I was going to post tonight but another thunderstorm is rolling through and it's getting nasty. I am sick of rain and flooding.

I don't know what's going on anymore but I want you all to know I love you.

(I wrote this in January of 2011.  I think it was right before or during Charlie Sheen's meltdown.)

For a long time I’ve been an aspiring comedy writer.  I was getting interest in some of my non-Xanga writings but the writers strike blew my chances of getting into the business.  I am trying again but I find that living in the wilderness is hurting my chances.  Anyway, enough of my bitching, here’s a script I wrote for Two and a Half Men.

In case you don't know this show, here's the cast.
Hi, I’m Charlie.  I’m a sex fiend and booze hound

Hi, I’m Allen.  I’m neurotic and quite possibly a closeted homosexual.

Hi, I’m Jake.  I am a complete dumbass.  Ha…I said ass.

Hi, I’m Evelyn and Charlie and Allen are the children I don’t deserve.

Hi, I’m Rose.  I’m completely obsessed with Charlie although I’m hot enough to land any guy on the planet, I keep trying to score a syphilis ridden Charlie.

  Hi, I'm Berta.  I'm Charlie's wise-cracking house keeper.  I clean his house because he's too busy trolling for skanks.

Hi, I’m whore #38 and I’m only vital to this storyline.
Canned laughter is in italics

Scene one
Charlie’s house.

*Drinking Irish coffee* I’m drunk and I think women are nothing more than sex toys.
HAHAHAHAHA
*Allen doing something neurotic* Charlie, that’s not right.  You’re impossible.  *Allen does something slightly revealing his homosexuality*
HAHAHAHA
*Wisecrack about Allen's latent homosexuality*
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
*Shouting from other room* Uncle Charlie, my hand is stuck in the dvd player
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Why did I have children?  You two are worthless.
HAHAHAHAH
*Climbing up deck*  Charlie can you taste the roofies I put in your coffee?
HAHAHAHA
No, Rose, even though you spike my drinks and I love you and to hide my feelings for you I use women like toilet paper, you will never have me.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Oh we’ll see about that.
HAHAHAHA

Scene two
Charlie’s house
Charlie, how can you say I’m just a sex toy?
HAHAHA
I’m drunk and horny!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Charlie, that is reprehensible!
HAHAHAHA
Charlie, I’m leaving you!
AWWW
Fine, that means more booze for me.
HAHAHAHAHA
Charlie, I can’t believe you!
HAHAHA
Yes, Charlie if you were my son I’d be ashamed to be your mother!
HAHAHAHAHA
Pour me a drink!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
*Wisecrack about Charlie's alcoholism and STDs*
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
*Popping up from deck* I hear you’re single.
HAHAHAHAHAHA
Beat it, Rose!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Shoot, the roofies haven’t worked
HAHAHAHAHA
Hey, Uncle Charlie, my hand is stuck in a peanut butter jar.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Scene 3
Charlie’s house

Charlie, are you ready to talk?
*crickets*
Yes, I’ve learned a valuable lesson and you’re more than a sex toy. You’re a sex robot.
HAHAHAHAHA
Charlie that is despicable!
HAHAHA
It’s just the booze talking.  I love whore #38.
AWWW
Well I still love you even though it's clear that no one understands the meaning of the word love!
AWWWW
Charlie even though I despise your very being, you’re my brother and I appreciate you, now I’m off to go hang out at the adult video arcade hoping that someone joins me in the booth and then contemplate suicide.
HAHAHAHAHA
Yes, Charlie you are a great person and it’s good to hear you learned your lesson.  I suppose I will admit you are my child.
HAHAHAHAHAHA
*On back deck, looking in* Darn, I need to get more roofies, seems he’s built a tolerance.
HAHAHAHAHAHA
Hey Uncle Charlie, my penis is covered with peanut butter and stuck in the dvd player.  Can you believe I make $400,000 per episode?
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
*Wisecrack about Allen's poor parenting and Jake's inability to please women in the future.*
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Time to start a new bottle.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

(I wrote this in April of 2011.  I thought it was appropriate to share today.  R.I.P. James Gandolfini.)

I've had guest bloggers in the past because sometimes I think that having a guest explain current affairs is better because I tend to have a slant on my views and it's always refreshing for you to hear what others have to say.  In the past I've had guest bloggers cover the Israeli/Palestinian Conflict, The Economy, Swine Flu, The Nobel Peace Prize, The Times Square Bomb Scare, Xanga Suicide Hoax, The BP Oil Spill, and The Crisis in Egypt.

On Friday April 15th, the FBI charged 3 of the major online poker sites with criminal activities and blocked American residents from using these sites and putting a freeze on all money accounts. 

So to keep the tradition alive, here is a guest blogger to cover what has been called "Black Friday" in the online poker world.  The guest blogger's views do not necessarily reflect my opinions.

So the FBI threw out some indictments against some computer poker rings.  I couldn't be happier.  Of course the obvious reason I'm happy is that I get put on the back burner and the FBI stops hassling me, my family, and my friends. Just because my name ends in a vowel doesn't mean I'm in the mafia.  I'm just a businessman in the waste management industry.  These stereotypes are old.  Besides there is no such thing as the mafia.  Sure, Italians had to band together when they first came to America but that's because people didn't consider them to be American or white.  They thought they were a bunch of moulinyans.  Now if someone insinuates I'm mobbed up, I give them a turban.
OK, so I do some money lending and I take bets for sporting games and I run a card game of high rollers but that doesn't mean I'm in something called the mob or Cosa Nostra.  So my card game, you'd like it but I don't know if you can get in.  You need a few grand to get some ziti for my game.  See you'd be sitting with the best of the best.  Frank Sinatra Jr., the chairboy of the board.  You may also see that guy who does all the commercials for dick surgery on the TV.  Lawrence Taylor and David Lee Roth have been known to sit in on a game.  What's that, you feel lucky?  I wipe my ass with your feelings.  OK I'll float you 10 boxes of ziti but I'm going to have to tack on 5 points a week and that's on top of the principle, capisce?  The vig's higher for you because you aren't blood.
You need some good lingo when playing at my poker table.  You need to be able to talk shit which is something you can't do on the internet poker.  You just sit there and watch a screen.  Here you talk to the other players.  Last game, I lay down 4 queens and I tell everyone that I eat more queens than Lancelot.  I guess you had to be there.  You have to make your moves faster than the internet and unlike the internet you have to look at your opponents.  Some times you make bad reads but remember a wrong decision is better than indecision.  It's better to lose a few chips than sit there like some stunad with your cazzo in your hand. 
My dad used to run this game and I inherited it.  Oh you should have seen those games.  I loved my dad and I feared him too mostly because his favorite child development tool was a belt.  For the longest time I thought my dad was a cowboy.  They told me he was in Montana working on a ranch.  Turned out he was in prison.
Another thing you may find that's better about playing in my card game than at the internet is the gabbagol.  That's right, you eat like some sort of barbaro.  You'd probably sit there and eat something like Pizza Hut.  Here, you get the bagel, the lox, the cream cheese.  We set out a spread.  Make sure you try the prosciut.  Also, if I let you in this game you can't make any mistakes on how you act.  You have to live by the old Italian saying, "You fuck up, you lose your teeth."  You know what?  I can't lend you money.  It's not that I don't have it, it's just that I couldn't bring myself to hurt you if you didn't pay me back.
You have any idea what certain people would do to me if they found out I was talking on this two-bit rag you call a blog?  OK, enough of this internet shit, those cookies make me nervous.  Fanabla, finook!  End of story.

Remember the views of the guest blogger or insinuations into his line of work do not reflect those of GodfatherofGreenBay.

Tony Soprano died

Recommend this post if you are here only to rebel against your Amish parents.

This post is also an appreciation post for everyone who has tolerated me over the years.

Because of the NSA, all my phone sex conversations are now threesomes.  SCORE!

Did you know that every single rectal thermometer is individually tested?  I don’t know if I could tolerate that job because I hear it’s a real pain in the ass.  Yeah, lame, I know.  But could you imagine coming home to your wife after having thermometers shoved up your ass all day?  “How was your day at work, dear?”  “Well I tested 100 thermometers and only 5were defective.  I also have a new co-worker and he isn't as gentle as Bob.”  Oh and something about walking bowlegged.

Telling someone who smokes that it is bad for them is like explaining to a prostitute that she is exposing herself to higher risks of being infected with an STD or becoming pregnant.

I find our society to be absolute shit when people eat toilet paper without being questioned but the moment someone eats meat they are labeled a murderer and questioned about the morality behind their decision toeat meat.

