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An Update

On Monday I posted about calling CPS on my uncle. Making that call was one of the hardest, gut-churning, heart-wrenching things I’ve done in my life. But I know it was the right choice. What he did was a felony…I was just scared of the consequences. 

Before making the call I was nervous. But I thought I’d be fine after hanging up the phone. That’s how it normally works with things you’re dreading. 

But I wasn’t. If anything I was worse than before. So I posted about it. Hoping that just typing it (and maybe somebody’s wise words) would settle my stomach and my heart. 

But it didn’t. I woke up Tuesday just as nauseous. People at work asked me what was wrong. I told them. It didn’t help. 

So I called my dad. See, it was my mother’s brother who I called in. I didn’t feel I could talk to her about it, but my dad would understand. So I called him. I explained. He told me that he had been close to doing it himself before. He was curious why I didn’t talk to anyone about it before. But he was glad I had done it, he was proud. He promised to keep me in the loop and then we hung up. 

And finally I felt at peace. I felt like crying, but I was at peace. 

I think what I needed to hear was someone inside the situation say it was okay. That it was right, and that they’d help me take care of it. They were proud. 

I was so scared of telling someone in my family, but the second I did it made it better. 


So I’m going to say this. 

If you think there’s a chance that a loved one is being abused, call. It can only hurt NOT to. The woman on the phone with me told me up front that after hearing what I said they would decide how to handle it. In my case they chose to act. I’m glad. 

Just make sure that when you hang up, if you need to tell someone, tell them. Go with your gut. Mine said to tell my family, so I found the right person to tell, and it help. 

Not calling is the worst thing that can be done. Children have the right to be protected, so help protect them. 

And if you need someone to talk to after…just drop a word here. Trust me, I understand. But peace can be found. 


I’m very thankful that I no longer regret making the right choice. It was a horrible feeling and I’m glad to be rid of it. I’m proud of myself for protecting my cousins. I love them, and they deserve the best life has to offer. This just might be the only way of giving that to them


A confession

Today’s entry is most unusual. You will not find humour here. You will not find apologies for posts unmade. You will only find a confession that I cannot make elsewhere. A few people in my real life, who know my real name, know this already, but I need to write it down. I need feed back, because I am terrified of what I did. 

Today I called child protective services to report my uncle. 

I am terrified of the consequences. 

I had to call though, because of what my mother told me over the weekend. You see, my uncle is an alcoholic. And apparently some time last week, he was at a CostCo, getting drunk, and had my cousins in tow. Then he got a call that he had to go get something so he got in the car. Drunk. With my cousins in tow. And apparently while driving, they were bickering the back seat. So he turned around to hit them to get them to stop. While drunk and driving. And then he hit a curb and a wheel fell off his car. But since he didn’t hit anyone else, he avoided the DUI by not calling the cops. 

But all of this happened while drunk, driving, and attempting to hit my cousins. And hearing that story made me sick inside. 

And after watching him spank my cousin years before and watch it go from a punishment to a beating, I couldn’t let it stand for another moment. 

Because God Forbid next time he hits someone else. And kills them. Or my cousins. I couldn’t stand the guilt.

But I’m honestly terrified of what it will do to my family. I’m afraid of it getting back to my grandmother, who pampers my uncle and pretends there’s nothing wrong. Who enables him and cleans up after his messes. I’m afraid she will disown me for doing this. 

I’m afraid that after CPS leaves the house (because, yes, they did see it as an incident that they needed to look into) that he’ll beat them, thinking they told someone, or called themselves. 

I’m afraid of him committing suicide, because he’s been downspiraling for so long, it’s definitely a possibility. I cannot stand the man at this point, but I don’t want to see that happen to the kids. I don’t want to see it pull apart my family. 

I’m afraid of what my mother might do if she finds out what I did with the “gossip” she gave me. 

I’m just out and out terrified. 

I know I did the right thing. I know it. And I would do it again to protect my cousins. They are innocent in this. 

But I’m so scared. 

I thought making the call might ease the tension I had over it. Might bring some relief. But the moment she said they would be sending someone to the house I started crying. I can’t help but see what might happen, and chills me to the bones.

