As of July 2, I’ve been writing this blog for five years. Every week, I’ve come up with something new in an attempt to entertain my readers (save two weeks—one re-run, and one guest post by John Valeri), so that’s approximately 260 original blog posts.

My point is, sometimes I run low on ideas.

Using a fancy research tool I call “Google,” I went hunting for a good idea. It had to be funny. It should be topical—maybe something summery. A cucumber-pickling recipe, perhaps? I quickly realized that I was, in fact, good dill hunting. (I crack myself up.)

I found an inspiring post titled “Fantastic Ideas to Kick Off Your Summer Blogging!” I had high hopes. These hopes were quickly quashed like a child accidentally dumping her almond fudge chip ice cream cone, leaving a smear of wasted chocolaty goodness down the front of her Wonder Woman t-shirt. (Almond fudge chip makes me cry to this day.) Here are some of the bright ideas listed in the perky Summer Blogging post:

1.    Inspiring Vacation Locales
There are people in this economy who still vacation? Who are these people? Bank robbers? In the past five years, my vacations have consisted of weekend conventions at which I peddle books. Nine times out of ten, I don’t even make it to the lukewarm, bacteria-infested hotel pool. And that’s only if I’m not sleeping in my car. Want an inspiring vacation locale? Try “not sleeping in the car.”

2.    Best Summer Songs
In theory, this sounds like fun. In reality, when you’re stuck in Hartford traffic, listening to your car’s air conditioner wheeze its last dying breath, the last thing you want to do is hear a song that reminds you that it's 100 degrees out with 100% humidity. Back in January, I would scream when any song from Frozen came on the air. Now I have the soundtrack on automatic repeat. Yes I do want to build a snowman with my sister. Right now.

3.    Summer Movies You Must See
This would be a fabulous blog post idea . . . if I’d been to the movies recently. Wait, I did see Jurassic World. Raptors and body parts—okay, yes, that qualifies it as a must-see. Plus, I’ve been inundated with Minion Twinkies, Minion Cheese Nips, Minion cereal, Minion-shaped air fresheners for the car, and Minion Happy Meal Toys, so I feel like I’ve seen that movie. I guess it was cute? Or annoying. Hard to say.

4.    Helpful Sunscreen Tips
Are there people out there who don’t know they should use sunscreen with a minimum SPF of 30, and to re-apply it every two hours? Want a tip that’s truly helpful in the summer in New England? Make sure your heavy-duty tick repellant has sunscreen in it. Then reapply every ten minutes to be safe. I’ve seen those disease-ridden parasites eyeballing their tiny tick watches, waiting for the DEET in your repellant to expire. You know what? Just hose down your lawn with DEET to be safe.

5.    Summer Bucket List
Finally, an idea I could use. I have a lengthy summer bucket list. It includes:

• Not sleeping in my car
  
• Fixing the air conditioner in said car that I really don’t want to sleep in
  
• Reducing the amount of Minion-inspired merchandise in my home and car
  
• Hiding in my car to avoid ticks
  

Overall, I found the “Fantastic Ideas to Kick Off Your Summer Blogging!” blog to be insipid and uninspiring. I’m off to search for ideas on next week’s entry. Perhaps a post about creating decorative blankets to spice up the windows in your home.

You know. Good sill bunting.

I come from a long line of people pleasers. For centuries, members of my family have been the first ones to volunteer if something needs to be done, no matter how complicated it might be or what a huge imposition it is. But over generations of diapering other peoples’ babies or tasting the king’s food to make sure it wasn’t poisoned, my family started to learn an important thing: sometimes, it’s okay to say no. No, I don’t want to organize your shoe closet, Imelda. No, I won’t test the sharpness of that sword with my neck, Henry—ask your wife Anne to do it. Just no.

You see, for every person out there who will drive to Quebec City just to find those chocolate-filled croissants you like so much, from that little café on the side street whose name you can’t remember (true story), there’s an equal and opposite person who will absolutely expect you to make that drive for them, because they think they deserve chocolate-filled croissants. There are people pleasers, and there are egocentric, karma-sucking people users. Don’t be either one of these types of people.

