I don't really know what to title this entry, but I'm pretty sure it's funny anyway.
I might get some flak for this, simply because I have some friends who do this, but I have to admit: I can not stand the words furkid and furbaby. I am not sure what it is about those words, but when I see them I immediately roll my eyes. Depending on how annoyed I am when I see these words — for those who don’t know, my days regularly fluctuate between only slightly annoyed and extremely annoyed — I might even fly off into a rage about them in a blog post. Alright, I wouldn’t exactly call this a rage, this is more of a “I don’t have anything to write about because I’m so lazy I didn’t do anything today and I’ve already blogged too much about sleep and how lazy I am this week.”
I don’t have furbabies. I have pets. One cat. One dog. One fish. Well, actually, the fish is Levi’s. I hate fish, that thing could be dead for all I know, I don’t even look at it. (Megatron probably killed him, after all, he is Megatron’s arch-nemesis — Optimus Prime.) Perhaps my distaste for these words — phrases? — stems from my distaste for fur in general, I mean, I would much prefer my pets didn’t have fur. Every time the cat gets near me I feel like I get cat hair all up in my everything. I’m serious, once she is within 3 feet of me there is cat hair in my mouth, it’s disgusting. (I originally typed house instead of mouth, it’s good thing that I proof read. I can imagine the thoughts that would have gone through all of your minds, had I not caught that one: “No duh there is cat hair in his house…there is a cat in his house…” or “First he insults us, and then doesn’t proof read? Fuck this, I’m leaving!”) Without fur the words simply become kid and baby, and I don’t think of my pets as my kids or my babies.
Perhaps a rebranding is in order? How about something along the lines of “I’d-prefer-they-didn’t-have-fur-notbabies”? (I’m pretty sure that entirely catchy, not at all cumbersome, phrase will really catch on. Remember, you heard it here first!)
I hope this post didn’t come off as an insult, because I definitely didn’t mean for it to be one. Unless you are the words furbaby and furkid, then I hope you fall off a bike for existing — but, since I don’t think those two words are reading my blog, that won’t be a problem.
This post probably should have been one about me getting myself fixed but, seeing as how I kind of already did that with my terrible blog entry from early this morning, it isn’t. In case you missed it, and you probably did, my goal this week is to start going to the gym again. I’ve been successful in doing my dishes and scooping cat litter, so I think I can do this one too. Our scale is broken, so I have no idea how much I weigh right now but I know it’s about a zillion pounds more than I want to.
Seriously. I want to be so thin that I collapse in on myself like a black hole.
That’s right. Spatial anomaly thin.