Happy Valentine's Day Jester!

My lovely wife Jessie always complains that I never write about her or say anything nice about her on this abortion that I call a "web log." She is right, since most of the times I write about her involve her fighting a dumpster wheel in a snowy alley behind a bar. As this is St. Valentine's Day -- and since I am one cheap SOB -- I figured it's high time to write a nice post about the woman I married, or, more appropriately, who allowed me to marry her. In addition to her physical beauty and rapist's wit, she is one of the most caring and genuinely kind people I know. I think she assumes that I don't notice all of the many nice things she does, such as making most dinners, cleaning the apartment, vacuuming, doing most of the laundry (which is mostly mine), taking the dog out most of the time, and putting up with me. I'm just going to come right out and say that I am not always a pleasure to deal with, talk to, be around, or sleep next to. Most nights when I get home from work, I immediately sit on the couch and surf the web while Jessie makes dinner. I often let dirty dishes pile up in the sink for days and sometimes weeks at a time before I even attempt to wash them, even though she repeatedly asks me to wash them. Last night, I got home from work, changed clothes, kissed her on the cheek, and then left her to go play trivia at Rocks. When I got home after 2 a.m. and she woke up, I lied and said that I had been home for over an hour, but that I fell asleep on the couch. I didn't take the dog out either. Often times, I smoke cigarettes in her presence, even though I know she absolutely despises the fact that I smoke now and then. I don't have any plans to quit social smoking. Most of the time, I make plans for us without consulting her, and those plans usually involve hanging out with my friends, who I often put before her. I rarely call her Jessie, instead referring to her as Jester or, when she performs card tricks and optical illusions, Jesterio the Magnificent. I make up stories about her. I have a tendency to be unnecessarily longwinded. Most of the time I put my wants before hers. I am unwilling to change. I don't take care of plants very well. There is at least one lie in nearly every sentence I speak. I rarely take anything seriously. My shit reeks. I actively despise much of the music she listens to. Sometimes I watch her sleep. I drive too fast. Instead of taking her out to dinner on Valentine's Day, I took an online pop culture quiz. Instead of giving her a Valentine's Day present, I wrote a post about her on my blog. My sense of fashion can only be described as severely lacking. I have little confidence in my abilities and personal appearance. On more than one occasion, I have been told that I give terrible back rubs. I feel the need to tell people about my weird dreams. When we're alone, I am annoyingly overaffectionate. My singing voice is below average. I continuously and consciously fail to learn from my mistakes. In addition to my many personality flaws, I am physically unappealing. I am by no means as handsome as a young George Peppard, I allow my fingernails and toenails to grow beyond a length that is socially acceptable for a straight man, I suffer from a continuously worsening case of psoriasis, my liver is hardening while my gut is growing, and, despite the fact that I am nearly thirty, the oil in my skin is akin to that of a sixteen-year-old Grecian. I cannot dunk a basketball, and the chances of that ever happening decrease with every passing day. In the bedroom, I underachieve, and I might be impotent. Also, my body temperature under the covers is near 200 degrees. My unabashed self-deprecation can be overbearing at times. My entire existence is built around pleasing myself. Even when something is supposed to be about Jessie, I manage to completely turn it around and make it about me. As far as I can tell, my only redeeming quality is that I possess an uncanny ability to choose a wife who is the absolute perfect woman for me. I love you, hon. Sorry I'm such jackass. I wish I could change.