Dear Matthew...you weren't very nice but I kind of owe you a big high five
My first roommate ever (besides my parents and brother) was a guy named Matthew. He was a turd. For privacy sake, and out of respect, I should probably refrain from telling you his full name, but Matthew Anselmo was a pile of cheap hair gel that could talk...sh!t, that could talk sh!t. In fact, Matthew, if you ever read this after having Googled yourself, I suggest you go and Google yourself. You were one of the reasons I withdrew from college and left Missouri. You were a giant black hole of turdburglery and I loathed you from the minute I met you. BTW, thanks for taking my money and opening my mail. That was my favorite part of our short, unproductive relationship. Anyway, if I'd have had this roommate I may have never left Missouri, which means that I might have never have grabbed a backpack and wasted a decade of my life on Kerouacian awesomeness, would have never wandered around Big Sur surviving El Nino attacks, and never scuffled through Europe on several occasions with nothing to do but rack up the stellar memories. I'd have never landed in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I'd have never met my wife, June. I'd have never climbed a rock, camped in the desert, hung out backstage at The Troubador, or had addresses in Brooklyn and Waikiki. I'd have never met this incredible Zoey kid, and that trumps all of that other crap. I guess our relationship was super productive in hindsight. Still, I'd have rather had this dude for a roommate.