In a few weeks, I’ll be driving up to South Bend, Ind., to visit one of my old undergraduate roommates. It’s been more than two years since I’ve seen Chad, and a lot has happened to both of us in the last 29 months.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Nothing has really happened to me. I’m still the same wiener I always was, and I’m still drifting in a sea of confusion and aimless, uh, drifting. But Chad, yeah, a lot has happened to him. Namely that he had a baby.

Chad’s son, Dustin, was born a couple months ago. I can’t wait to meet the little tyke, because it’s important that he meet a Who fan as early as possible, or else he might grow up funny. I also want to slap Chad upside the head for being such a doofus. I mean, having a baby? Why not just go to prison or forfeit your paychecks for the next 22 years?

I remember what it was like to live with Chad. When there were four of us squashed into a tiny apartment, he could barely clean up after himself. When I asked him if he would mind cleaning the toilet — at that point there was moss growing on the rim — he responded by saying that he didn’t mind it being icky because he had “a high tolerance for filth.”

And Chad’s not the only old friend of mine who has a new baby. Josh, my editor from a newspaper in North Carolina, recently welcomed a son into the world. He and I are the same age, and when I picture myself having a baby right now, I just shudder.

Nevertheless, many of my friends are indeed having offspring, and more of them are getting married. Another one of my roommates got married a couple years ago. And my younger sister is getting married next July. (I’ve already been told that I have to shower and trim my beard for the ceremony. I also apparently will have to wear a tuxedo. The last time I wore a tux was my junior prom in high school, and I’m still in therapy over what happened as a result. I won’t go into details, so let’s just say it involved copious amounts of toilet paper.)

So why is everyone else settling down into a life of normalcy while I’m still picking my nose and waiting for something resembling a life to fall in my lap? The answer is multi-faceted.

First of all, as I mentioned above, I am, in fact, a wiener. My life revolves around “Futurama” and Dairy Queen. I am intimidated by the opposite sex, so much so that I have been known to break out into hives if I get within 10 feet of estrogen. And, alas, I am a New York Islanders fan.

I also know that I am goofy-looking and I know that I am just plain weird.

So I almost view the fact that I am single and childless as inevitable and expected. I also see it as a good thing, because at this point, I really shouldn’t be responsible for anyone other than myself.

I’m not proud of that; in fact, I am embarrassed by it. While most of my friends and siblings are developing into mature, responsible adults who can maintain relationships and raise children, I’m just screwing around and doing nothing important.

And that really scares me. It makes me wonder what I’ve been doing for the last three decades, and it makes me wonder if I can expect anything different in the years to come. These are supposed to be the best years of my life, but if I’m wasting them, what does that say about my future potential?

But then again, maybe I’m just worrying too much. Maybe I’ll start doing important stuff sooner or later. Maybe. But one thing’s for sure:

Dustin’s gonna love the Who.