I have this great little tidbit of craziness I want to tell all of you but in order to do so, I have to first preface it with the story of how I came to have a new front door... because my craziness tends to follow a freakish circular method of story-telling, wherein you can’t get from A to B without going first to A2, 2 ½, and 3 (slightly removed) first. ::deep breath::
More tiny prefacing --- We live in the BOONIES. Seriously. There are a couple of neighbors but they are about 1/3 of a mile up the road and we never, ever see them except for the occasional 4-wheeler ride they take up to the mailboxes on the main road. Our road is private. Boonies. Really. Nothing EVER happens out here, unless you count wildlife gone wild. Also? Mr. Clean had come home the evening in question, his hands full of dinner, groceries, etc…
So, the door.
A little more than a month ago, I was up late watching TV. I do that. I find it really difficult to go to sleep so I find random things on the TV to watch (this becomes important for tomorrow’s tidbit of craziness). This night in particular – it was a Monday – I was flipping through channels while trying to remember what it was I was missing.
[I’m always convinced I’m missing the ONE show I was supposed to remind myself to watch. It’s sad. I get distracted and then forget and then kick myself when everyone else is talking about that show! "OMG did you see what happened last night?" they say. "Well, no… I didn’t see what happened because I freaking forgot to watch it!"]
So. Mr. Clean goes to bed and though I am already bone-dead-tired, I do my usual, “be there in a few minutes,” which translates into, “be there when I can’t keep my eyes open and therefore won’t mind so much when you snore like you’re gargling in your sleep.” And I start flipping channels to look for the elusive show.
I know – KNOW – at this point, that it’s just slightly past midnight because I’m watching a snippet of the west coast showing of The Bachelor (9pm CST / 12AM Pacific) after going through the programming schedule. God love DirecTV and west coast channels. Except, really? I don’t care for the Bachelor that much. I want the show I’m missing and I cannot remember what it is.
I’m lying there on the couch. The psychotic kitty – Scha-Nazi – is on top of the back of the couch, down by my feet and right next to the window (covered in wood blinds) that looks out to our front porch. The dog is dead asleep on his cushion in front of the TV. My thoughts are…
* ::pushing on cushion with my toe:: That cat, she’s dead-to-the-world asleep. She must have been chasing deer again.
* I think this season’s Bachelor is sort of cute… for all that he’s from Austin. He is from Austin, right?
* I wonder if he’s a UT grad? Probably.
* ::Giggle:: I wonder if that’s why he had to come on TV to get a woman?
* If that dog doesn’t quit snoring… I swear.
* These shows are like a train wreck… I can’t stop watching.
* What is that freaking show I’m missing??!
At that point, I hear a clicking sound. I’m not sure what it is or where it came from… so I hit mute on the TV control. Nothing. Typical. I’m always hearing clicking and groaning and multiple noises that no one else ever hears. I gave up waking people long, long ago. They all think I’m nuts anyhow.
“Hmmm…” I thought, “Must be one of the boys. Doodlebug probably went to bed with a toy again and has rolled over onto it while sleeping.” (He does that. Often.)
Right as I was about to un-mute the TV, the cat jumps up, fluffs like she’s just been zapped by gnawing on an electrical cord, and makes this low growling sound deep in her throat. I look over at the dog; he’s dead asleep. I roll my eyes. I figure someone (Mr. Clean!) didn’t close the screen door all the way and the wind blew it shut... thus, the clicking sound. I also figure I better check the front porch for a stray animal (before the cat goes apeshit) AND it’s about damn time for me to go to bed. So. I get up to go make sure the front door is locked and check the porch while I'm at it.
About two feet away from the door…
I see it opening.
My brain says, “Now that’s ODD.” I shut the door and as I am locking it… I flip the porch light on to check for whatever has the cat all ruffled up.
AND THERE IS SOME SKEEZY CRACK ADDICT PSYCHO MAN LOOKING AT ME FROM THE OTHER SIDE!!!!
My heart is retching in my chest. He is looking at me through the glass in my window and I watch in eerie slow motion, as my door is UNLOCKED again!! I slam it shut with my body, my face mere inches from this psycho on the other side and I start screaming my bloody head off – calling for Mr. Clean.
“Mr. Clean! Mr. Clean! Someone is trying to break into the house!!”
At this point, I abandon the front door and go running back to the bedroom to get Mr. Clean. He is already up and is running past me in his boxer briefs, carrying – I kid you not – a giant Claymore sword. [Brief aside – Mr. Clean collects swords. They are all bladed – meaning, they are very sharp. There is a shotgun and a rifle in this house, but both are put up very carefully… apparently a little too much so.]
As I am chasing after him, going for my cell phone, I pass my office window and marvel at the fact that my truck’s cab lights (the ones on top) are ON. What the $*%&#^???
