Nope

Interesting fact: I’m not fun.

No, really. This isn’t one of those self-centered “woe is me, I’m not enjoying my life” kind of speeches either. It’s not an issue of me not having fun, though in general that’s true. My point is that I, as a person, am not any fun.

I don’t cut loose and have a good time; I’m not fun to be around. I’m not a ball and chain of suicidal depression either, it’s not like I bring down the party whenever I’m around. I’m not good at starting or finishing conversations, but I can talk in the middle. I’m amiable enough, it’s a work requirement. But I’m not any fun.

Look, we all know people who are fun. They’re the ones who suggest you go to the park at midnight and run around. They get goofy when you’re down to try and make you laugh. The people who’ll make an ass of themselves on the dance floor and not give a damn. They’ll get everybody to take a shot at a bar and make them thankful for it. Ask a stranger a random question just to make conversation. Some people are just a damn good time, and they make sure everybody has a good time with them.

Almost all kids are fun, albeit in their own way. Children laugh hundreds of times a day, primarily at inane bullshit. They skip, just for the hell of it. But the average adult smiles what, a half dozen, maybe dozen times a day? And most of mine are the polite “thanks for holding the door” variety. You have to wonder how fun people keep that attitude into adulthood.

Dude, I’m frickin boring. I go to bed early to read a book. If I find a tv show I like I’ll watch an entire season over a weekend. When I go out it’s for dinner or maybe a movie. My most interesting daily decision is whether I should shave or not. It’s my sasquatchian dilemma. None of this is fun. I’m an old man. Already.

Which works, since I’ve always been old. I’ll just have my kind of fun. Scotch.