With the publishing of this post, I have broken the record for Most Complaining on a Blog in the Insignificant Life Events Category. While all of you are watching the Oscars tonight, I will be collecting my prize, which is - you will be relieved to know - a kick in the ass and a strip of duct tape.
After this post, I'm going to stop complaining about having to spend the next two weeks of my life engaged in the tedious and frustrating task of moving my blog to one service and then transferring it to another service so that I can preserve as much of my content as possible. It sucks the bloggy big one, but it's time to strap one on and get over it.
This is how I know.
In the last few days, I've had more mood swings than Sybil over this effing "objectionable content" issue, and it's taking its toll. After spending last night mired in this excruciation, I lay in bed rigid with frustration. Fauxhawk, bless him, tried to help.
P: I CAN'T SLEEP. THOSE CENSORING MOTHERFUCKERS HAVE FUCKED ME, AND FUCKED ME GOOD.
F: Honey, do you need a Xanax (dart gun)?
P: I NEED A MOTHERFUCKING NEW BLOG.
F: I'll help you! Don't worry about it!
P: I CAN'T SLEEP. I AM TOO FUCKING PISSED OFF. FUUUUUUUUUUCK. (Rude hand gestures in direction of the ceiling).
F: Maybe you should listen to your meditation tapes.
P: Hmmmm. Should I listen to "Think Thin" or "Calm the Fuck Down"?
F: I think "Calm the Fuck Down."
Meanwhile, the cats are acting like the children of a neglectful, mentally ill parent. They alternate between hiding/slinking around and doing inexplicably cute things to please me.
Exhibit A: Look at me! I'm Roy in "The Cute Position"! Doesn't that make you happeeee?
Roy usually doesn't give a fuck. He doesn't do cute for anyone, especially on command - he is way too dignified, and frankly, that kind of obvious behavior is Verne's department. This is how I know something is up.
Exhibit B: I am allowing you to mess with my face because you are mentally ill.
Under normal circumstances, this shit would never go down. Clearly, there is some PTSD at work here.
Exhibit C: You may do "Jazz Hands" with me now, but I will hate you until the end of time.
The killer is that he just sat there completely resigned, knowing that this is his life now, living with a crazy person who needs large doses of animal cuteness to stay even partially hinged.
Before you call the ASPCA, know that I am on the road to recovery, listening to my meditation tapes, breathing deeply, and GETTING SOME MOTHERFUCKING SHIT DONE on the blog transfer.
Over and out, blog babies. (Maybe this week I will go back to posting friendly, uplifting content paired with lovely images. But for now, I leave you with this - a picture of my partner in crazy:)
xox,
P.