I yell, “He’s stealing the truck!!” and then grab my cell phone. Mr. Clean, however, tears out the back door… where Skeezy Crack Addict Psycho Man is driving our truck across our four acre yard to my In-Laws’ gate. A gate, which sits directly on the main road, that happens to have another road intersecting it Right. There. An intersecting road where two POLICE CARS just happen to be sitting with their lights flashing, illuminating another car.
And there is Mr. Clean hauling his cute little boxer-briefed butt across the lawn with a freaking Claymore sword.
I call 911.
They tell me to calm down about a thousand times.
I am not calming down because some SCAPM just stole my truck and has pulled out of the driveway Right In Front Of Your Police Cars! After he tried to break into my house!
Mr. Clean has reached the police across the road. I really would have loved to see their faces when this very tall man shows up with a giant sword looking like a Highland Berserker, sans kilt. Alas, 911 had hung up so I was busy calling my sister (in hysterics) because the only other option was to sit in my house ALONE, still sort of wondering what the f*** just happened.
BabySis was at a club. She couldn’t hear a thing over the music except for the tone of my voice and that was enough to drive her into a bathroom cubicle. I relayed the whole story – interspersed with little breaks where I proclaimed, “I can’t breathe! Holy crap, I can’t breathe!” She tried to calm me. Mr. Clean returned.
After that… a number of phone calls and a police interview commenced – this going on until almost 2:30am. At one point, the officer challenged me on the time this all went down. Remember, earlier? I knew exactly what time it was because I’d been looking through the programming menu, watching the minutes tick off that I was missing the show I couldn’t remember! He seemed to think I recalled wrong. I think he might have been smoking crack, but whatever.
End result story:
A call was made regarding a car sitting on the side of that intersecting road across the way. We occasionally have problems with abandoned cars there. The police came out to investigate and found, not an abandoned car, but a Stolen car. With a prostitute inside. [A prostitute!! In the boonies! Holy crap! That has NEVER happened.] Not only was she a (suspected) prostitute, though, she was also apparently assaulted. And on drugs.
After piecing together the rest, it appears the SCAPM at my front door had assaulted some prostitute either he picked up in a stolen car or who had picked him up in a stolen car. He then:
... left the car
... walked across the road
... laid his jacket on the fence near my father-in-law’s gate
... opened the gate
... broke into my father-in-law’s truck
... rifled through it (skipping over some hefty painkillers my FIL carries, along with glucose, for my MIL)
... walked over to our house
... threw a beer can in the yard
... went up to the front door (on a dark porch)
... found Mr. Cleans KEYS in the front door**
... fought me over the door
... took the keys and stole my truck
** Yes, folks… the keys were left in the door when Mr. Clean came through with his hands full and because I’d not yet gone to bed, I’d not yet done my nightly check of the glass screen door, which would have revealed that little oversight. Imagine, for a moment, that I HAD gone to bed and had not been there to slam the door shut. Shiver much? I know I did.
A few asides:
* We later checked and there is No possible way to have seen the keys in the door, through the screen door, while the porch was dark until you were less than 2 feet from it. In other words, regardless of the keys, he was already in the midst of breaking in.
* Through ALL of this, my children never once even rolled over in their sleep.
* My dog Sucks Ass at guarding my home & person. He never lifted his head from his cushion until after I was ranting on the phone with 911. I officially miss my German Shepherds.
Aftermath:
* We got our truck back the next day in good condition, having been abandoned about 20 miles away – albeit a bit muddy INSIDE and completely rifled through. Nothing of importance was taken.
* I insisted Mr. Clean BLEACH the inside of the truck and check for needles and other manner of nastiness before I’d set foot inside it again. He complied.
* I insisted Mr. Clean BLEACH the front and screen doorknobs and surrounding areas before I’d touch them. He complied.
* We got two new doors and four new locks, plus padlocks on both gates, and new locks for my father-in-law’s house as well (since we’d had one of his keys on our key chain). I now have a crapload of keys.
* I still cannot look through my front door window at night.
* I also still cannot pass in front of the front door at night to check on the boys before I go to bed without my heart wanting to leap from my chest as though Bloody Mary will suddenly be staring back at me.
* I wake up Mr. Clean for EVERY noise I hear now… and I don’t feel guilty about it any longer.
* The show I missed - which I remembered, while being interviewed by the police - was Weeds.
Tomorrow... that little tidbit of craziness.
More tiny prefacing --- We live in the BOONIES. Seriously. There are a couple of neighbors but they are about 1/3 of a mile up the road and we never, ever see them except for the occasional 4-wheeler ride they take up to the mailboxes on the main road. Our road is private. Boonies. Really. Nothing EVER happens out here, unless you count wildlife gone wild. Also? Mr. Clean had come home the evening in question, his hands full of dinner, groceries, etc…
So, the door.