What can I do to ease this pain? How can I live with myself if the consequences are dire? 

I think I’m going to be sick. 


Jumping right in then.

MY new house has one of those disjointed master baths. You know? The kind with the slidey door between the toilet/shower area and the rest of the bathroom? Except my slidey door was knocked off its track long before the dude that lived here before me decided to paint everything three different shades of sadness – so now it’s stuck in the off-track position, so it’s just a bathroom with a doorway in the way.

I’m painting a mental picture here. Patience.


So Romana has this weird habit of sitting on the counter just on the other side of the stuck slidey door, so that when I get out of a shower or a bath I have to UNWILLINGLY expose myself to my cat just to get my bathrobe. I feel like I should be on the feline predator watch list, except she is always the instigator so it’s a good thing she is only around one other cat because otherwise she’d end up on Feline Dateline.

So anyway. I also have a habit of watching movies or TV shows while bathing. Which means my laptop comes with me. Before you ask, yes, this has already backfired on me. The laptop before this current one wanted a bath. The look on the Geek Squad Dude’s face when I handed him a dripping laptop was kinda worth it. Plus I got to play with an iPad for a week (when they were still newish) so that was also a plus.

So today I get out, and I go to set the laptop down and Romana is sitting there. The following conversation commenced:

Me: “Sorry but you’re gonna have to share with Laptop.”

Romana: *STARE*

Me: “I love you but I love laptop more”

Romana: *STARE*

Me: “Well not more, per se, but it cost more than you.”

Romana: *fucks off*

Me: “Well I guess over the course of your life you’ll cost me more than Laptop….”

Romana: *off playing with tissue paper somewhere because she is totally over my shit*

Me: “But by then…I’ll have probably bought a new laptop….so not really.”

Me: *Proud of my point* “I may finally have something to blog”

And then I sat down and realised that I would have to explain my bathroom set up and that almost discouraged me but here we are.

Unfortunately I’m not feeling that great, so I’m gonna bow out now, but now I once again remember I have this blog, so I’ll do my best.


So my biggest annoyance this summer (besides coworkers that need to be in traction) is discovering the noise my phone makes when there is a weather emergency alert.

The second biggest annoyance is learning that that alert always tells me about storms that are skirting my house.

Well, until tonight.

Tonight the fucker told me about the storm after I almost died in it due to a bitchy blonde in daddy’s high performance automobile.

So that helped.

I feel like summer weather in the desert is the equivalent of being homeless and getting other people’s left overs for dinner during tourist season. It’s like you get a crazy ass summary of other place’s normal weather for about three months and then it’s back eating pigeons that baked in the sun too long.

Or something like that. I’m tired from unpacking so If I sound insane, blame that and not my insanity.

Updates to come about blood spattering my “den” area. I’ve decided this room is now the best form of home security. Nothing says “GET OUT OR ELSE” much like a room that looks like four people were just brutally murdered in it.

The rational part of my brain does keep questioning why I thought this was a good decorating idea, but then the crazy ass part of me walks back in that room and giggles like a child cause it was horrendously fun doing it.

I am realising now that no one may know what I’m talking about. Basically, we “Dexter”ed my spare living room area. Painted it a pristine white and then flung red paint around for an hour. All because Big A little a thought it might be a fun idea. And I concurred and was okay with living with it. I’ve been dying to do it for months, and now we finally did. I’ll try to post video of the room once I find my damn router.

I have nothing else useful to say because I’m too tired and I want to play with my kitties. Good night evil doers.


So. Well…I can’t blame the house this time, because a lot of the last two months was waiting and waiting and waiting. So I’m not going to offer excuses this time, because it’s boring and dull and not entirely sincere.

Truth is, I kinda forgot about the blog. I have no clue why.

However, in unrelated news, I got the absolute joy of meeting Jenny Lawson (aka The Bloggess) tonight and she gave me the best advice for dealing with my depression/ADD/and newly diagnosed social anxiety (more on that revelation later). It was given to her by the GREAT Neil Gaiman. “Pretend you’re good at it.”

So this is me, pretending to be good at it in all things. It’s been awhile, but my life can seem dull from time to time I guess. There were a few things that have happened that I plan on talking about, because they were highly amusing and stick out in my mind. I’m listing them for my benefit not yours, so feel free to skip this post and read about how my kitten punched me again (or for the first time depending on who you are. If you’re here for the first time, I promise, I’m not this dull usually. But it’s been a long week and I’m tired and Monday is going to suck and it’s looming. I need a nap).

So since we haven’t spoken I’ve

-Gone camping with Big A little a and learned what living really is

-Been diagnosed with social anxiety and had my entire life make sense to me

-Gotten approved on my house

-Been a dipshit in most things and I forgot I had a blog. Oh and we got another cat.

So I will try to write tomorrow, but no promises because I think the title of this post is a good enough disclaimer.

Until next time, I’m sorry my brain is forgetful. I’m trying to have it replaced


PS a VERY belated congratulations to Mrs Tribble on her (not so anymore, but still totally awesome and long due) wedding! I’m so happy that it finally happened for you! About time!

I know, I know. Radio silent for WEEKS and then two posts in the same one? I guess sometimes my life decides to participate in my desire to tell the world about it…

So I guess this story needs to be prefaced by the fact that a couple months ago, Mischief (see Operation: Kitty No Poo) was eaten by a coyote. Yea. A fucking coyote. This shit happens in the desert. In fact it’s happened to our family three times now, because there’s two coyotes roaming our middle class neighbourhoods (note: developed land, cars and cul-de-sacs do not scare off wild coyotes. They apparently see it as like a fucked up obstacle course to get to their dinner) and so we mourned for about a month before I decided I needed the companionship that comes with a cat again and I had finally accepted the fact that Mau wasn’t coming back.

So my mum and I went cat shopping after Big A little a’s bridal shower (and sometime soon I’ll have to talk about her wedding, but that’s for when life ISN’T participating!) and we found two cats at the humane society but they wouldn’t let us take them home because we said we had a doggie door/cat flap and that our last two cats had disappeared. Apparently the people at the humane society thought we were sacrificing cats to the damn coyotes, which is a fucking shame because one of the cats was named Monkey.

Yea. Monkey.


Side note for those that don’t know me that well, I LOVE MONKEYS. I have forever, and I have no clue why, but when I can’t think of a word and everyone would normally say “You know that…that thing” (or in Hawai’i “dakine”) I say ‘monkey’. So if I can’t remember where I put something I say “I put it with the monkey, it’s fine mum” and then she gets pissed at me, probably because she thinks the monkey is pooing all over it and she’ll get monkey pink eye. Not to worry mum, it’s a hypothetical monkey, and it’s very well behaved. Breathe.

Whoa sidetracked.

So we had to forfeit Monkey and a little male kitten I was considering renaming ‘The Doctor’.  So I basically begged mum to take me to some other places, and we went to two Petsmarts but they didn’t have anything but long hairs and I have to have a short hair because of my allergies. I begged her to stop at one more, the one on the way home, just to give it one more chance (even though I knew we were in a rush because we were going to a roller derby that night).

And that’s where we found her. A little kitten with diamond shaped stripes and little tufts on top of her ears that make them look pointed (my mother says she looks like a Lynx – I halfway agree). She looked at me, and I knew I had to have her, cause with some animals you just know. I knew with Mischief, I knew with Pepsi, I knew with Evidence and now I knew with her. We did a little fudging of the truth (the cats didn’t disappear, they died of natural causes, cause what’s more natural than the damn food chain? Nothing motherfucker, that’s what) and the rep started filling out the paperwork.

All the paperwork said her name was Mimi, but when he showed me her “birthdate” I knew I would be changing it. See…my cat was born on 11/17/2014. Yea that’s right my kitten is a damn Time Lady. In fact, she is Lady President Romana(dvoratrelundar) of Gallifrey (Romana is all that fit on the collar tag though. BOO). So yea, my cat kicks ass.

And she has some interesting quirks, which would be a little long to detail considering I only wrote all that above to tell you about what she did yesterday.

Romana punched me in the eye.

I got punched in the eye by a kitten.




How do you live when a kitten’s gotten one up on you? I was sleeping, and I felt her staring and I opened my eyes a couple times, and then SHE PUNCHED ME!!!!!! I’m considering taking away Doctor Who viewing rights as punishment, cause really? What was so important that she needed to PUNCH me awake? And why didn’t she strike me again when I turned over and went back to sleep until my alarm went off?

But seriously I love that damn cat, so I’m putting up with the punching and biting. Because there’s nothing more fucking awesome than a cat that insists on watching TV with you.


PS, today I heard someone say “I’m building a fort of marijuana”. I’m thinking I need to start including a daily “Weird shit I heard today” quote just to make myself feel better about half the stuff that comes out of my mouth. Thoughts?

The following is a conversation I just had with my father (my mother was also present)

Me: I’m stealing Otter Pops, deal with it!

Mum: You helped find them, go for it! We had to walk all over, mumble blah blah blah

Me: That’s right! I did all the work (/sarcasm, cause I’m pretty sure I helped none whatsoever in locating the Otter Pops in the hell hole that is Costco cause I was busy trying not to hurt people)

Dad: Ha! If you did all the work around here I’d grumble mumble blah blah mumble mumble

Me: *Deadpan* I’d be more insulted if you weren’t mumbling


He tried to make some sort of comeback but failed miserably due to the fact that I went upstairs to eat my Otter Pops in peace.



Hi. I’ve been hiding a bit. Let’s call it stress. I got a little focused on trying to make you guys (hello 5 people!) laugh and forgot that I really started this blog to just vent or talk or whatever. There was no purpose, let’s be honest, but it’s purposelessness was meant for me. So I’ve been taking some time to gather my life, and I was ready to post a couple weeks ago buuuuuuut my computer was possessed and I only just got it working again. Fucking Best Buy. Fuckers.

Total side track, I just checked my search engine terms (I blame The Bloggess for this habit) and someone found this blog by searching for “I found my mother fucking my brother”. I am officially concerned. I have no words. Except I’m not going to try to find out how many pages back I was, cause I just got my computer working and it doesn’t need a damn PORN VIRUS (I’m sure that’ll bring in a couple more hits!) right now THANKYOUVERYMUCH!

So the truth is that I took a stress management class through my work, mostly to help me balance baton and work and buying this damn house, and what I got out of it was that I was letting blogging stress me out too and that I needed to start doing it again, but as a stress RELIEVER and not CAUSER. Or a cause. That was a poorly constructed sentence.

Oh well.

I’m pretty sure that’s not what the City was looking for when they paid for the class, but Fuck It I Don’t Care.

So yes, I’m not dead, nor is my ADD (ADHD? The doctor says it might be. HAHAHAHA Awesome) so expect more from me soon.

My apologies. Take that as you wish.


For those of you that were hoping for a positive(ish) post, I’m sorry but you’re going to be disappointed.


Cause work hates me.

Here’s another thing they don’t tell you on all those damn TV shows. Crime Labs are NOT immune to dumbass technology. Nor is the Police Department immune to the dumbass idea of using about three different programmes to keep track of everything.

And for some reason right now, these programmes aren’t “talking” to one another. Maybe one had an affair or something, but whatever happened, I’m now stuck picking up the damn pieces while the Computer Tech people work on the problem like a really slow bunch of marriage counselors that are milking your time for a damn paycheck.

I might go insane. This happened last year and I pretty much forgot how to function like a human. Boo. No one like Robot Renee.

(Insert bitchy elaboration that I’m not quite sure I can post because it might be toeing the line of vagueness/getting me firedness)

By the way, if anyone else has noticed, my train of thought seems to be a little less random these days. This would be because I have started to take a new medication for my ADHD (yea, you read that right, my new doctor says I have the ‘H’ (which when put that way, sounds a bit like a dirty disease that you need to see someone in a back alley to get rid of, but you just end up contracting something worse when you’re in the alley so what was the point?))……suddenly I feel like scrapping this whole paragraph because now the point seems moot, but I think it works as a great example of the different way my brain works when I forget to take the meds in the morning. Which I did today.

