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    Saturday, June 13, 2009

    Seriously, Mr. Rogers Might Pay To Move Us Out

    I thought the ivy was a big deal, in principle, anyway.

    As Ron White would say, I was WRONG.

    Greg was out of town today. The neighborhood "art festival" was going on, just up the street. The kids and I, looking for some afternoon entertainment to pass the time while Daddy was away, hopped in the van, new summer shades donned, ready for some good fun!




    Not wanting to haul two kids, a stroller AND two bags with me, I took my wallet with money/cards/checks/DL, and my camera, and my phone, and shoved them into the diaper bag. I stashed the now-nearly-empty purse under the table console between the driver's and passenger's seat.

    We locked up, arrived on Maple Street, and saw the festival before us.


    Ok, not so huge, but hey - face painting and hula hooping - that can't be bad, right?

    So, face-painting it is - one Fairytopia and one Batman, please...

    First Samantha...


    Jackson waits patiently...



    Ta-da! Beautiful, yes?


    And then Jackson...


    He is...Batman.


    How cute are they?


    I know, right?

    Then on to some hula hooping fun....


    Followed by some kettle corn and listening to some music. Our tummies were telling us it was almost supper time, so begrudgingly the kids came along towards the van, parked in a nearby public parking lot, facing the street leading right up to the festival. We had been there less than an hour, by the way. I noticed a sweet-looking elderly gentleman in a suit, in the same parking lot, with his car's hood up, and I made a mental note to go back and ask if I could call someone for him once I had the kids buckled in. Now that's a bad day, I thought to myself. (Ahh, sweet irony. How you love to hate me.)

    I unlocked the doors of our van - Samantha entered the van first, from the back hatch which I had opened, and as she walked to the front of the van, she gasped in surprise, gave out a strange little squeal, and yelled to me, "MOMMY - what is that sparkly stuff on your seat?!!?"

    What, indeed?

    You know what it was. I knew what it was before I walked the long walk along the side of the van. More of the "sparkly stuff" was all over the pavement.




    Driver's window - gone. Shattered in 132 gazillion pieces (but thank god for safety glass). And you surely know what was gone from between the seats - my nearly-empty purse. There was a belt-buckle scratch on the side panel, just below the window frame, from where they clearly dove in through the window to get their ill-gotten booty (or ill-booten gotty?....sorry, MASHism). And there was a big fat scratch next to the window where they clearly missed the first time they swung the crow-bar, or whatever they used to fuck up my van and my day.

    In broad daylight, mid-afternoon, on a street being traveled by festival-goers, this little douche bag robbed me. ROBBED ME. The ivy is now entirely laughable, right?

    As I exclaimed, with as much control as possible, that the van had been broken into and that my purse had been stolen, Samantha broke down and cried, afraid we couldn't get home because of the glass. I explained we would get home, that it would be OK, and to come to the back of the van and sit down while I called 9-1-1.

    And so they did, and I did. I explained my particular emergency, which gained me the phone number where I was told I could call and leave a MESSAGE for the POLICE to file a police report, which they would only be doing over the PHONE, in the next 1 to 36 days, or some shit like that.

    What? NO police on-scene? No checking the area, no looking for witnesses? Okee-day.

    The emergency operator sounded about as thrilled with that procedure as I was. I did not shoot the messenger, and thanked him for his time.

    So Johnny Crackhead wanted cash, yes? Clearly, since he took my purse, but left the two portable DVD players that were in a bag, open, right between the captains chairs. They left a camera. They left valuable iPod and phone chargers and cables. They left my stereo. Just wanted the cash, so they thought they'd just take the money and run. (Sorry, Steve Miller in your head all night now..."whoo-hoo-hoo"...)

    Well, idn't that just too fucking bad for them. They shoulda taken the DVD players. Why? Oh, well, because as you know, I TOOK the good stuff with me. That $12 Walmart purse got them some chapstick, my favorite dollar-store lipstick (fuckers), my only perfume (fuckers again), a broken tie-tack of Greg's, a spare, unmarked key, my check register with no account numbers, checks, or deposit slips, some nail clippers, a tampon or two, and probably a couple of pens I liked (fuckers once more). For the life of me, I can't think of one valuable thing that was in that bag. Which I think is the funniest thing I've heard all week...unless you consider that despite their lack of gain, I still have to replace a window tomorrow.

