Don't bury me . . .

. . . 'cause I'm not dead yet.  I swear.

This whole "job" thing is really taking it out of me.  It's all so . . . bourgeois, don't  you think?  Between that and all my kids -- I've lost count of them -- I haven't had even the chance to look at my blog in ten days, much less write one of those witty, insightful posts that so delight my readership.  I was vaguely afraid that I'd find squatters here when I checked back in this morning.

So, coming in June, I'm a re-invigorated blogger!  (Unless I'm not.)

Dear Landlord.

My children have been freeloading for too long now. So, a few weeks ago, I gathered them around me and laid it all out. "If you want to stay under my roof, " I said, "you need to start paying the rent."

I must say, my six-year-old son embraced the idea and has worked hard to earn his keep. One day he came home on the bus from wherever it is that he works (I haven't had a chance to ask) and he had a live chicken in his arms. "I named her Goldie," he told me. "She's nice. She doesn't peck me. Can I keep her?"

"Sure, you can keep her," I answered. "Until dinner."

Self-Editing.

So few posts lately, and I've just deleted two of them. The first was meant to be a knock on the lameness of this blog, but ended up reading as if I was suggesting that my wife looks at porn sites, which she doesn't. Not well thought-through, I guess.

Unintentional Hiatus.

Two weeks! I know, I know -- I never write, I never call . . . I didn't mean to be gone this long. Honest.

I Took My Potatoes Down to be Mashed.

I've been tagged by Misplaced in the Midwest -- correct in his assumption that I am badly in need of blog ideas -- to list seven random facts about myself. Let's see . . .

1. Like Misplaced, when I was a boy I had a crush on a girl named Jackie -- not the same one, though. I won't print her last name, not because I have any sort of ethical objection to doing that, but because I recently learned she doesn't remember me, and having her come across this lame blog would be the shame icing on my humiliation cake.

2. I'm an only child. As far as I can remember, as a kid I didn't spend much time wishing for sibling. Yet I did, and still do, spend a certain amount of time answering the question, "Did you ever want a brother or sister?" I suppose it's a fair question, but it's irritating, particularly when people who've asked it before ask it again, as if I lied when I answered the first time.

3. Dining outdoors only interests me if the weather is just right. A little too cold or, especially, a little too hot, and I'm inside.

4. I play a pathetic little mental game by myself: I listen to average remarks and try to make them sound dirty. For instance, if the woman narrating a commercial for dishwashing soap comments on the product's amazing cleaning powers, I think, "I'd like to cut her grease" or "She can rinse my fine china any time." Yes, I realize how lame this is and I know I'm the only person who thinks it's funny. That's why I don't say it out loud.

5. I am the only person in the world who didn't like Rent.

6. Seventeen years and four jobs into my so-called career and I've never been promoted.

7. Speaking of jobs, I've come to the conclusion that the best one I ever had was in a Chicago bookstore, right after I graduated from college.

8. Special super-bonus random fact -- I once hitchhiked naked.

Ah, that was cathartic, and yes, I'm leaving "cathartic" in this sentence even though I just looked it up and found that one of the favored definitions is "an agent for purging the bowels." To join me in this special catharsis, I tag Karyn of Vexed in the City, Michelle of Verbal and Mark of The Rambler. Try it -- it feels gooood.