trot back there and knock on the window and say "Hello! My name is Jessica and would you happen to be Ross of Ross and Rachel fame and if so, will you sign my shirt?" But then I decided that no, I shouldn't ask for him to sign my shirt because it had polka dota and his signature wouldn't show up very well. So, instead, I decided that I would say "Hello! My name is Jessica and would you happen to be Ross of Ross and Rachel fame and if so, will you sign my hand?" But then I realized that I'd have to wash my hands sometime so no one would believe I actually met David Schwimmer on the highway. So finally, I started digging around for something for him to sign and found a receipt from Trader Joe's. Also, I felt that it was a bit snooty to snub the fellow in the black sports car if he was not, in fact, David Schwimmer. So in the end, I had decided upon knocking on the car window and saying "Hello! My name is Jessica and would you happen to be Ross of Ross and Rachel fame, and even if you're not, will you sign this receipt for me?" I was pleased with my plan and looked into the rear view mirror to make sure he was still there. He was not. There were, however, a bunch of cars honking at me because traffic had actually started to move and I was just sitting there debating my master plan.

I wanted to shout at them that I was on a break, but it seemed too obvious.