The punchline of this comic had nothing to do with the setup when I uttered it early this week.  I was actually commenting about my inability to get out of my own way that morning, but not long after I’d spoke it my mind made the connection to other things.   Good times!  All six years of ‘em.

Also? I rather wish my brain didn’t operate like a big Plinko board.

Yeah, I was listening to the Boss earlier, and I had a thought or two.

I could complain about my crooked nose, or my height, or whatever, but really, I think mostly people notice that I always look like I haven’t slept in a few days and generally seem completely aloof to the rest of the world.    It’s not that I don’t care about you, world, it’s just that I’m busy, you know, thinking and stuff.

I’ve had a couple dozen people in my life’s history complain that I’m way more fun to be around when I’ve had one too many drinks, and to that I say: sure, just like a wheat thresher is a lot more fun to climb on when it’s not busy threshing.

There are two important bellwethers of a good  pairing in any nerd relationship:  Scrabble gamesmanship, and whether or not it’s awkward when you try to hold hands.

I’ve never dated anyone who had a Horta as a pet, but from what I understand, they’re very emotive.

It’s hard to date when you’re of loose morals, but not really evil.   It’s even harder to date when you’re short, and weird, and prone to outbreaks of jokes that are wholly inappropriate.

I may or may not get a little weird when feeling both trapped and bored.  But nothing will ever outweird the girl who showed up to our second date wearing the same clothes from the first date, and when pressed, admitted she’d been writing a paper for a grad school over the previous three days and hadn’t showered/changed yet.

Ever had the kind of week that is so bad it makes you rethink your entire approach to life?  I just had one.

This comic wasn’t inspired by any one particular person I know – it seems like everybody I know that halfway has their life together winds up on the hook with some other family member that’s a hot mess.  And more often than not, the hot mess in question has some odd sense of entitlement about the situation, which makes zero sense.   I guess it follows that if they were sensible, they wouldn’t be a hot mess.

So a shout-out to everybody who’s made enough sense of their life to be expected to make sense of someone else’s, too.   Congrats?