Aggravated Misdemeanor

Sooooooooo. I can't begin to tell you how validating the comments were in my last post. I try not to live for comments---but we all know they are blog crack. They are. Don't kid yourself. But yesterday, comments were just what I needed. I was sort of feeling like I couldn't possibly be doing it right if such a script is how my day is going. When most of you responded as if I were quoting you directly, it just seemed to make everything all better. So thank you.

Next item of business; I'd like to take you back to my arrival in Iowa. It was early in August. The first, to be exact. I was bereft from having left my friends and Texas. I loved the space and layout and location of where we lived. I knew that no matter what move we made, there would be compromises.

So, when I got here, I braced myself, so not be disappointed, even though I knew it wouldn't be as good. I tried really hard not to hate it. And the feeling would come and go. I'd say to myself, "This is going to be great, look at all this space." And then 20 minutes later when I had 5 bruises on each hip from turning around in the tiny kitchen to put things away, I was cursing the place.

All in all, this place is great. It has some definite perks that I am grateful for. The doorbell is not one of them. :) After two days of unpacking and discovering the different perks, I plopped into bed exhausted and fell immediately to sleep.

BANG BANG BANG BANG!!!!!!!!! I sat upright in bed, shocked. Oh please don't be trying to break into my house. My husband will sleep through a tornado and I'm in no shape to beat you with a bat. Plus, we don't have a bat. My heart was racing. I stood up and looked out our window that overlooks the back patio area and where our car is parked. There was a police officer circling our van. Next to the van was the Penske truck that would be returned in the morning. I looked at the clock. 2:24 AM. If that police officer was there to tell me we couldn't park a moving truck there at TWO THIRTY IN THE MORNING I was seriously going to maim someone. Seriously. I opened the window and yelled down, "Yeeeesssss?" Because I'm couth like that. He looks up at me and asks, "Is this your van?" I tell him that it is. "Well, there have been some break-ins, I need you to come down here and tell me if anything has been taken from your car."

"I'll be right down," I say. What I mean is, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!??!? Uhhhhh, I need to find some pants. Crap. I can't wake up J, he's impossible to wake up. I am SO not coming down there without a bat or my husband..."

I start to brave it and head down there and then my mind flashes of all the damn CSI episodes I've watched and a couple of America's Most Wanted and I yell up the stairs for J. "I don't know if this is a cop impersonator, I need you to come outside with me." He hadn't heard the conversation I had from the window, but he comes downstairs trusting that what I just said meant something.

Outside, our van door is ajar. I had bought groceries and left the van unlocked so J could unload some heavier things. He didn't think to lock it when he was done and neither did I. We may as well have rolled out a red carpet for the thief.

Fortunately there was only a diaper bag left in the van. 12 hours before, my niece had cleared all our junk out from our travels. He would have scored a couple of portable dvd players, wallets, rotten fruit, half a dozen baby einstein videos, and some melted gum.

The dude got busted while breaking into our car and that's why our door was ajar.
He pilfered through my diaper bag. I am SO leaving poopy diapers in there for the next crook.
I couldn't think of a single thing in my diaper bag that he would have made off with, but the officer kept pressing me to check if anything was missing. I was mostly glad he'd been caught and not too worried, I knew I hadn't left anything valuable. And AGAIN (this is the third time my car has been broken into---two other times were in Provo, of all places) the crook wanted nothing to do with my CDs. They were left alone. I guess people are right, my taste in music is awful. Who cares, me and Joseph and his amazing technicolor dream coat will still be rocking---his loss.

The officer dumped out an envelope full of loot they'd reclaimed. A small hairbrush that was well-used and two pairs of women's sunglasses. I was really surprised by this---who steals hairbrushes? Is there a black market for used 88 cent hairbrushes that I just don't know about? Nothing of mine, everything seemed to be intact in my car.

The officer took our names and said if I found anything to be missing, give him a call.

We went inside and I still wasn't sure he was a cop so I made J call to verify he was a real officer and he was where he was supposed to be. He was f'real y'all. So we went to bed.

As I lay my head on my pillow, I suddenly remember I had a wad of twenties that I had just haphazardly stashed in the outside pocket of my diaper bag two days before when we were driving up. Five of them. I did the math. I spent two of them driving up so that left $60. Then, I used one to fill the tank, and then....that left 2 twenties. And I couldn't remember if I had used my debit card or one of the twenties for lunch that day. I was too tired to go back out and check.

The next day I was driving around, had forgotten to check the diaper bag, but needed a quarter so I reached into my change drawer--aka ashtray and it was empty. Swiped clean of even the straw wrappers that sometimes get stuffed into it. That's when I new, the dude got away with my cash.

I called and reported it. The lady who took my information asked about how much change was in the ashtray. I told her, "Two McDonald's happy meal's change from a $10, times about 23." She was all, "I'm not a calculator ma'am, you're going to have to give me a total." They are there to protect and to serve, NOT to add up my stolen loose change.

Either way, I'm out some dough. I mean, does anyone know if the guy gets to keep it if in 24 hours no one claims it? And surely he was released from jail by then, right? Some things I'd like to know.

I'd actually even forgotten about this stinky welcome to the great state of Iowa, until I got a letter in the mail yesterday. From the county attorney. I am officially a victim. Well, right after I fill out the forms that say I am. They want a victim impact statement. And for me to be at his trial. Um, I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean, the lazy part of me says, "meh, I don't have time for this." Then, the vigilante part of me (which is quite large, I must say) says, "Yeah, sucka, you messed with the WRONG minivan, you're going DOWN for your three aggravated misdemeanors and your one attempted aggravated misdemeanor on my sweet ride!" But I'm not feeling it too much.

On the upside, this place is feeling more and more like home every day. I guess it's true. Home is where the freezer that holds your Ben and Jerry's is.