A couple of years ago, I was on a job interview, and the CEO of the company asked me some really inappropriate interview questions. For a moment, I struggled to answer (“Have you ever sued a past employer? What would make you sue an employer, do you think?”). Then the clouds parted and a startling realization came down from the heavens and imparted itself upon me: I didn’t want this job. This woman was nuttier than a pecan log, and possibly involved in illegal activities. And then the follow-up: I don’t have to finish this interview.

The people pleaser in me wanted to answer her question, and give her the best answer possible; hopefully the answer she was expecting. (“Umm, I’m usually so loyal to my employer that I would never sue. Lunchtime chicken-porn movies are all in good fun, I say!”) But generations of poisoned food tasters had taught me something: you don’t have to please everyone all the time. It’s impossible. Also, get the hell out.

“You know, I don’t think I’m the best candidate for this position,” I said, getting up and shaking her hand. “Best of luck finding the right fit.” Then I walked—okay, ran—out.

When the egocentric karma-suckers start taking advantage, that’s when the resentment starts. Your time and talents are valuable, and the karma-suckers know it, but they think you don’t. So they’ll try to manipulate you. Don’t let them. It’s one thing to be a good friend; it’s another to be a doormat. Can I pick you up from the airport? Yes. Can I book your flight and pack your bags for you, then call ahead to the hotel to make sure there are mints on the pillow when you arrive? No.

When someone asks you for a favor (and by criminy, they do all the time, don’t they?) ask yourself these things:

1.    Is it a huge inconvenience for you? Be realistic. It’s probably not an inconvenience for you to tie your four-year-old nephew’s shoelaces. It might be an inconvenience to raise your four-year-old nephew to adulthood. I mean, does the kid want to go to college? Who’s paying for that?

2.    If you do it, will you resent the person who’s asking? This is why I stopped volunteering for a local pet rescue organization years ago. I offered to help trap some feral cats. Then they asked me for money to feed the feral cats, money to pay the feral cats’ vet bills, and wanted me to adopt the sixty-three feral cats I’d helped catch. I was willing to give up an afternoon to help trap feral cats. That was not enough for them. So I quit, hung a remarkably lifelike zombie mannequin being eaten by remarkably lifelike Styrofoam cats in the volunteer coordinator’s yard, and put a note on it that read “YOU.” All of this would’ve been avoided if I’d just declined to help to begin with.

3.     Or will it make you feel good to help them out? Sometimes, it’s nice to say yes. Yes, I would be happy to share this platter of fries with you. Not too many. Wait, is this a soup kitchen? Sigh. I guess you can have the whole plate. It’ll make me feel like a better person, even if it will also make me feel like a hungry person.

The lesson for today is this: it’s okay to say no. You don’t need to be a doormat. There are lots of people who will mistake kindness for weakness, and demand more of you. For these people, stock up on the remarkably lifelike zombie mannequins. You’re gonna need ‘em.

In case you missed the most important news of the 21st century this week, here it is (and I’ll never get tired of saying it, with a wide, weepy grin on my face): Bloom County is back, baby!

Berkeley Breathed is putting ink to paper again, reviving some of my favorite faces from childhood: Opus the Penguin, Milo Bloom, and of course, Bill the Cat. I can’t fully capture the elation—and yes, was that true happiness? That wily emotion that has evaded me most of my adult life?—I felt at this announcement.
No, I can’t fully capture it, but I’m going to try.

Bloom County was the first comic strip I fell utterly, hopelessly in love with. At the tender age of 12ish, I picked up a copy of Loose Tails to read on a train trip to D.C. with my mother. I opened it up, and immediately felt like the lady in this strip:

Go with the penguin, indeed. I was in love. By the time I’d arrived at our great nation’s capitol, I had no interest in visiting the Smithsonian or the Washington Monument. I wanted to find a bookstore, ASAP, to pick up the rest of Breathed’s cartoon compilations. (There were only two others out at that time. There are sixteen now, which is just an observation and should in no way be construed as an admittance that I’m getting old.) My mother, who had been on the same train with both tweenage-me and a toddler sitting behind us who didn’t shut up the entire 13-hour trip, was not amused. Luckily, there was a Waldenbooks on the way to the Lincoln Monument, so things worked out.

I laughed my way through the U.S. Capitol building tour, giggled at the air and space museum, and practiced my "Ack! Thbbft" Bill the Cat impression as we toured the White House. Overall, it was one of my favorite vacations of all time.