A little more than a month ago, I was up late watching TV. I do that. I find it really difficult to go to sleep so I find random things on the TV to watch (this becomes important for tomorrow’s tidbit of craziness). This night in particular – it was a Monday – I was flipping through channels while trying to remember what it was I was missing.
[I’m always convinced I’m missing the ONE show I was supposed to remind myself to watch. It’s sad. I get distracted and then forget and then kick myself when everyone else is talking about that show! "OMG did you see what happened last night?" they say. "Well, no… I didn’t see what happened because I freaking forgot to watch it!"]
So. Mr. Clean goes to bed and though I am already bone-dead-tired, I do my usual, “be there in a few minutes,” which translates into, “be there when I can’t keep my eyes open and therefore won’t mind so much when you snore like you’re gargling in your sleep.” And I start flipping channels to look for the elusive show.
I know – KNOW – at this point, that it’s just slightly past midnight because I’m watching a snippet of the west coast showing of The Bachelor (9pm CST / 12AM Pacific) after going through the programming schedule. God love DirecTV and west coast channels. Except, really? I don’t care for the Bachelor that much. I want the show I’m missing and I cannot remember what it is.
I’m lying there on the couch. The psychotic kitty – Scha-Nazi – is on top of the back of the couch, down by my feet and right next to the window (covered in wood blinds) that looks out to our front porch. The dog is dead asleep on his cushion in front of the TV. My thoughts are…
* ::pushing on cushion with my toe:: That cat, she’s dead-to-the-world asleep. She must have been chasing deer again.
* I think this season’s Bachelor is sort of cute… for all that he’s from Austin. He is from Austin, right?
* I wonder if he’s a UT grad? Probably.
* ::Giggle:: I wonder if that’s why he had to come on TV to get a woman?
* If that dog doesn’t quit snoring… I swear.
* These shows are like a train wreck… I can’t stop watching.
* What is that freaking show I’m missing??!
At that point, I hear a clicking sound. I’m not sure what it is or where it came from… so I hit mute on the TV control. Nothing. Typical. I’m always hearing clicking and groaning and multiple noises that no one else ever hears. I gave up waking people long, long ago. They all think I’m nuts anyhow.
“Hmmm…” I thought, “Must be one of the boys. Doodlebug probably went to bed with a toy again and has rolled over onto it while sleeping.” (He does that. Often.)
Right as I was about to un-mute the TV, the cat jumps up, fluffs like she’s just been zapped by gnawing on an electrical cord, and makes this low growling sound deep in her throat. I look over at the dog; he’s dead asleep. I roll my eyes. I figure someone (Mr. Clean!) didn’t close the screen door all the way and the wind blew it shut... thus, the clicking sound. I also figure I better check the front porch for a stray animal (before the cat goes apeshit) AND it’s about damn time for me to go to bed. So. I get up to go make sure the front door is locked and check the porch while I'm at it.
About two feet away from the door…
I see it opening.
My brain says, “Now that’s ODD.” I shut the door and as I am locking it… I flip the porch light on to check for whatever has the cat all ruffled up.
AND THERE IS SOME SKEEZY CRACK ADDICT PSYCHO MAN LOOKING AT ME FROM THE OTHER SIDE!!!!
My heart is retching in my chest. He is looking at me through the glass in my window and I watch in eerie slow motion, as my door is UNLOCKED again!! I slam it shut with my body, my face mere inches from this psycho on the other side and I start screaming my bloody head off – calling for Mr. Clean.
“Mr. Clean! Mr. Clean! Someone is trying to break into the house!!”
At this point, I abandon the front door and go running back to the bedroom to get Mr. Clean. He is already up and is running past me in his boxer briefs, carrying – I kid you not – a giant Claymore sword. [Brief aside – Mr. Clean collects swords. They are all bladed – meaning, they are very sharp. There is a shotgun and a rifle in this house, but both are put up very carefully… apparently a little too much so.]
As I am chasing after him, going for my cell phone, I pass my office window and marvel at the fact that my truck’s cab lights (the ones on top) are ON. What the $*%&#^???
I yell, “He’s stealing the truck!!” and then grab my cell phone. Mr. Clean, however, tears out the back door… where Skeezy Crack Addict Psycho Man is driving our truck across our four acre yard to my In-Laws’ gate. A gate, which sits directly on the main road, that happens to have another road intersecting it Right. There. An intersecting road where two POLICE CARS just happen to be sitting with their lights flashing, illuminating another car.
And there is Mr. Clean hauling his cute little boxer-briefed butt across the lawn with a freaking Claymore sword.
I call 911.
They tell me to calm down about a thousand times.
I am not calming down because some SCAPM just stole my truck and has pulled out of the driveway Right In Front Of Your Police Cars! After he tried to break into my house!
