Princess SnorklePants is my current name on twitter.
I like being Princess SnorklePants.
Why Princess SnorklePants I hear you ask?
The short answer is because the Internet is a ridiculous place and I don’t generally take myself or the Internet too seriously. Remembering if you will, that Klout regards me as an authority on Zombies, Chihuahuas, Crocs and Trombones.
The long answer is, that I had massive case of hurt feelings (again) and needed a way to cheer myself up after someone had called me a troll.
To deaden my fragile feelings I changed my name to Troll Queen Foale III and proceeded to faff about on twitter, posting arty photos of the undersides of bridges and talking about my comment policy on the blog.
Once the sting of the troll slur had receded, I then morphed into Princess SnorklePants, fulfilling a childhood ambition to be a princess when I grew up and tadaa due to the awesome power of the Internet I was able to become a princess.
Being Princess SnorklePants also enables me to swan about in public, telling people that I am THE QUEEN and asking small children if they have seen my missing Tiara. I really need to invest in a fold up wand that I can keep in my handbag so I can be the fairy queen as well. Do fairy Queens wear tiaras?
Long time readers here know that “The Spouse” has a serious disability: Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. A genetic disease, one that causes him all manner of problems, the most significant being chronic pain due to his hips, pelvis, shoulder and various vertebrae dislocating.
Have you ever dislocated anything Internet? I smashed my knee to smithereens in 1993 in a serious drinking accident. From 93-98 my knee used to dislocate, causing me to collapse onto the ground sobbing with the pain. One memorable dislocation occurred at 2 am when I was heavily pregnant and on my way to the outside loo IN THE RAIN. I landed in a puddle, where I lay like a glorious beached whale sobbing for The Spouse to come and help me up.
So yes. Dislocations, they hurt a bit.
Through the power of genetics, my children also have Ehlers Danlos Synrome. The level of pain my daughter Veronica deals with on a daily basis boggles my mind, so I try very hard not to think about it. My son used to have a cute little party trick that he would do just to make me growl at him. He would make a musical popping sound with his jaw as it subluxed. Now his jaw dislocates on him fully when he sneezes and all the “I told you this would happen” in the world will never ever fix his jaw. He is only eighteen, Internet.
Do you know how it feels as a mother to stand by and watch your children suffer excruciating pain all the fucking time and not be able to do a fucking thing about it? It is horrible internet, it is horrible.
To watch helplessly as my husband slides in and out of a black depression. To watch as my daughter struggles with Post Natal Depression after the birth of her gorgeous but seriously medically complicated third child. To listen as my son tells me that he couldn’t go outside today, because his anxiety attacks were so bad and could I please drive into the city to see him, as he would really like a hug please mum.
To do all this without my own mother here to tell me everything is going to be okay, that I am doing the right things that it will all be okay, is a bit hard internet. Actually sitting down and typing this out, it is very hard and I have forgotten where I was going with this post.
Oh that’s right.
Knowing my own experience with depression,, as outlined above, is it any wonder that I came out vociferously and loudly voiced my disapproval of a poorly written blog post proclaiming that depression IS the new black?
I lobbed a hand grenade into twitter with three tweets (yes that is correct, only three tweets from me) and then I wandered off to talk about container deposit legislation and my experiences as a child in the seventies collecting cordial bottles, as they provided a well needed boost to childhood coffers. The discussion then returned to depression, which apparently the author of the blog post did not like and she promptly blocked me.
Oh dear. Blocked again. Poor Princess SnorklePants.
Over the course of the next few days there was much talk of dreadful bullies on twitter. Dreadful loud noisy bullies, with agendas instead of opinions.Remembering that after the initial tweets, I didn’t actually speak to the blogger in question, though my initial disapproval was a catalyst for some heated discussions that I did not actually participate in.
Passive aggressive blog posts popped up like mushrooms after a good rain. There was much wailing and wringing of hands, no-one let the truth get in the way of their righteous indignation and I am sure I heard some pundit ask, “Won’t somebody please just think of the children.”
BAD BAD Princess SnorklePants.
It gets very tiring. Very tiring indeed. After that champion of democracy, Anonymous, had emailed me and accused me of being a horrible, horrible bully who had no right to pick on and viciously attack poor defenseless bloggers, I decided to go back and screenshot my tweets. For posterity.
Ignoring rowdy villagers on a witch hunt is exhausting and so Princess SnorklePants morphed into Colin the Labradoodle.
If I am going to be accused of running with a PACK, well then I was going to be a LABRADOODLE.
Colin is a very nice Labradoodle, I have met him a couple of times and he is always pleased to see me. Colin doesn’t run with any packs but he does go to doggy daycare and for a time Colin was my twitter avatar. I enjoyed being Colin as I dealt with and diffused the hurt I felt at being labelled a bully by using humour.
Colin’s tagline on twitter was, “Leader of various packs. Loud Woofer. Labradoodles are the NEW BLACK”
I don’t think that people were very impressed with Colin, as the blockings, wailings and gnashing of collective teeth continued.
After a few days as Colin I morphed back into Princess SnorklePants and commenced the interrupted search for my lost tiara.
Princess SnorklePants is here to stay I think Internet. I met an acclaimed philosopher on the weekend and he called me Ma’am, which whilst not quite the proper Royal protocol was still quite funny. The silliness of my Princess persona enabled two people who would not otherwise talk, have a lighthearted conversation before returning to face the weightier matters that deep thinkers deal with every day.
And that, dear Internet is the story of how Princess SnorklePants came to be.