I wish I had a metal detector but instead of detecting metal it would detect people who wanted to have sex with me.

I think the reason I’m so ugly is because I’m so funny and God just wanted to make it fair for everyone else.

One of the things I find most distasteful about living in Wisconsin is if you go out driving at night on rural roads it will sound like rain hitting your windshield but in actuality you’re hitting hundreds of bugs.  Then you have to clean your windshield and wipers won’t do.

Whenever I get rejected I figure that person is secretly in love with me and can’t come to terms with their emotions.

If crying burned a lot of calories, I’d have the same body as Christian Bale in The Machinist.

The Oscar Meyer factory in Madison was flying a rainbow flag this past week.  And I don’t want to sing the Oscar Meyer wiener song or tangle with the wienermobile because I’m worried about modifications.  “My wiener has a first name and it’s S-C-H-U-P-T-W-U-R-S-T and my wiener has a second name and it’s S-C-H-N-I-C-K-E-L-P-F-E-I-F-E-R-F-L-E-I-S-H-E-R-H-A-N-S-G-R-U-B-E-R”

I hate traveling in time to tell Nostradamus jokes because he always says, “I know where this is going” before I deliver the punchline.

OK I’m going to share a magic trick with you.  Take your age and add 50 to it.  Now take that number and subtract 50.  The answer will be your age.  TA-DA!

My mom always said, “Nothing beats a good long poop.”  She also said, “Matthew, stop making up things that I said and posting them on the internet.”

Did you know there’s a phone number that’s an anonymous tip line where you can call in if you suspect kids are drinking illegally?  It’s 1-800-UNDER21.  It should be more like 1-800-FUNKILL

Apparently I look suicidal if I’m not constantly smiling.  I went down to the lake so I could do some swimming.  I wanted to setup a rope swing so I was throwing the rope over a large branch and a cop happened to see me and he came running and screaming that my life was worth living.  Hell yeah it’s worth living especially if I can do some rope swinging.

If it wasn’t for the internet I’d probably have a doctorate by now.

Since gold prices are so high, I’m thinking of drinking a lot of Goldschlager and then taking my turds to Cash4Gold.

I banged Stacy’s mom and she did not have it going on.

I’m pretty sure having a baby would be pretty awesome just as long as the baby wouldn’t cry and the baby was actually a Big Buck Hunter arcade game and a kegerator.

A girl called me a douche today.  I was so shocked that my sunglasses fell off my forehead and I was about to fall over but thankfully my popped collar helped me stay upright.

I find it disheartening to have a job where no one asks me to do my Godzilla impersonation.

Women are like waterslides. You have to stand around to have fun and then it only lasts 30 seconds.

The next time you see a kid wearing a Ramones shirt, ask them what their favorite Ramones song is. Then sit back and enjoy the silence. Also if you see a kid wearing a Che Guevara shirt, ask the same thing.

How is it 2013 and they haven’t invented a vacuum cleaner that sucks more than Gianna Michaels giving head?

I have hands.  You have boobs.  What an interesting turn of events!

I hate that saying about how if you dream about someone then that means they miss you.  Danny DeVito has made numerous appearances in my dreams and I doubt he’s missing me.

I sort of want a summer job. Is there anyone out there that wants to hire me to walk around their house in a French maid’s uniform and do nothing?

I was saddened to learn that there isn’t a Godfather’s Day.  What am I supposed to do with this horse head?

I wonder why my kids never called to wish me a happy Father’s Day.  Ungrateful imaginary brats!

If you ever want to see how irrationally angry people can become, buy a Beatles shirt and tell people that you don’t know what a Beatle is but just like the way the shirt looks on you.

If Myspace made it to see 2013 then you can make it through your day.  Xanga on the other hand…

I like my girls like how I like my coffee.  Do they make coffee that’s emotionally supportive?  No?  Shit. I will try that joke again.

I didn’t see the new Superman movie.  It looks like an elaborate prequel to a Shaquille O’Neal movie.  I also heard it was unbelievable because they show that the daily newspaper is alive and well and sends out reporters on international assignments.

I wish it was acceptable for guys to carry purses.  Do you know how hard it is to fit tampons in a wallet?

It seems like everyone tries to make small talk about the weather with me.  This is why I always carry a Farmer’s Almanac with me and why I need a purse.

