I’ve been feeling a little blue lately… Actually, a royal true blue stinker of a mood. I’ll spare you and myself the boring blow-by-blow telling of the why and what of my current funkdom. I told myself that if I ever got a personal soapbox blog one day, I wouldn’t go down that road - writing a detailed “put-it-all-out-there” account of self-loathing for everyone to read. Of course, never say never, but for now, no… definitely never. I’ll stick to just saying, “I feel like a whole boatload of shit.” Crappy and crabby, although not so much that I’m being extremely nippy and mean to everyone around me. At least, God, I hope not. If you know me and you’ve recently been the recipient of OR witness to one of my mopey tirades, I wholeheartedly apologize from the bottom of my aching, broken, tender heart. (Oscar, violins!) I know, get over it, man… and do something! 
(WARNING: page may load slowly due to 2 QuickTime .mov embedded videos of crabs.)
To borrow from Charles M. Schulz’s Peanuts, I am feeling more like Charlie Brown in this comic strip…
… rather than perpetually bossy, loudmouthed, selfish and proud to be crabby Lucy van Pelt:
I don’t want to wallow in misery for much longer and I’m doing things that I desperately hope will get me out of this funk sooner. It’s funny though, when I’m feeling moody, even trivial things seem to take on deeper meaning. The other day, my Mom was preparing some crabs for a dish and I jokingly said, “You are what you eat.” (Well, technically, I was already crabby before I ate them.)
My Mom - playing with a couple of crabs, tapping them with a large spoon, trying not to get her fingers nipped (12 sec., 488 KB):
My Mom again - washing the lively crabs, banging on the pot, pissing off the crabs (38 sec., 1.46 MB):
Hey Mom, didn’t your parents ever tell ya not to play with your food?
Note: Let me assure you and PETA that no animals were tortured in the shooting of these videos. Apparently, crustaceans don’t feel pain to the extent that we do as their nervous systems are much different from ours. Google it, if you don’t believe me. 
Adieu,
fruity and spectacularly crab-effing-tastic 
I got “hodges” again (2 for 2, now that’s JUST WRONG). P, you’re not alone. It’s just that you’re too proud to ask for help. Don’t mask it with humour. Ask.
OMG, girl, it’s snowing inside your blog and there’s a non-stop, depressed Lilith Fair chick warbling something about Christmas for suicidals. QUIT IT. “Love and happiness surround you.”