It�s Friday night and I�m at home watching the Red Sox and Battlestar Galactica, eating a medium (OK, fine, large) pizza by myself. This wouldn�t be so bad if it wasn�t what I do every weekend night.

The funny thing is, I�m not even depressed by it like you social tigers imagine being in my situation. I�m a happy guy, just fine with life, no matter that when I talk to pretty women I look like I'm naked in front of a TV audience.

Contrary to popular belief and the online bulletin boards where my family asks �what the heck is wrong with him,� I don�t sit around crying and mourning a lack of a love life. No, it�s just an everyday pattern of no social life, and god forbid you try to upset my routine. Like ex-�Daily Show� pundit Steve Carell in The 40 Year-Old Virgin, I�ll whine like an eight-year-old who doesn�t want to ride the roller coaster even though everyone assures it�s the best time of his life.

	Is this a bad time to reveal my French maid fetish? Not you, Catherine. I mean I wear the outfit.

Know part of my problem? I turned to Ch. 23 on my XM radio today, dedicated to love songs, and lasted for two songs, Air Supply�s �All Out of Love� and Vanessa Williams � Saved the Best for Last.� I sang along with both. I should really stick to other channels, but there�s not one that�s described by the XM folks as �guaranteed to woo cute dames who pull up next to you at the light.� Why can�t dating be that easy?

What I�m getting at is that Carell�s character is me in ten years if nothing changes. Except that I don�t have to worry about the virgin part, but came damn close to being The 30 Year-Old Virgin. (Once I passed 25 there was no way I was waiting for marriage.)

I guffawed at Carell's collection of action figures, then looked up over my kitchen cabinet to see over a dozen bobbleheads smiling down at me while the 2004 Red Sox postseason DVD collection plays. My priorities? Out of whack.

But that�s just it; the movie isn�t about the sex, it�s about how relationships shouldn�t be defined by it. Well, yeah, so there�s lots of sex talk. I mean, I can�t even start to spell most of the words used in this flick. This isn�t a romantic comedy; The 40-Year-Old Virgin is raunchy, it�s crass, it�s foul-mouthed, it�s full of T&A and yet it�s ultimately kind of sweet even though you probably wouldn�t want to watch it on a first date. In other words, it�s fracking awesome.

From the start Virgin is over-the-top, yet based enough in reality for the hilarity to ring true, and kind of hurt, personally, like when Carell says, "I respect (women) so much I stay away from them." Not that he can stop thinking about them, though, because no matter how hard you try women are flaunting their cleavage and dogs are humping in the park and ... well, you'll just have to see it to understand that part.

Later, when his buddies get him in the dating circuit it�s easy to dismiss Carell�s misfires with bizarre women as Hollywoodizing the dating process. Then again, once in a while you do indeed meet a woman who makes you think, �Damn, she crazy.�

For example, this morning I was dropping off my old box springs in the bin behind the complex�s dumpster, when a mid-sized black dog comes sprinting at me. I proceeded to do what anyone would, pet the dog, play with it and talk baby-talk. Then the owner, a cute Hispanic girl, comes jogging over apologizing for her dog, Luna�s behavior. I laugh it off, �she just wants to play, and so do I.� But when Luna wouldn�t respond to her calls, the owner asks if I�ll grab her collar (the dog�s, not the girl�s) to get the leash back on. When I help out, the girl proceeds to start yelling at Luna and yanking at the leash in what was intended as discipline but was fierce enough to freak me the heck out. Seriously, I was agog, I was aghast, jaw dropped and everything. I couldn�t drive away fast enough, no matter how cute the girl was. Poor Luna.

The lesson? Women out there, animal abuse? Not so much on the attractive side.

	Note to hairy men: "Wax on, wax off," only works as a karate move.

Of course, Carell is at least a decent-looking guy to pick up foxy lady Catherine Keener (Being John Malkovich). I may have to settle for one of the kooky available girls. Besides, if there�s something a bit off about them, there admittedly certainly is with me!

Virgin isn�t as clever as Wedding Crashers, but then again this summer�s best comedy had the advantage of idolized experienced talent, starring Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson, who easily toss out this kind of blitzkrieg comedy.

Then again, the supporting cast of Virgin, led by the incredibly passive agressive Paul Rudd, is gellin� like Magellan, and perfectly believable as a bunch of guys hanging out being idiots (like usual). Where this one stands out are the number of random moments of comedy gold that have absolutely nothing to do with the plot, and we don't give a flip.

What you will get is plenty of opportunities to double over laughing, cringe at awkward moments (but nothing humiliating) and boggle at how far the movie goes with frank talk and naughtiness. In fact, if you were a virgin going in, you may be able to at least say the movie got you to second base, even if you went alone.

This movie spoke to me, and I heard, �Hey fatso, only ten more years and you can use this as your biography!� Yeah, I know, either the filmmakers or my subconscious is a real dick. That�s alright, I had it coming. As the ill-mannered Pakistani, Mooj, would say in a thick accent, �Jeff you�re a $%@#@, go out there and $@$#$#$.� Wise words, man.

The verdict: