Category: TV runs my life

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?


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


Have you ever looked down at the supplies for a craft project that you want/have to do and know that somehow, someway, you’re going to fuck it up beyond comprehension….?

Welcome to my life. I have absolutely no artistic talent. I have always blame this on the fact that my parents decided to have a second child.

No there’s logic here, hear me out!

When I was four and five, we lived in a three bedroom house, and the third bedroom was my art room. This room because fucktard’s room when he was born. He can draw and all this artisty shit and I blame it on the fact that he sucked all the artistic talent from that room that I would have had if he wasn’t born.

So now you know why the following story happened. I can’t do crafts and asking me to will end in disaster. Or as I decided to call it “Tim Taylor-ing the whole thing”.

Okay here’s the set up:

We use these dryer things to dry swabs before sending them to DNA. They have trays that you put the swabs in and then slide them in. They’re probably a great set decoration on CSI somewhere. Since they are used for DNA purposes we clean them with bleach to kill any DNA that could possibly be behind it. Bleach is corrosive. And I don’t care how strong the glue and plastic of these things are, things are bound to get cocked up. This is why we can buy more.

I also have a moronic supervisor (thankfully not my immediate…she has no power over me, it is kinda awesome). She has no common sense whatsoever and a terrible memory and I can’t stand her.

Add these two things together? Welcome to last Friday.

Dumbass is cleaning the tray and the bottom falls out. Had I seen it I probably would have laughed out loud and gotten myself into trouble. As it was I was dealing with our Biohazard Trash (which will probably contribute to the cancer. YAY!) and all I heard was her saying my name the second after it happened. (A) WTF why is something breaking automatically by fault? I have no (B)….She hands it to me asking me to fix it after just saying that it could probably just super glue it back together. I blink at her a bit, and thank god she couldn’t see my jaw hanging wide open under my mask cause I couldn’t believe she couldn’t glue it back together herself or how the hell this was my damn problem.

So I set it aside and ignore her like I normally do, but when she leaves at the end of the day she tells me that she’s going to email the person the swab dryer ‘belongs’ to (yea she’s fucking up OTHER people’s equipment) and let them know what happened so she doesn’t freak out (she was going to freak out anyway…) and that she would probably MacGyver it back together….if I even knew who that was…


Plus two lines of glue really isn’t MacGyver’s style. It’s totally beneath him. To be honest it’s totally more Tim Taylor’s style. So I took it upon myself to fix it just to prove a point…it’s not like we don’t have kick ass super glue at our discretion….

So yea this is where I fuck up. Since I don’t use our super glue EVER I didn’t know how fast it was going to come out so it ended up pooling all over the bottom of the tray, not just on the two grooves I needed it on…SO…..I put the tray where it should go and try to clean up the extra glue which is now all over the counter and my fingers and almost ending up gluing the damn thing to my hand…now my fingerprints are on the damn thing in glue…there is just no denying this one. So I kept trying to make it better, simultaneously making it worse and finally deem it relatively okay and go get the rest of my work done.

About an hour or so before leaving I decide that the tray is dry enough and that I should probably put it out on the analyst’s counter so she knows it’s done. Fifteen minutes later…it’s glued itself to the table.

Thank you Tim for teaching me how to royally fuck things up. Cause that one was spectacular.

Although I was quite amused by the outline of the tray on the counter. I guess I always leave my mark!


And I’m totally okay with that. That would be the best world ever. Every day would be a musical! And not like the Buffy musical where people die from the tapping (mostly cause I was really good at tap so I could control that shit), but like the Producers where even though we go to jail everyone is still really happy (and even when they’re not, they get an AMAZING eleven o’clock number) and everything turns out okay and I get my producers hat dammit. I’m rambling

So I totally waited until after I watched How I Met Your Mother (HIMYM) kinda just to piss off HCT who said that I should wait and write this first but I’m mean. I also have nothing to write about really. Maybe because I’ve been really distracted because the fall season of all my TV shows have started (except Bones, but I can wait for that because it’s going to be worth it).