The teenage years were as you might expect, but perhaps not as terrible as they could've been: puberty was awful, sure, but I had my beloved Bloom County books to cheer me up after my heart was broken countless times by boys who didn’t know I existed. I reread those books until the pages fell out. I laughed. I laughed more. 

Then, in 1989, the laughter stopped. Berke Breathed announced that he was bringing Bloom County to an end. Ack! I felt much like this:

I’m from Connecticut. We’re used to losing: our crappy hockey team left, G. Fox closed down, our governor went to jail. Twice. Though a shock, I just chalked up the end of the best comic strip ever to life being the cruel, sharp-clawed snaggle-toothed mistress that it is, and struggled to move on in an Opus-less world. It wasn’t pretty, but I had my old strips. That helped.

Though Bloom County had ended, it was still very much a part of my life. I'd read the books so often that I pretty much every strip memorized, and they'd pop into my head at the most unexpected times. For example, every time I shaved my legs, I thought of this:

Every. Single. Time. To this day. If you ever see me on the street and randomly stop me to ask if my legs are shaved, I will undoubtedly answer "halfway" and giggle without thinking twice.

I'll often quote punchlines from Bloom County strips that make people wonder when, exactly, my great escape from the funny farm occurred. Can't quite understand a line in a movie we're watching, or misheard something I just said? "Pear pimples for hairy fishnuts!" I'll shout gleefully. 

Even as I'm typing this, I have an old Opus comic tacked up next to my computer. It’s traveled with me to every freelance editing job I've done:

So when ol’ Berke announced that Bloom County was back, I experienced an emotion I hadn't felt in, oh, twenty five years or so: joy. Hope. Something I’d lost, and desperately missed, had returned. I wanted to jump in a dandelion patch barefoot, strum out my excitement on the electric tongue, or go dancing with a basselope. 

I can’t adequately express the happiness I’m feeling today, so I'll let Berke show you, instead. (I like to imagine I''m gleefully riding on the wheelchair— affectionately known as the Starchair "Enterpoop"—between the rabbit and the bear below.)

I’m a planner. I like to have everything mapped out ahead of time, whether it’s my five-year career plan or my approach to the weekend laundry. So while all of you have been daydreaming your time away, I’ve been diagramming my plan for the zombie apocalypse. Because I think we can all agree that the zombie apocalypse is not an if scenario, but a when.

The three most important things to consider during the zombie apocalypse are as follows:

1. Where will I live?

2. What will I eat?

3. What will be my weapon of choice?

For me, living and eating go hand-in-hand. The basics of what I’ll need for food consist of protein, fruits/veggies, and fresh water. (Bet you thought I was going to say Double Stuf Oreos there. The world has ended. We’re going to have to make sacrifices, friends.) This is why I’m going to move to North Port, Florida during the zombie apocalypse. There’s a warm mineral spring there for fresh water, it’s near the ocean so I can fish, and there should be plenty of orange groves for fruit. I figure I can find a nice, gated retirement community, kill all the old-people zombies living there, and take it over. How will I get there, you ask? I’ve already designed my transportation. I call it a Spike Bike (patent pending). I’ll just ride down, and any zombies that cross my path along the way will be impaled on my front bike fender.

Of course, for the first year of the apocalypse, I can supplement my fish/orange/mineral water diet with supplies plundered from the grocery store. This will give me time to plant my cacao and coffee bean trees. As I said, some sacrifices will have to be made, but I’m not giving up my coffee or chocolate. We don’t have to turn into heathens, after all.

All that I have to worry about from there is my zombie-killing weapon. I love Daryl Dixon on The Walking Dead as much as the next gal, but a crossbow just isn’t efficient. He’d have to constantly be on the lookout for more ammunition. This is why I recommend a handheld, pointy instrument. Michonne’s choice of a katana sword makes a lot more sense to me. It’s sharp, it provides a bit of distance between her and the zombie, and it lops off heads like a hot knife through butter. However, why not take it one step further? Maybe increase the distance between your brains and the attacking zombie? This is why I’ll be spearing the undead with a giant whaling harpoon. Sure, it’s heavy and maybe awkward to lug around, but if it can kill a whale, surely it can take out a zombie or two.

Uh-oh. I just heard on the radio that toxic waste was discovered leaking into the East River. I’m sure the rest of you will feel pretty foolish in a few weeks. I’m going to grab my fishing pole and pedal off to North Port—see ya!