I get a bad wrap for being a big bitch. That’s not what this post is about, but I figured I’d put that out there anyway.
I do have a reputation for being negative. I guess it’s an
occupational hobby hazard when you run an unsuccessful, sardonic, self-deprecating WordPress blog. Or so I hear.
Truth be told, I’m not all that negative. Instead, I’d like to think I’m just hypersensitive to otherwise-normal stimulus, like an abnormally neurotic cat having its tail smashed by a stiletto.
I don’t think I’m all that pessimistic, either. I’d actually think of myself as an overwhelmingly-hopefully-and-therefore-wildly-guarded optimist. (To be clear, though, I am not optimistic about all those hyphenated “ly” adverbs. I feel shame, but I did it anyway.)
Finally, I’m not a sad person. At times, though, I admit I can be emotional to extremes. Some people might confuse this with sadness, but they are not one and the same. The overarching and unrelenting sense of despair written into some of my posts probably doesn’t help … but hey, it sells! Not for me, I mean, but it does sell. Consider:
- David Sedaris, my gay male spirit animal
- Louis C.K., my favorite child-bashing parent
- Jenny Lawson, who writes unapologetically about her issues under The Bloggess
I could go on, but you get the point–and it’s a self-deprecating one, and I like it, and at least two of the people on my list are baller rich.
I suppose I could create content that helps people in some way. That statement, by the way, is merely aspirational; I don’t seriously think I could actually do that. Alternatively, I could write super positive content about how fucking amazing my day was and/or my life is. Something like this maybe:
Today, I received the most amazing gift from the most amazing man in the world, who happens to be ready to marry me and live happily ever after with me in relentless luxury. We are so in love, and I’m so in love with my life.
I also got a mega raise at work, which is only going to make that second million come even sooner than I had imagined in my wildest dreams which were actually lucid thoughts about my current situation that I had over my Orange Mocha Frappuccino this morning.
Oh and that gasoline fight from Thursday? The footage totally made it onto YouTube, and PewDiePie wants to interview me when I get back from my three-month-long honeymoon to the Four Seasons Koh Samui, Thailand.
Check back tomorrow for the latest from my amazing and enviable life! If you’re lucky, I’ll also share pics of my custom Tiffany & Co. emerald-cut diamond engagement ring. Spoiler Alert: it’s FUCKING HUGE. And don’t forget about my customer Vera Wang wedding dress! Spoiler Alert: it’s FUCKING EXPENSIVE.
Would you read that shit? Of course not. You’d follow it on Instagram, obviously.
These sorts of stories are wholly non-relatable for most. Heartbreak, family drama, career challenges, the Challenger disaster–wait, no, how did that get in there. Anyway, in my opinion, those little things that make most of us miserable at some point in time–those are the things that get people going. Also this:
I’m going to write, then, about situations to which lots of people can relate or at the very least stories from which they can get a good laugh. Cats In Your Pants was and will continue to be a blog about real shit:
- Real negative shit,
- Real honest shit,
- Real emotional shit,
- Real struggle shit,
- Real people shit,
- Real life shit, and
- Real challenging shit.
Most importantly, I’m going to make all that shit real funny shit, because it is.
Follow Tony Robbins if you need motivational messages, check sites like Startup Stash or Startup Grind if you want help launching a business, check out HowDo (forthcoming 2018) if you want tools for personal and professional innovation, or Keep Up With The Kardashians if you want stories of what it’s like to be exceptionally rich, famous, and entitled. Read this blog if you want to laugh–or, more accurately, understand what makes me laugh. Know that on the other side of the writing, though, is someone who lives an awesome life and knows it. But writing about that just isn’t as fun or funny as regaling you with stories of sharting or crying under your office desk. Trust me on this one …