Category: i love my family…


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.

FUCKING 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.

What.

The.

Fuck.

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.

-Renee

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.

 

SO!

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.

-Renee

I know I’ve said before that I was unlikely to talk about my father very much, and a big part of that is my current frustration with his major flaws and how they affect my life. The other part of that is that he’s funnier than me, and I like to pretend that it’s not true, which is pretty messed up considered I don’t think I’m very funny at all…It’s a vicious cycle.

But then he goes and does some awesome stuff like making this adorable cork board thing for all my mum’s students to sign love notes on. Pretty spectacular.

Or then there’s the part where he swipped a folding screen from someone’s bulk trash just to bring it home and help me remake it into a MOTHERFUCKING TARDIS.

Yea. My dad’s going to make me a TARDIS. That’s fucking full of epic awesome goodness.

Best part, I never even told him I had planned on buying a cardboard one or was thinking about painting a door to look like one. I’ve just infected his mind with Doctor Who (keep in mind, neither of my parents watch it, but could tell you a whole lot about it) by drawing little TARDISes (i? ini?…es. …) in the corner of basically everything I can draw on, that his first thought on seeing this, was “British flag for Renee” and then his next was “Fuck no. TARDIS rocks.”

FUCKING TRAINED Y’ALL

I’m so damn proud.

And I’m going to have a TARDIS for my new house. This is so fucking badass. My dad kicks your dad’s ass with a folded spoon heated to 350*F and used for a baseball bat in Hell. Or something like that.

I’m going to go learn to Quickstep now. Ta

-Renee

This post will make you feel better about any weird things your family does at the holidays. Unless it doesn’t, in which case, please share…

We have a running joke in my family. That we can’t make it through a single meal without having some kind of inappropriate conversation. Somedays my brother will just plop down at the table and say: “Just to get it out of the way: Shit, Fuck, Vagina, Cock (and other variants), this is not that dinner”. I think once or twice we’ve gotten really close, but I think everything is null and void if I talk about work at dinner.

So unless you’ve drunk a lot in celebration, you might understand what I’m getting at. My holiday dinner’s are certainly no exception to this rule. Except for maybe the one Thanksgiving we sat in awkward silence trying to pretend my uncle hadn’t gotten as drunk as he did and behaved so appallingly. But to be fair, my brother wasn’t there to make any rude comments, so we’ll never know what it could have been….

So needless to say, no meal today was ‘that meal’. It started over breakfast mostly because we thought mimosas were a good idea, but once you get alcohol in my mother, it’s a whole different train ride. And my brother’s new favourite word is ‘nipple’. Not a good combination.

This was followed shortly by lunch with my Grandmother, and I’m pretty sure we trash talked our way through the whole thing. And she didn’t even bat an eye. She might be going deaf though, so I don’t know how much stock to put into that.

My new favourite “I’m a complete dumbass with a foul mouth’ moment was at my very Christian and conservative Grandparents’s house, and called my brother a Jackass very loudly for the whole family to hear. And then my fuckass of a cousin proceeded to point out that I had said it a bit above my inside voice. Cause no one was aware asshole. In my credit, I was not mortified, just amused. I kinda bent over pretending to be embarrassed and laughed so hard because of their shocked faces.

They have no reason to be shocked. They raised my father and my uncle. They knew this was bound to happen.

That lunch with Grandma might be off the table now.

In other news, my cat had an enema yesterday which got me out of the awkward family gathering with my white trash relatives mentioned above (in the Thanksgiving bit). I never knew constipation could be such a wonderful thing.

-Renee

(To be fair, I really love Christmas and the magic it brings. My family is just unique in that we don’t hide our true selves from each other. I know I make it sound like we’re the worst family ever, but we make our disfunction work for us, and it produces some truly awesome moments. Merry Christmas everybody.)

No really, I just totally saw myself on TV.

They’re doing that special on the 85th anniversary of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and they showed a clip of a group I performed with in Herald Square (which is fucking TINY, sorry to ruin your childhood, but it totally scarred mine, so I’m just evening the score here). And I totally ended up slowmo-ing the clip until I found myself and then watched it about four more times cause I’m weird.

One day, I’ll detail that experience, when I’m in the mood for bitching. But I thought I’d just pass on the fact that I am freaking famous, if only in my household.

Yea, I kick ass

-Renee

Today is my birthday. It is also my mum’s birthday (yes, I was that mean child that decided I was the perfect birthday gift. Most days she disagrees).

So I feel the need to tell you something about my mother but I’m not entirely sure where to start, because, well, I love my mum but she can do some crazy funny shit.

She also taught me how to swear, so if you ever are offended/impressed by that, blame/thank her.

So I need to preface this so no one thinks I’m being insulting and rude about the birthday girl. I fucking love my mother, she’s amazing. But sometimes she does things that just make me go: “Hold on. Keep doing that while I fire up my camera.” Like the time we threw my uncle a surprise party and the whole family’s in the garage waiting to surprise him and my mum gets down on the ground, ass in the air, to look under the door’s tiny crack to see when they’re there. Totally took a photo.

But to be honest, my favourite instance of this would probably our trip to St Thomas. We had gone there for vacation, but it was also my parent’s 25th wedding anniversary and they wanted to go back to where they honeymooned. It was pretty, but really awkward if you thought about it too hard.

So for those that haven’t been to the island, it’s way super easy to get lost. Our directions to the hotel included the direction ‘turn at the red building/former police station’. It failed to mention that the building was like 5 minutes from being condemned and a sun-bleached pink. We ended up on some strange journey into the scary parts of the island and I got yelled at a lot. Didn’t help that you drove on the left side of the road in an American set up car. It’s weird. Trust me. You feel like you’re doing everything wrong and just want to pull off to the side of the road and cry.

Which segues perfectly into what this whole story consists of. But to be fair there will probably be some pit stops along the way.

Let me preface by saying my mum HATES to let my dad drive. She thinks he’s out of control (he is) and unsafe (just a tad) and likes to do it herself. So it says something significant when I say that she was so uncomfortable driving on this island that she made my dad do it. There was more than one time I told her to turn right and she totally turned left – almost into a car. It stressed her out so much that she gave up entirely and let dad drive.

This is where it all goes sideways. So we are heading into “town” (read: tourist central) to go have lunch or shop at the kiosks or whatever…I forgot the details because the journey there was so damn scary/hilarious/scary that I forgot what happened after I took the picture of my mum at the end of it. We end up somehow on this upward slanting road trying to find a parking spot and eventually curve around, realising that we’re on top of a mountain and now we must head down.

Also, there’s no parking.

So we head down this mountain, at probably at 50-60 degree incline and slowly begin to realise that this is a one way street on this side of the mountain. And we’re going the wrong damn way. There were two instances where we had to pull over and back up so that the car going the RIGHT way could go around us, but the one that nearly killed my mother was when we had to back up about ten feet, take a 90 turn onto a driveway, and head up a 70 degree-ish incline. Yea. Can’t believe we didn’t die.

Best part, dad kept going the wrong way down the mountain when we finally got out of that situation.

And the whole time my mum is swearing that when we get down she’s going to kiss the ground for letting her live.

And she totally did. It’s on my “Mum’s greatest hits” picture reel…okay, if I had one it would be…

She was kinda pissed I made her hold it so long, but I’m pretty sure it only made her seem that much more grateful…

-Renee

PS. If you’re ever wondering why I don’t really talk about my dad, it’s because he’s funnier than me and I don’t want you to feel cheated. Sad, but true.