My three favorite movies are Matrix Revolutions, Matrix Reloaded, and The Notebook.

And now for your weekly dose of motivation:

I find it funny that people demand Mexican immigrants learn our language yet demand they keep cooking their food so we can have delicious Mexican restaurants everywhere.

I’ve been thinking that when I become famous I should get a coat made of Sasquatch fur or Loch Ness Monster scales so that when the paparazzi try to take photos of me they all come out blurry.

My dick is so big that it can’t be photographed and anyone who catches a glimpse of it tells their friends they’ve seen the Sascrotch.

How am I supposed to be focused when they put beer in shiny metal cans and bottles?

I’m worried that I won’t find a woman who hates me as much as I hate myself.

Whenever I see a urinal with the sign “Sorry, I’m Out of Order,” I think, “Gee whiz, a urinal that can write!  That’s awesome!”

I don’t get why guys would spike drinks at bars.  Alcohol is expensive.  If a girl leaves a drink unattended, I’m going to drink it.

Ladies, I’m easy on the eyes because I aim for the mouth.

Dildos are like Taco Bell. You know you’re not getting real meat but it’ll do.

I really hate being a Grammar Nazi but shouldn’t it be “The Diary of A Frank”?  Thank you, I will now accept my award for “Best in the world at overcompensating for having a micropenis by being a Grammar Nazi”.

If they have gum to curb nicotine addiction, why isn’t there a crack gum?

A lot of people tell me I should be outraged over Monsanto.  It’s sort of hard when their name sounds like a Jamaican Santa Claus.

I once heard an ad man say that companies avoid naming products with words that begin with the letter “V” because it makes people think of vaginas.  Since when is thinking of vaginas a bad thing?

I find it funny that the people who cheered for the Patriot Act under Bush hate it now that Obama’s in office.  This is what you wanted.

The worst part about butt dialing someone on my cellphone is that my butt’s usually better at flirting than I am.

I recently applied for a coaching position at Minnesota State: Mankato.  They were happy to hear I had no children.

Either I’m getting picky or the amount of bangable women at this Denny’s is dwindling.

Most guys can’t pull off wearing sweat pants in a strip club.  I’m not most guys.

In honor of Flag Day, I wished our politicians would honor the flag instead of wiping their asses with it.

Have you ever been upset because you don’t have any pockets to carry your harmonica?

Why do people put “26.2” stickers on their cars?  That’s a sticker saying you’ve ran a marathon.  Who cares because you’re driving a car?  I have a 13.1 sticker on my car but that’s telling everyone how endowed I am.

I saw a Panera Bread restaurant and wished it was Pantera Bread.  I’d totally eat the vulgar display of chicken salad sandwich.

I tried to write something in cursive three months ago and went on a drug binge and that’s how I was placed in this rehab facility.

New Xanga motto: Welcome to Xanga, a place where you can argue about rape, homosexuality, politics, body image, cutting, biting your nails, and whether or not the moon exists or is made of cheese.

Another new Xanga motto: Xanga, a place where dead horses aren’t safe.

I was on Omegle and I gave about 5 people my url to Xanga but none of them were in total disbelief that they were talking with THE godfatherofgreenbay of Xanga and Tumblr fame.

Do you ever look at your Xanga and say, “I have great taste in everything”?  I do that on a daily basis.  I also wonder why no one has ever punched me in the face yet.

How to lose followers on Xanga:  tell people that things from your childhood are better than things from their childhood, inform people that they are acting like bigger dicks than the people on Xanga whose sole purpose here is to act like dicks, have an opinion, breathe.

It’s all fun and games until a 23 year old hipster vegan animal rights activist is offended by your Xanga.  It’s also all fun and games until a middle aged Pakistani man sends you a friend request here and he’s fully nude.

For inane drivel, we have Facebook.  For witty, inane drivel, we have Twitter.  For insane, inane drama, we have Xanga.  Long live Xanga!

What if a Xangan ran for president and totally forgot about posts they made on Xanga?  Then the person they’re running against finds it and uses the posts about how they think Paris Hilton is a complete whore and their ardent support of cats against them.  Just image the lawsuits.

People who say Xanga is dead have a dead soul.

I like to image that when you read this that you laugh like an America’s Funniest Home Videos audience.

( I had this guest blogger write for my site in January of 2009.  I'll try to be back tomorrow with a new post and responses to your comments.  Life has been in the way the past few days.)

