Category: The desert kinda sucks


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.

-Renee

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?

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.

-Renee

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

The only thing that title has to do with this post is that I thought my friend was touching me in odd places at a concert on Thursday but it turned out to be something someone else was holding and to try to deflect my overreaction I told my friend that the army gave her a third arm when she signed up. Why she was feeling me up with it, I don’t know.

So, I have this odd contradiction right now where enough has happened recently that I could squeeze a couple posts out of it but the idea of writing it all down and sorting it out seems to intimidating. So instead I slept off the concert and lounged around my house sticking rhinestones on things. Go me.

So I went to a concert on Thursday. If you haven’t figured out this by now, you’re fired. No fired. Go.

Okay come back. But pay attention.

So the line-up was Foxy Shazam, Patrick Stump and Panic! At the Disco.  I knew what to expect from Panic (a lot of me drooling over the lead singer and getting humped by thirteen year olds while doing that). I had an idea of what Patrick was up to (I didn’t really care either, I adore him). Foxy Shazam on the other hand…

The only way I know how to describe this is by a note I made on my phone while watching them: “Watching Foxy Shazam onstage makes you feel like there might be an orgy later”

No really. Goofy antics aside (the somersaults and the flapping his arms like wings while wearing gloves to assist in that illusion were hysterical, I’ve never laughed that hard at something not intending to be hilarious) I honestly felt like the whole night might turn into one giant orgy by the way that singer was prancing up and down the stage. For fuck’s sake, he HUMPED the guitarist’s head (after jumping on his shoulders…he didn’t force him to the ground and then grind him into the floor…but I wouldn’t put it past him).

At one point he ate four cigarette butts. He smoked the four cigarettes first (at the same time which is possibly the dumbest thing to do next to letting your homicidal neighbour care for your kids…unless he’s not charging, then it’s just a deal and you should probably buy him dinner). I almost missed this though because I was watching the brass player’s strangely hypnotic awkward dancing and the keyboardist attempting to fan kick his keyboard off its stand while trying to take over the world with his creepy ass beard. He was like that one side-show performer that you don’t want to take your eyes off of because you’re afraid of what he’ll do to you when you’re not looking. CREEPY.

My favourite bit – and this wasn’t how he closed the show though I’m not sure I wanted to watch anything after that – was when he walked over, unplugged the brass player’s mike from its speaker and announced that he was going to plug it into his butthole and let the brass player use HIM as a microphone…cause he conducts enough energy for that sort of thing…I wasn’t shocked by that so much as the brass player playing along and then USING the plug for his mike that was just up his leader singer’s ASS. And yes I hear people out there cursing my young naiveté and pointing out that much worse used to happen on stage but LOOK, the last time I saw the headliners in concert the only thing that was really noteworthyly weird about the opening act was that the lead singer was barefoot the whole time (I think he was trying to collect blood transmitted viruses from all 50 states…) so I wasn’t really expecting this…a little bit of GUY LOVE but no butt plug microphones…

I was just surprised is all…stop judging…

-Renee

There is just something so fucked up about living in the desert. It’s the fact that we have weather so rarely that the moment we do get some it becomes headline news. Honestly. You could have a damn serial killer running around and a rainstorm would still get the headline spot with some picture of the one person in the city that owns an umbrella. The headline reads “HOLY CRAP WHAT THE HELL IS FALLING FROM THE SKY?!?!?! RUN OR WE ALL MIGHT DIE!”

 They are really overenthusiastic about punctuation where I live.

 Or they would be if I worked at the newspaper.

 That would be an awesome/fucked up newspaper. I might actually read it. And I belatedly realised that my headline rhymed, so fuck it; all my headlines would rhyme cause that’s how I roll bitches. HELLS YEA.

 I have issues

 My favourite thing about the desert though is that when some weird freak storm happens everyone runs around days later pretending they knew the word “Haboob” their whole life and didn’t just googleit to find out why a giant cloud of dust was attacking their poor little town like a wave tries to take over a beach town.

 Seriously guys? You’re fucking with me right? I didn’t know the word until everyone started to use it on facebookand I thought they were pretentious. Then I started to use it, and I hated myself inside, but then I decided to pronounce it “Hey-boob” so I could stick it in songs. So far I’ve got “Hey Jude” and “Northern Downpour” (Hey boob please forget to fall down–singing this in public doesn’t end well…).

 Basically as a desert native you’re completely fucked. You can adapt to 120 degree weather but the second it gets humid you die inside. You get cold when it’s below 70 and when it rains you either hiss like a cat and retreat indoors or create chores outside so you can go run around in it and pretend this isn’t so rare that you buy lotions that smell like rain to give you just an ounce of hope of remembering the experience.

 In other news the clouds have gone away today and I really miss them. But yesterday was awesome!

 -Renee

Hi, my name is Renee and I’m fucking psychotic

…Please tell me none of you said “Hi Renee” in that creepy happy zombie way they do in all anonymous meetings. Stuff gives me the willies….who the hell says willies anymore?…I do apparently…

Anyways, I’m a rather bizarre sort of person (which is what happens when you’re born and raised in the desert…120 degree heat must fry the brain). I work in law enforcement, more specifically in the field of forensics, and I think for my first entry here, I should set the record straight…or at least straighter…

(Side note: Apparently I LOVE ellipses…SEE?!)

So, Reasons why Real Forensics is nothing like CSI/NCIS/Bones/Other shows that ruin actual trials:

-Real crime labs turn the damn lights on…no really, otherwise you can’t see what you’re doing. What the hell is this blue filter crap? How do they see the minute details of their evidence, like staining or possible visible fingerprints, or hairs and fibers? Really, turn the light on for fuck’s sake. Damn

-Chain of custody!!!! Seriously, Bones drives me fucking crazy leaving evidence around like they do. Secure that shit and establish a chain, or I might cry.

-DNA is not some magical force that comes out of nowhere and secures a conviction. And no, clapping and saying “I believe in DNA” like it’s freaking Tinkerbell is not going to make that happen. Sorry.

I’m sure there are others, and I’ll probably get to them later but here’s the thing, I’m tired from a week of doing the stuff that they never show you on TV. I order supplies and deal with the tremendous amount of paperwork that comes with it (YIPEE!!! PAPERWORK!!!)…(although on the upside, I spend the government’s money, so that’s kinda fun). I change filters so that the fuming chambers work properly, and clean the powder room so that you don’t get fingerprint powder on you the second you walk in (cause that is seriously annoying). I make chemicals that will probably give me cancer later on in life, but I guess the upside there is that I guess I’ll know what caused it. I also take out the trash.

What I’m trying to say is that forensics isn’t as glamorous as it is on TV, but the work is fun and rather satisfying in the end. I love what I do, end of story.

 Except not really, because this would be a terrible blog if I just ended it here. I have plenty of stories to tell and not all of them about work. My family is insane, so that should keep me occupied for awhile.

 Stick around, it should be fun.

 -Renee