The Funny Writer with the Beard.

My last stop of the evening of hanging out with Cori tonight was The Basement. My best good friend Karen was working the door (as she usually does) and said to Cori: "Oh, so-and-so's inside... The one that Dean and I want you to meet!"

To my knowledge no one has ever said that I am someone that someone else should meet. If I am doing something wrong, I don't know what it is. Is it because I don't know how to wear a blazer and blue jeans at the same time? Is it because I don't have one of those flavor saver goatees? Is it because I think that wearing a scarf when it's fifty degrees outside makes you look like a dick biter? It is because I use phrases like "dick biter"? Is it because I unabashedly and admittedly like "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus? It's probably a combination of those things. I swear I'm a bit more complex than all that, though.

I'm not looking for love. That sounds ridiculous: looking for love. Looking for like? Sure, I like that... But even that gets to be a stretch these days. I don't really like meeting most people or at least going out of my way to do so. I was at 3Crow last night for all of 45 minutes and realized that I didn't want to talk to some of the people that were sitting at my table. I didn't really know two of them; one of them I had never even met but the first thing that I said about him was "He looks like an asshole." Turns out, he is, so I'm not completely off the mark. This came after recounting my story from last weekend where I was too goodly to crawl into a drunk woman's bed and slept on her couch stone cold sober.

See? I'm not a complete jackass.

And, perhaps, that's why it's just past one in the morning on what is now Sunday and I'm writing fodder that people will read sometime in the next few days and say "Gosh, he really is a good guy... I wonder if there's anyone I could set hi -- Oh, the game's back on." 'Cause that's how the world spins. If I were complaining, I'd complain about it. But I don't have time for that. I've got to wake up in the morning and do the HumanKind books. I've got to go see Avatar tomorrow afternoon. I've got to not dream about Robert DeNiro biting off the side of my face because I fell asleep earlier this evening watching Cape Fear. And I'm sure that at some point in time tomorrow, I'll have the privilege of holding the door open for a beautiful woman who'll look me in the eye and say, "Thank you" and mean it... And I'm sure that for a split second, I'll fall in love with her and wonder what it'll be like when we go out on our first date... Until she tells me about her boyfriend which will invariably lead me to another blog post.

Because no one wants to meet the funny writer with the beard, that's why. Maybe if I shaved it into a goatee? That seems to work.