Sunday, November 12, 2006
I knew I was in a snit when when the first word out of my mouth this morning was "Blech!" And I don't think it had anything to do with the wind howling outside. I like wild, temperamental winds, as a matter of fact. Actually, I knew last night that something was up. When I'm tired but my body is fighting sleep nevertheless, I know something's off kilter. Normally, a few hours' sleep fixes any- and everything. But -- not quite.
Is it the blues, though? Not quite. What it is, is a funk -- etiology unknown. There's no discernible reason for it. It just is. Amorphous. Ephemeral. Unknowable. These things go as quickly as they come, though, so I'm not worried about it. I'll either figure out what has me in a funk or ... I won't. Either way, it'll read the writing on the wall and go away on its own soon enough. Of course, the funk appears to be illiterate; it couldn't even read the "Funk-Free Zone" sign on the front door. If all else fails, I can organize the crickets into a militia and have them run it out of town with tiny little Uzis -- make them earn their keep.
As a last resort, I have a jar of hot fudge sauce. And a spoon.
How about these funky Twisted Linguistics?
Let's try using them in a sentence -- without our eyes crossing and tongue twisting into inescapable knots.
Aperntly, soruonding a crossdreessing mosquitoe will
give you the deatels. Memoriues that!
Get on outta here, 'ya blue funk.
Gitchi gitchi ya ya da da (hey hey hey)
Gitchi gitchi ya ya hee (hee oh)
Mocca chocolata ya ya (ooh yeah)
Creole lady marmalade (ohh)
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir? (oh oh)
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? (yeah yeah yeah yeah)
My friend Roxan came to the rescue on the cricket menace with this suggestion:
To get rid of crickets, mix some molasses and vanilla extract or lemon juice in water. Crickets are lured to this bait and they drown in it. Be sure to plug up any holes in the house where they are getting in. Hedge Apples work too.
I don't want to kill them, though. Plus, who'd empty the buckets of sodden cricket remains, fit them for itsy-bitsy shrouds, make their teensy little coffins? Not moi! Isn't there some handy-dandy way to, you know, simply repel them? Make them want to go to somebody else's house instead?
It's Sunday, which means I have girly stuff to do today. I need to do my nails, and maybe I'll do something different to my hair. I might paint my toenails, too. I don't usually bother in the winter because, I mean, who sees them? It could be a Blue Funk remedy, though. I'll try it. Nail polish smells better than garlic, too.