Might be why today kinda drug on….BOO

Anyways, the past couple posts I’ve written were done when I had taken the medicine, so my thoughts are more subdued and linear. And this works WONDERS for what I need it for: my driving and my work (the latter mostly so my coworkers don’t try to kill me when I start bouncing all over the lab. That would be bad for everyone). However, when I come home I want to be all ‘old me’ again, and he has me on an extended release pill that doesn’t really wear off until right before bed. And no one wants me posting when I’m that tired. It’s not pretty.

So my thought is to ask him to just put me on a regular dosage, but I’m wondering if he’ll question my motives. How do you tell your doctor that you want what’s best for you, but you also want to be a little bit crazy because writing’s more fun that way?

I guess first I have to worry about remembering to take my pill that morning and working from there.

But is that something legitimate to ask for? Or am I being really dumb, sacrificing my mental health just so I can write better? Thoughts?

Oh and the ultimate sign that you’re both bored and easily amused is that long moment where you get distracted by the embroidery machine while it’s sewing. Wow.


Please forgive the recent time lapse. I had every intention of posting about crazy fuckers on the bus but then I got sick and basically ceased to function. I’m actually currently on day 4 of having no voice, which is a damn shame because I really love to hear myself talk. I’d probably have it back already, but like the moron I am, I just continue to babble to people while my voice either decides to show up for the conversation or make me look like a fool.

My voice is an asshole.

And yes, I do realise that I had all the time in the world to post something when I came home sick on Friday or I while I was spending most of Sunday impersonating a rock, but I was told quite strictly to never post again while I was sick, because I’m not funny, just horribly pathetic. I’m not sure whether this is a compliment or an insult, so choose to agree at your own risk.

So meanwhile, I have no crazy people on the bus stories because the damn bus drivers are on strike (so much for being green huh? Wonderful), so now getting to work each day is an exciting adventure, where the hero (me) ends up just wanting to smash their face against a wall cause they are WAY TO FUCKING CONGESTED to deal with this shit.

I wish I could apparate to work. That would be awesome.

So, I swear, one day I’ll have something exciting to talk about. I’m going to California this weekend (to sit in a gym all day and basically take notes for a judge during our regional competition) so maybe that’ll boast some exciting interesting halfway acceptable stories for you.

Until then, my apologies.


PS, if I ever mention that you want me to elaborate on, feel free to say so. Apparently the things I find incredibly mundane in my life are the ones that people find most interesting sometimes

I was probably part of one of the greatest conversations that’s ever taken place in a work place this afternoon. It’s kinda random how we got on the topic, but we were discussing what kinds of religious figures could actually masturbate, and decided that monks probably couldn’t, since they are about giving up the self indulgences.

And of course one of the men took it too far and postulated whether they could help a fellow monk out.

Picture if you will, a Buddhist Monk Circle Jerk. It’s disturbing how amusing I find that image really……

So let me explain why I’ve not been around for a while……

I’m currently trying to buy a house. And for some reason this both scares and excites me, but whenever I get near my computer I feel a niggling sense of responsibility that I think I’m neglecting so I either choose to avoid the computer altogether, or find myself clicking through the archives of

They’re so fucking true to their name.

So basically I’ve come to associate any kind of typing with the stress inducing hysteria that is house hunting and waiting on a fucking short sale. So I have chosen to fucking ignore this blog instead, and I was feeling really guilty about it, so I decided to just let you all know about my excuses. If I wasn’t in such a rush to get ready for dance, I would elaborate on the pain in the ass that has been trying to become a home owner, and how it’s stressing me out so bad my face is breaking out in zits/spots like it thinks I’m back in the eighth grade or something. It’s bloody wonderful. FML.

So yes, I will be trying to update soon with something a bit more coherent, but I thought I’d at least plant the seed of Dirty Monk Happy Time in your brains.

Oh my god, that’s the best random title ever.