Category: this post might not make sense

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.


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.


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.”


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


…First of all, I just have to say…I got bored and looked at my search term stats and saw that someone was directed to my blog by googling this phrase: “where can i find christmas words for my mother”……

I’m pretty sure they didn’t find what they were looking for. I’d apologize, but it wouldn’t be sincere.

So some crazy person asked about my kitty’s constipation. I think they’re crazy (in fact, I know this as a fact seeing as how I know them in real life) but due to the fact that I do actually know this person, and not telling the story could lead to facebook harassment, I’ll concede. My apologies in advance.


Let me start off by explaining a bit about my cat. Her name is Mischief. I originally tried to convince my family to name her “Nyssa” but they weren’t buying it (besides…I thought “Leela” fit better and they didn’t like that either), anyway, her name was Nyssa for about three days until we all thought “Diva” would be better. A week later…we realised the only appropriate name would be “Mischief”. And this was before the birds and the mice started showing up….

So Mau (as I call her. Cause I’m too lazy for two syllables) never hisses. I’ve heard her do it twice. Once when I was putting elf booties on her (punishment clothing for a bird) and once when………something. I don’t remember.

But last Friday I came home around 9ish and she was sitting upstairs which wasn’t very normal for her at that time of night. So I picked her up and went to talk to my mum and she hissed and jumped out of my arms.

The cat. Not my mum.

She ran outside and I’m freaking out because she hissed and my mum suggests that maybe she’s hungry. I try to feed her but can’t find her so I go back to my business, only to find her sitting at the top of the stairs again five minutes later. Rinse and repeat the hissing shit.

Dumb cat that she is ran into my bedroom to sit on my bed as way of getting away from me. I never said she was smart. So fucktard gets home from work and he’s trying to pet her but she keeps jerking back her foot like it hurts her, and then she runs away and is walking funny which makes us think it’s an abscess. She hissed about one more time and I gave up because she was starting to act like a teenager with scary fucking PMS.


The next morning, mum decides that we should take her to the emergency animal clinic because the cat is still all grumpy face, and I’m all for it because if it goes a really long time I could end up not having to see the Uncle-That-Ruins-Holidays. So we’re at the hospital for small things and they take her back and I’m waiting and my ADD’s kicking it like crazy and finally the vet calls me back and she’s like: “I can’t find anything wrong with your cat”. I kinda blinked at her, and then looked at my cat, who had jumped on the counter and started pawing at the cupboards looking for a place to hide. I quickly ask her to get my cat off there because Mau is closing in on the edge and she has the grace of a dog and as funny as it would be to see her tumble off there backwards, I would feel really bad if it happened – especially when she is in pain. In hindsight, I’m kinda glad that didn’t happen because it might have forgone the enema and taken care of the problem itself and then I might have cried. She hands the cat to me, which is perfect because I really wanted a cat burrowing behind me to keep my ass warm. She offers up a couple of options and I ask for the cheapest because dad’ll kill me when he finds out how much this is costing.

After the blood work and the x-rays she comes back and tells me that the blood work is fine, but they can do a more expensive one if I want to look at other things in her blood. My brain is starting to hurt. She then shows me the x-rays. She’s pointing out things that could be potential problems, like “your cat’s heart is large, could be a heart murmur”, “your cat’s lungs are weird, she’s going to die of the plague”, “this spot is funny, your cat is an alien and is looking for the mother ship” and “look it’s a big piece of crap that is too big to leave your cat with dignity”. Then she lists of the options: “More expensive ass blood work”, “More x-rays, plus sedatives so my cat can become addicted to drugs”, “contact the mothership for immediate return”, “hop around on one foot and entertain the problem from the cat”, “enema”. The other options were way too expensive or were options I only made up…so I chose enema.

They were nice though. I didn’t have to watch. Though if I hadn’t been there for almost two hours and not starting to lose my patience I might have asked to, because I have a gross fascination for the weirdest shit. But I was thankfully not that weird at that time.

The only hint that they were doing anything was the loud “MREOW!” that came from the actual clinic area of the hospital, and in all my cruel glory…I laughed a little.

But then I took her home and she was fine. She’s back to being a little shit, and we still taunt her about being the constipated kitty, because she can’t fight back. It was mildly amusing and made me very happy that it wasn’t a more extreme problem.

Plus, who doesn’t want to spend Christmas Eve cleaning out their cat’s ass?


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.


(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.)