Mr. Clean has reached the police across the road. I really would have loved to see their faces when this very tall man shows up with a giant sword looking like a Highland Berserker, sans kilt. Alas, 911 had hung up so I was busy calling my sister (in hysterics) because the only other option was to sit in my house ALONE, still sort of wondering what the f*** just happened.
BabySis was at a club. She couldn’t hear a thing over the music except for the tone of my voice and that was enough to drive her into a bathroom cubicle. I relayed the whole story – interspersed with little breaks where I proclaimed, “I can’t breathe! Holy crap, I can’t breathe!” She tried to calm me. Mr. Clean returned.
After that… a number of phone calls and a police interview commenced – this going on until almost 2:30am. At one point, the officer challenged me on the time this all went down. Remember, earlier? I knew exactly what time it was because I’d been looking through the programming menu, watching the minutes tick off that I was missing the show I couldn’t remember! He seemed to think I recalled wrong. I think he might have been smoking crack, but whatever.
End result story:
A call was made regarding a car sitting on the side of that intersecting road across the way. We occasionally have problems with abandoned cars there. The police came out to investigate and found, not an abandoned car, but a Stolen car. With a prostitute inside. [A prostitute!! In the boonies! Holy crap! That has NEVER happened.] Not only was she a (suspected) prostitute, though, she was also apparently assaulted. And on drugs.
After piecing together the rest, it appears the SCAPM at my front door had assaulted some prostitute either he picked up in a stolen car or who had picked him up in a stolen car. He then:
... left the car
... walked across the road
... laid his jacket on the fence near my father-in-law’s gate
... opened the gate
... broke into my father-in-law’s truck
... rifled through it (skipping over some hefty painkillers my FIL carries, along with glucose, for my MIL)
... walked over to our house
... threw a beer can in the yard
... went up to the front door (on a dark porch)
... found Mr. Cleans KEYS in the front door**
... fought me over the door
... took the keys and stole my truck
** Yes, folks… the keys were left in the door when Mr. Clean came through with his hands full and because I’d not yet gone to bed, I’d not yet done my nightly check of the glass screen door, which would have revealed that little oversight. Imagine, for a moment, that I HAD gone to bed and had not been there to slam the door shut. Shiver much? I know I did.
A few asides:
* We later checked and there is No possible way to have seen the keys in the door, through the screen door, while the porch was dark until you were less than 2 feet from it. In other words, regardless of the keys, he was already in the midst of breaking in.
* Through ALL of this, my children never once even rolled over in their sleep.
* My dog Sucks Ass at guarding my home & person. He never lifted his head from his cushion until after I was ranting on the phone with 911. I officially miss my German Shepherds.
Aftermath:
* We got our truck back the next day in good condition, having been abandoned about 20 miles away – albeit a bit muddy INSIDE and completely rifled through. Nothing of importance was taken.
* I insisted Mr. Clean BLEACH the inside of the truck and check for needles and other manner of nastiness before I’d set foot inside it again. He complied.
* I insisted Mr. Clean BLEACH the front and screen doorknobs and surrounding areas before I’d touch them. He complied.
* We got two new doors and four new locks, plus padlocks on both gates, and new locks for my father-in-law’s house as well (since we’d had one of his keys on our key chain). I now have a crapload of keys.
* I still cannot look through my front door window at night.
* I also still cannot pass in front of the front door at night to check on the boys before I go to bed without my heart wanting to leap from my chest as though Bloody Mary will suddenly be staring back at me.
* I wake up Mr. Clean for EVERY noise I hear now… and I don’t feel guilty about it any longer.
* The show I missed - which I remembered, while being interviewed by the police - was Weeds.
Tomorrow... that little tidbit of craziness.
O...M....G!!!! I'm so ever lovin' glad everyone is ok!
Your step-mom filled me in on this when I said the following, "I want to live out in the country, like [your name here] does. Nothing bad ever happens in the country." Thankfully this was a totally random situation. This definitely made me think twice about squirting Biscuit with water when she barks at noises in the apartment. Miss you muchly.
Katkin - Yeah, me too!
Bubbles -- Really - and not counting what I'm going to blog today - nothing really bad ever happens out here. This was the first instance of ANYTHING amiss in over 13 years now. Encourage barking. LOL
Holy freakin' CRAP!!!! I'm like a week behind on reading blogs (seriously...this whole "going back to work" thing is cutting WAY into my blog-reading time) and look what I miss!! As someone else who lives in the mega-boonies, I could picture all this all too clearly and did I mention Holy. Freakin'. CRAP???!!! I'm so glad you're all ok!!
I know, right?! And I hear you on the busy work thing. I'm there. I really wanted to leave you a comment when you mentioned the car/people asking for directions but never got a chance. By the time I did, you were like 3 posts ahead of me. Hopefully, nothing came of that.