So I think I’ll just give you an update on the whole roommate thing. On Friday I woke up and found that all my painting supplies had been left in front of my door that leads out onto the patio/balcony. Now let me explain a few things. Even though this psychotic person says that I can use the apartment common rooms at ANY time, she’s not stopping me (her words) she was the one that started putting my things in front of my door or inside my room, making me feel like I couldn’t use them in the first place. And yes, I know I could use it just to spite her, or could have put the stuff back, but it was way more fun to make all my furniture disappear one day, and to win at any argument she makes about bill paying. Plus I don’t like the hostile feeling I get anytime I leave my room and REMEMBER that it drives her crazy when my door is closed all the time.

So without even trying, I’m kinda winning.

But back to the paint stuff. First of all, I only looked out my door in the morning because I thought I heard someone knocking on it the night before. And who knows, maybe some crazy rapist/murderer had scaled three floors of walls that were really not suited to climbing and then knocked on my door before opening the door which was unlocked…What a polite criminal. Never mind, I totally didn’t hallucinate that one….

So anyway (wow I can’t keep on track), I look down and see all our (my) painting supplies sitting right outside my door (exactly like she’s done with the rest of my stuff, but I can use those rooms whenEVER I want…/sarcasm). I stared at them for about two minutes while my head was trying to process this, because before they were in front of my door, they were FIVE FEET AWAY IN THE OUTSIDE STORAGE CLOSET. HONESTLY. If they were really bugging her that much she could have just closed the damn door for fuck’s sake. Really. So I just stared, because this is just a new level of crazy and lashing out for attention.

I thought about that all day, and finally decided to not say a word, just like I never said anything about her suddenly deciding to use the parking spot even though she’s more likely to hit five cars than get in the damn spot. I went home and I stared at the supplies again, wondering if they were going to give me any magical answers into the fucking-ass-shit-crazy mind that is my roommate. And then I moved them back into the closet and didn’t even shut the door.

I. Win.


Okay, don’t blame me, blame: Doctor Who, Torchwood, True Blood and Dexter. And possibly fanfiction and the movie The Help. I get easily distracted and it doesn’t help that I’m obsessive about television. The only true reason I’m writing right now is that it’s way better than cleaning my bathroom (although getting accidentally high on the fumes is a side benefit there I guess) and I’m waiting for last night’s episode to buffer. Although I think it’s done. Which means I’m writing this instead of watching that, so you’re welcome.

To be honest, most of the reason I didn’t write last week was because nothing super exciting happened. All I got last week was incredibly disappointed. And my biggest disappointment was that I wasn’t in Tokyo.

Yes I said Tokyo. Okay, so there’s this feature on Smart Phones that allows you to set the time for either your current location or a permanent location, like home, or if you’re me, London for some reason…shifty eyes….(have I mentioned I’m a complete Anglophile, I feel like I forgot to mention it and it’s kinda a huge chunk of my personality).

Back to the point. I have my phone on ‘current’ so that it changes when you travel, most phones do this on their own. So Wednesday night I went to check and make sure my alarms were good before calling my dad to tell him that I would be driving his sorry ass to the airport so make me dinner FOOL, and the time says: 11.45 am and that I’m in Tokyo. Now, I’m not huge on Japan, but I was way impressed that it was (a) tomorrow, and (b) that I had somehow traveled to a foreign country since I had eaten dinner in my bedroom. Then I looked up and saw my new crappy sheets that I hate and all my other shit and I was incredibly disappointed. It wasn’t tomorrow, it was today (or Wednesday really), I was still at home hiding from the bitch of all bitches, and I would probably still have to go to work the next day. A realization that my brain taunted me with by making me dream it was going to be Saturday.

I think there might have been some disappointment in there too about the fact that my phone transported me to Tokyo rather than London. Fail there phone. I think the rhinestoned Union Flag that you have as a phone cover would have given you a clue that I want to go there, not Japan. I need to give my phone a talking to.

Excuse me, it’s time for some discipline.