This week President Bush talked about an impending financial doom that could be far worse than the Great Depression of the 1930s.  Well I have procured a guest blogger to talk about the economic problems in America.  My views and language do not reflect those of the guest blogger.  My guest blogger is legendary collegiate basketball coach, Bobby Knight.

Thanks, you fat fuck.

Now, I’m tired of hearing about all this economy shit.  It’s goddamned bullshit.  The Dow Jones sinks 150 points each day.  That’s fucked up. 

Now I’m not going to sit around and let this shit fuck up my stock portfolio.  I’m sick and tired of losing money just like I am sick and tired of losing to Purdue.  This shit has got to stop.  With all the money I’ve lost, I’m reduced to doing color commentary with that zombie Digger Phelps and that stroke victim Dick Vitale.  It’s got to stop.  You may enjoy losing your 401K or having an 8-10 record in the damned Big Ten conference but not me.  I’m demanding when it comes to my financial well being. Hell, I’m the most demanding coach you’ll ever meet.  I’ll show your son how demanding I am on the court and I’ll take your wife in the bedroom and show her how demanding I am in there.

Now when Obama takes office on January 20^th things better change.  And if they don’t change, well you’re not going to understand what the next fucking four years have in store for you.  I’m not going to get my fucking ass handed to me on a damn silver platter because some idiots can’t pay their mortgage.  Now you better understand that right fucking now.

This economic disaster is absolute bullshit.  If you don’t do your part to help out, I’ll make you run like you have never fucking ran before.  If you think you have financial woes, this economy will make you think the 1930s Great Depression was a fucking picnic.  Two fucking years ago Americans were spending $1.20 out of every dollar they earned.  Now they are spending 52cents out of every dollar.  Of course businesses are going out of fucking business.

If I have to sit around here and lose all this money I won’t fucking stand for it.  Those idiots won’t put me in that position.  I’ll get my bullwhip after you if you get between me and my cash.  If you fuck around with me, you’ll pay like you won’t believe.  Just ask that tool, Digger Phelps.  He got my wingtips wedged up his ass for questioning me about the decline of the housing market and the auto bailout. 

Now, get out there, spend some money, and get your heads out of your asses. 

Where’s my sweater?  Fuck, Purdue.

 

Ummm that was Bobby Knight.  I am sure his post will get me banned from Xanga so maybe I should have him apologize for his language.

Me: Coach Knight, maybe you should apologize for your words.  They were a little harsh.

Coach: I don’t know what I have to apologize for in the country of freedom of speech.

Me: But, Coach, your words are a little harsh and yes we have freedom of speech but we should respect other people’s ears.

Coach: Well if you can’t stand just do what I said to Connie Chung, if rape is inevitable just sit back, relax, and enjoy it.

Me: Wow!  That is horrible.

Coach:  No it isn’t.  I am making you mentally tough because mental toughness is to physical as four is to one.

Me: Coach, I don’t understand

Coach: Of course you wouldn’t.  Everybody hears but few listen.

Me:  Any parting words, Coach?

Coach:  When my time on earth is gone and my activities here are passed, I want them to bury me upside down so my critics can kiss my ass!

Me: Thank you.

Coach: Fuck off and get me my sweater.

I'm naked

Jessica...the mere mention of her name makes my heart skip a beat.

She was the only girl who had complete ownership of my heart

I met her one summer one summer while I was working at my dead-end job at a gift shop in a tourist trap.  I was having a horrible day, probably because it was nearing triple digits and my boss had this thing about always having store doors open because otherwise people would think we were closed and take money elsewhere.  He was correct; people are idiots like that. 

I was unloading a shipment of t-shirts.  I was so engrossed in my work that I didn’t hear her walk into the store.  Checking off the items must have made me deaf because I didn’t hear her footsteps. 

“Ahem”…she cleared her throat to get my attention.

I didn’t even look up as I replied, “Yes?”

“Are you open?”

I chuckled because I realized that just because the store doors were closed she thought we weren’t opened and so I said, “Yes.”

She didn’t understand why I chuckled and she asked, “What’s so funny?”

I started talking as I looked up to meet her eyes.  All I got out of my mouth was, “Well you see…”  And then I locked eyes with her eyes and I was lost.  I drowned in those sparkling pools of mystery.  She giggled.  I stammered and tried to get to my feet but one of my legs had “fallen asleep” and I hobbled.  She giggled harder.  I should have been on my knees worshiping this goddess.  That first image of Jessica still burns in my memory but not as much as the last.

