Tracy and the Triple Chocolate factory

If you're like me and watching football is the equivalent to having Fitty Cent rim your butthole with his platinum, diamond encrusted teeth...then you probably spent most of yesterday ferreting around, doing little projects, trying not to insult your husband, but also making sure you don't validate or encourage his football watching habits either. Poor Lars. I am the hugest cooze when it comes to football. I'm sure that I completely ruin the entire experience for him with my fits of eye rolling and uncontrollable to urge to find everything the commentators say, completely dirty. "He was bent over, so something was bound to happen." I mean, come on people.
Luckily, there was bean dip. Bean dip, cheesy poofs and one hell of a motherfucking Triple Chocolate cone to satiate my football induced pain.
The rest of the weekend was pretty much a blur.
We watched the Constant Gardener last night and is it so wrong to want to make sweet sweet love to Ralph Feinnes? I mean, really.