Funkadelic

Despite what that rat-bastard (ok...rat-bastard's cousin) Punxatawney Phil said, I don't believe that this winter will ever end. And I think the weather is the cause of my present fundadelic-ness.

I feel like I'm stuck in the middle of Siberia somewhere. Frigid. (Uh..no. Not me frigid. The weather, I mean.) Colorless. Blah.

I oughta be ashamed of myself. I mean, this is the Midwest. And it is winter. And for the last several years, we have had really mild winters, so it's time for an ugly one, I suppose. And we've really got nothin to bitch about compared to...where is it?...upstate New York?...that's got something like 6 feet of snow.

Yea, I oughta be ashamed. But I ain't.

I'm still soooo ready for spring I can hardly stand it. I feel like Goldie Hawn trapped in boot camp in "Private Benjamin". "I wanna go out to lunch! I wanna wear my sandals!"

I wanna go to the River Beach Pub and sit on the deck and look at the river and drink a cold Blue Moon and have a hamburger. I wanna ride around town with the top down on the 'vert, radio crankin. I wanna put away the sweaters and the socks and the damn coats. I WANNA WEAR MY SANDALS, DAMMIT!

The really bad part about my funk is that I can get dangerous when I get like this. I'm so anxious for a change, I tend to do stupid things. Like cut my own hair. Mmmhmmm. I'm sooooo tempted right this minute! I know if I just hang on...wait it out...the temptation will pass and spring will be here and my hair will be safe and everything will be ok.

Wonder where I put those scissors?