“Sorry, it’s been a long day and I have been asked that question about a hundred times.”

“Well you could have a sign that says you are open.”  After that sentence she flashed me a smile and it made me melt.  My brain turned to goop.

“Yeah I suppose I should.” 

“How much longer is your shift?”

“Let’s see, I’ve been hear since 9 this morning, it’s 7PM and I start college on August 20^th so I’m finished August 20^th.”  God, I am such a fool but she laughed.

“That’s too bad, I was hoping a local could show me and my friends around tonight.”

“Well I can sleep when I am dead.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Ah, yeah but you have to forgive me because I haven’t had any sleep since the week before finals.”

“OK, I forgive you.”  She then flashes me that smile and then asked, “When do you close?”

“Midnight.”

“I’ll be back by 11:30.”

I didn’t quite understand what was so special about our first conversation.  I wasn’t on my game.  Yet, she showed up as I was getting ready to close.  In fact according to my watch it was 11:25.  I closed in record time.  She then said, “I think we have a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m only 20.”

“Well I’ll just say you’re my wife and that way you can be in the bar.”

We went in and that was our plan.  It worked and truth be told that even after only knowing this girl a few hours it did feel like she was my spouse.  There was this indescribable instant connection.  It wasn’t what you would call love at first sight but I just felt this instant bond. 

After a few drinks Jessie said, “I think I better get back to the motel otherwise my friends may worry.”

I drove her to the Polynesian hotel and I thought that was nice because it was on my way home.  I pulled into a parking space and didn’t quite know how to say goodbye.  I mean we had this connection and I wouldn’t ever see her again.

“So do you want to come in?”

“Well…ugh…I…um…”

“I thought you said that you were an English minor.  I figured that meant you could answer a simple question.”

“Yes?”

We walked to her suite.  Her friends were inside and had been drinking. 

“Jess, where were you?  We’ve been worried.”

“My husband here took me out for a couple of drinks.”

“Like in a bar?”

“Yeah…in a bar.”

We sat around that night talking and exchanging the first time pleasantries.  It was amazing how we just clicked.  Her friends started getting sleepy so Jessie suggested we go to the lobby to continue talking.

I think that was the greatest conversation I have had in my life.  Time stopped.  We got to know each other.  And then I noticed the sunrise.  I had work in a couple of hours and she had to get ready to leave return home.  We exchanged phone numbers and like a fool I held out my hand as if to shake.  She laughed and reached up and hugged me.  I wrapped around and hugged back.  The hug then turned into a deep passionate kiss.  Her lips sent electric shocks throughout every inch of my body.

I felt someone else there and sure enough there was some one getting the continental breakfast ready.  We broke the kiss and both looked at each other and said, “Wow!”

I walked backwards waving goodbye thinking I would never see her again but I was wrong.  A few hours into my shift, I see the goddess return.  She went on and on about this strange connection that she felt she had with me and how she didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye again.  We embraced and our lips locked.  Looking down into her eyes as we kissed told me this girl was special. 

She came back a couple days later and stayed with me for the rest of that summer.  I finally felt complete after having some really bad relationships.  Jessie was the one…The One. 

Things got rocky when I had to move back to college and Jessie returned to her college.  We both looked at ways to be closer to each other.  My school offered only two majors and neither of those was Jessie’s emphasis.  Her school had some of the program in which I was majoring but I wouldn’t be able to finish at the same school.  She decided the best bet was to transfer to a school about a half hour from where I went and that way we would be closer and wouldn’t be separated by 6 hours.

The weekends were fun.  We traded off.  I went to see her one weekend and then the next she would come see me.  Everything was going great.  Around the first of November I get a phone call from Jessie.  She was crying.  I asked what was wrong and she said that she wouldn’t be able to see me at Thanksgiving because she was expected to go see family in California.  I said that as long as we held each other in our hearts then we would be together.  I still here her response: “Oh…Matt, I love you with all my heart.  You know, I still tell people you are my husband.”  I took that to heart and the next day bought an engagement ring, which I had planned to give Jessie at Christmas.

