Hey ladies of the world (and gay dudes just waiting to change me). It's me. You're dreamboat. Good old KC.

You know how those bags of microwave popcorn that taste kind of like dirt with artificial butter? The ones that say the serving size is "about two?" Well, tonight I ate one of those all by myself.

That's right. I'm sitting here late at night on a Thirsty Thursday. Because I'm not with you. Here's what else you missed tonight.

It was surprise Chicken and Other Surprise Stuff Night night tonight. Yeah. I cook. Today I threw a frozen chicken breast in a frying pan along with some frozen corn kernels that have been expired for five months. Then I put some wine and a bunch of spices in there. It was delish. Or, at least it was delish to me. I washed it down with some Christmas candy canes (yeah, I know it's April). But that solitary meal could have been for two…

Then I watched not one, not two, not three, not even four, but an entire disc of How I Met Your Mother – that's six entire episodes PLUS the original pilot. Then I watched the new Harry Potter. Don't worry about late fees. I have Netflix. But that could have been us laughing at Doogie Howser. Not just me. By myself. Alternately giggling and then yelling at my roommate's cats to "Get the FUCK off my FUCKING chair!"

That's also right. I had the whole place to myself today. Actually, I have the whole place to myself most of the time. Because my roommate is in a relationship. Like you and I should be. Instead, I just have these stupid fucking cats that make my eyes all itchy.

Yeah. That's why my eyes are all watery. Because of these godforsaken cats. Not because I'm crying because I'm lonely. I'm a cool guy. I have lots of friends. Lots of them are chick friends too. Just, none of them are here tonight. Or answering my calls. Or even in the realm of liking me. But I'm definitely not crying. I'm just allergic to cats. Yeah, that's the ticket.

But fret not about everything you missed tonight. Even though it was truly magical.

You could have seen me in all my glory wearing my ten-year-old NYU workout t-shirt with green pitstains. Yeah, I work out hard baby, that's how you get a rock-solid body like mine and green pitstains. I'm also wearing a pair of basketball shorts (that I stole from my brother) with no underwear. Yup. That's how I roll when I'm home alone. Commando-style. And yes, I've been wearing the same pajamas as home-clothes for the past two days. If you came over, I might put on a new non-clashing outfit of t-shirts and mesh shorts.

So, what are you doing tomorrow night? I'm not working, but I might be able to get a new Netflix movie and some more microwave popcorn. There's no dress code at the KC Club, so you're welcome anytime, Baby. Snookums. Darling. Just please come over. One of these nights. If you have the time. It's not like I'm desperate or anything.



P.S. No, I'm really not crying. I know you're totally bummed you didn't make it to the KC Fest. Your tears and vaginal lubrication are just contagious. Like osmosis. But I'm not lonely or anything. Just looking to share these beautiful starlit nights with somebody special. Could that be you? I hope so. I just want somebody to watch the sky with me. And hand me tissues. You know, to wipe off all the love juice. Not to soak up all these tears I'm crying.

P.S.S. I mean, I'm not crying. Really. Well, sort of. Just tears of "I wish you'd come over and spoon with me." I'll even be the little spoon if that means you'll like me.