Bill Murray once had to relive the same day over and over again in the movie “Groundhog Day.” Then I got to thinking, what if that happened to me?

It’s true I haven’t lived the same life as a reporter covering a ridiculous rodent who decides whether we have six more weeks of winter, but I do have days I wouldn’t want to live the same consistently. Wait a minute. Seriously, who is allowing this vermin to play God?

Stupid Pennsylvania people who think they are being funny by reading off a proclamation of weather. I’ll tell them where to stick the … never mind — on to what I think my worst Groundhog Day moment would be.

My freshman year of college brought many opportunities. One being friends, another being my sudden bout of obsessive compulsiveness and VH1’s “I Love the ’80s.” But the best thing about the year was I got my first college girlfriend. It was around the end of the year when I began to date this girl who seemed to be my intellectual equal and who shared a few common interests.

One day she came to visit me in my room and we started watching “I Love the ’80s.” I can’t begin to tell you how addicted to this show I was. Well, she didn’t share my addiction. What did she want then? She wanted to *gasp* make-out. I guess this is any young man’s dream, but all I said to her was, “Uh, excuse me [ex-girlfriends name], I need to know more about my beloved Ninja Turtles in 1987.”

Sadly, she didn’t listen. She really wanted to make-out. She began getting annoyed with me because I was entranced with commentary by Hal Sparks. She started to poke me with her finger. And as if poking me with her finger wasn’t enough, she had to actually say the word “poke” while she did it. “Poke, poke, poke.”

I stopped her. She again proceeded. “Poke, poke, poke.” This went on for more than 45 minutes. I finally got her to stop and told her the television was on and I wanted to watch it. She listened to me this time.

However, not more than five minutes passed and she began to tap me on the nose and say “beep, beep, beep.” As this MUST be the correct way to entice me to make-out. What were we, in junior high?

I shiver just thinking about that day. Ah well, I guess it doesn’t matter. I broke up with her a few days later. Which just goes to show, I am cold-hearted. And I like it that way.