I didn’t give her the ring at Christmas.  The weekend before Thanksgiving, Jessie came to see me and also to look for apartments and jobs for her move.  That was one of the best weekends ever.  I was so drunk on her love and affection that she gave me, a love I have yet to experience all these years later. 

I prepared a speech to ask for her hand in marriage but I couldn’t get the words right.  I also wanted it to be in a romantic place but I settled for something intimate like my bedroom and my couch. 

We were watching some movie.  I was bored with it but it had captured Jessie’s attention.  We were all curled up together on my couch and I lean down and kiss her on the forehead. 

“What was that for?”

“Oh I felt like I needed to show gratitude to the greatest girl in the world.  You have to be the greatest to put up with me and it’s more than put up.  You actually give a damn about me.  I love you.”

“Aww…I love you too.”

“Jess, we’ve been together for a while now and I suppose this makes me a bad boyfriend that I don’t know the exact amount of time but I was wondering about how you might want me to ask you to marry you.  Like, where would you want me to pop the question?”

“I don’t know.  What are you talking about?”

“Would you want me to ask you in a public place like a restaurant or something intimate like her in my bedroom?”

"I guess I’d rather have the intimate because I wouldn’t want all those people staring.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  So what would you want me to say?”

“I guess how much you love me and how I would complete you and you want to be with me forever.”

“So…Jessica, you are the most amazing woman I have ever known and the love you have shown me has made me into a new man.  I love you with all my heart and soul.  You were put on this earth for me.  Nothing can separate us because we are meant to be.  You and me, forever, Jessie…and then ask you for marriage?”

“Aw…you are going to make me cry.”

“Well it is how I feel.  So after I say that, then what would you want me to do?”

“I suppose show me the ring.”

I reached behind my couch and grabbed the ring box.  “How about a ring like this?”

“OH MY GOD!  ARE YOU FOR REAL?”

“Jessica, will you marry me?”

“YES!”

We embraced and were engaged.  It was too good to be true.  I never wanted that moment to end.  I was in her loving arms.  I felt loved.

Jessie had to leave the next day so she could get home.  I packed her car and fueled it for her.  I got back and she was sitting on my couch admiring her ring. 

“Matt, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“I think the old saying is ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’”

“Yes, but after Thanksgiving we’re both going to be busy with school and we won’t see each other until Christmas.”

“I know but our love is so strong that we can manage.”

We kissed and Jessie said it was time for her to leave.  I walked her to her car and she started the engine and rolled down the window so we could have one last kiss.  I walked back to my apartment and turned around as I watched her pull away.  She turned on to a main street slowly as she waved good-bye.  Sadly that was our last good bye.

As she waved and mouthed the words “I love you” a car came out of nowhere and slammed into her car.  Her car flew into a light pole and was wrapped around it.  I ran over to the twisted mess of metal and broken glass.  There was Jessica.  She was crushed.  I was frantically trying to rip the door off its hinges so that I could get her out.  I dug so hard that I lost fingernails on each hand.

Jessie looked up at me and coughed.  Blood trickled down her cheek and out of her mouth.

“Matt?”

“I’m here, baby, don’t worry.  I am going to get you out.”  I heard sirens.

“Matt?”

“I’m right here, Jessie, I’m trying to get you out.”

“I love you.”

“GODDAMN!  Jessie, I love you.”

“Matt, I love-“

I reached in and managed to kiss her.  I heard the sirens.  One last pull on the door broke it off.  I pulled her free and kissed her and began weeping.  Jessie was dead.  

The next few months were a blur.  Jessie’s parents blamed me for her death because they said I had her chasing foolish dreams.  I drew into a world of depression.

I haven’t loved another like I loved Jessica.  She was my one and only.  I have come close but they never made me feel the way Jessie did.

Sometimes I wish I was in that car.  Not that I want to die but that I seem to have cheated death on so many occasions.  Like the time I went running after a deer and I slipped and my shotgun flew in the air and as it landed I heard a click but was joyed to learn it misfired when I saw the barrel pointed at my head.  Oh and the time I drove my car off a thirty foot cliff.  Then I can't forget the time I decided to ride my big wheel down 4 flights of stairs.  Of course there was the time my dad left me in the car seat of the hood of his car and I slid off and landed head first on the curb.  Anyway, I miss that girl greatly and I still wish it was me that died because my life has been empty since.

Do you mind if I repost some of my favorite posts in honor of Xanga closing? I was going to do it anyway so yeah.