This was great — so funny and yet perceptive.

But the biggest joke is having a 30-something write about being weird and having difficulty making friends.

As a fellow introverted photoshop-brandishing weirdo, my thirties were the high point of my life when it came to friends, because I was lucky enough to get married and start a family: I inherited my wife’s cool cousins and uncles, plus made new friends at every stage of our kids’ childhood.

The tough part comes when the kids grow up and go off on their own, while your oldest friends steal from you, or reveal their “normal” self, like the guys I had known for almost 20 years who caught a serious case of Obama Derangement Syndrome.

The worst part is when you fall into a group of hikers and whiners that your still social and bubbly wife loves to death in spite of the fact that half of them tell you Obama is a Muslim because of his middle name and one guy cries about the way the media attacks Cheeto Jesus so unfairly, even though his accent and skin color would get him deported instantly if he lived in Arizona.

My advice to you: seek out much older friends and much younger friends (through mentoring or parenting your kid’s friends).

The old friends will be so happy to have a younger friend, they’ll be super generous, and die off gracefully before you get too old to be affected by the almost daily assault on your mortality; there’s nothing worse that keeping track of old friends or heroes by reading about them in the obituaries, or seeing their now-silent Facebook pages).

And the young friends will keep you feeling young and be around to help out when you can no longer drive.

Oh, and don’t forget to have lots of pets. When I get in the dog house with my wife, at least I have company.

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