Winter is dragging on, and I am bored.
Yeah, yeah, Meg is adorable, and every minute with her is a miracle, and blah, blah, blah. However, changing diapers, cleaning up spit up carrots, playing "So Big," and reading "Peek A Boo in the Barnyard" aren't exactly challenging my mind. Oh, and Meg doesn't quite get sarcasm yet, so my best jokes are totally lost on her. And Sally has heard them all before.
I have thought of ways to amuse myself, but none have really risen to the occasion. On Friday, I considered eating nothing but tater tots. Then I remembered I have lost 11 pounds on Weight Watchers and don't really want to have the old ladies at the scales shaking their heads in shame. On Saturday, I considered taking up running, but then I picked myself up off the floor from laughing, and thought again. On Sunday, I thought about going to Home Depot to buy five bags of lime, a tarp, and a hacksaw, just to see what people would do. Ryan put a stop to that one. Jerk.
Today, I came up with the answer: hobo names. And I am surprisingly good at them.
I could tell you how I came up with this plan, about the "Wiretap" podcast, and the interview with John Hodgeman, but can't we just pretend it was divine intervention? I mean, how else did I come up with my hobo name so quickly? I would be known as Hominy Pete, because I would always have a can of hominy in my bindle. Oh, and I would share it -- because that's the rule of the road.
Since I was talking to Tara at the time I came up with hers: Boxcar Jill, the rambling gal. Ryan? Mumbly Jim. Meg? The Bean. Oh, and Tara's partner Kent? Professor of the Open Road. I thought that was my best name, but Kent didn't like it. He wanted Doctor Soup Can. When I heard that, I had to acquiesce. I mean, that is even more awesome.
So, now, I have decided I am the queen of all hobo names. Male or female, I can find the perfect moniker if you want to hit the open road and grow a perfect three day beard. Oh, and eat hominy (or beans) without ketchup.
If only I could make money. Then again, no hobo needs that worthless paper. They just need the rails, the skies, good friends, and an oil drum fire.
Damn, hobos are dumb.