    I left a message for the police. I assume I'll hear back from them at some point, for all the good it will do.

    Fortunately I had towel in my van, which I laid over the glass on my seat. After I confirmed there was no glass near the kids' seats, I got them buckled in, and then remembered our elderly car trouble victim in the next row, clearly visible from my van. I walked over, and asked if I could call someone for him. He smiled and explained that, "no, one'a 'dese rods was just a lil' bit hot but it's cooled off now" and he was "fi'n ta be on his way". I said I was glad for that, and just wanted to make sure he was alright. I wondered out loud if he had seen anything near my van. He looked puzzled as I explained what had happened. He said he'd been there half an hour and had seen nothing.

    (That information strenthened my suspicion that Johnny Crackhead was watching the parking lot, looking for a woman leaving her car with no purse, and struck just after we left the area. Little creep.)

    We left later in the evening, once Greg was back home, to grab some take-out, and vacuum out the glass at the car wash (not sticking all that glass in my vacuum, thankyouverymuch). While we were in a hurry to leave, somehow Jake got left inside and Greta got left outside.

    Uh, lemme just tell you - Jake likes that scenario NOT. AT. ALL. He has separation anxiety (much of the reason we got Greta), and takes it out on the trash when he's left alone.

    And so he did.


    Yeah, because I didn't have enough stress, OR enough messes to clean up today.

    Nice relaxing Saturday, huh? Makes you feel good about your day, though, doesn't it? You're welcome, dear reader. Anything for you.


    Anonymous said...

    I feel your pain. We had the notorious-at-the-time "BB gun vandals" shoot out our van window and a bunch of RV windows at a dealer lot a few years back. We were not too impressed with the police follow up or the lack of $$ from the case the kids were convicted of. I think those kids should have to work to pay back every cent.

    Jill said...

    Man...the day just got worse with the trash all over the floor. (((HUGS)))

    Matt Cave said...

    One important fact that Cathy left out of the Van Window Smashing, Crackhead Purse Snatching, Cops are Lazy Phonecaller story. The driver side door, the one they shattered. "They" being the Nimble, Sneaky like a Fox Tampon Burglars. The door was unlocked (Stupid Fucks). Nobody ever said crackheads were efficient.

    One more important note. Just in case by some crazy luck, some ironic twist of fate, the Tampon Burglars stumble across this blog and my comment. You made my most favorite Fairytopia Princess, in the whole world, cry. She may have been crying about not being able to get home, but indirectly, YOU made her cry. Pray you never get caught. Take your ill-gotten tampons and chapstick and retire to an island somewhere. Change your name and never come back to Omaha. Because if you do, and I find you, I will beat you in to a bite size portion. I will beat you with the same tool you used to break the van window. After crushing you in to that bite size portion, I will feed you to Jackson (AKA Batman). Just a reminder, Jackson is the other kid you fucked with. Oh and he is the Fairytopia Princess's brother. Before you laugh at the fact he is only a child. I am not a child, I am a 200lb (ok more like 215 but I am trying to loose weight) I am a 200lb Italian father of 4. And Jackson, He may look little by the picture but he is only 3 months old. Yep, he was already walking, talking and shaving by the end of his first month.

    Ok...Ok... one more little nugget. Greg, the husband and father of the family you unwisely chose to fuck with. He is not near as nice a guy as I am, so hope I find yah first.

    Have a nice day!

    Matthew Joseph Cave

    Marci said...

    OMG how terrible!! I hope today is a much much better day!

    Missives From Suburbia said...

    I thing Matthew Joseph Cave is the coolest dude in the world. You already know how I feel about those asshats who broke into your van.

    Anonymous said...

    You have weird robbers. Why wouldn't they take all the plants or more of the plants? Just to make it worth their while? And the iPod and the portable DVD players? That is crazy! I wonder if they saw you put your purse there. It is icky to think about people like that watching you. I'm glad they didn't get your wallet! That really sucks that it happened. BTW Samantha has TOTALLY changed! She looks tall and her legs look SKINNY!!! Like no more babyish features! =( Wait till I show Tim! Those face paintings were great! I see Jackson's still got some meat sleeves - for now!

    mary n said...

    i'm just glad you didn't show up while they were there. this happened to us too when i was young. unfortunately they took a lot more stuff with them.

    i hope it didn't scare S too much. she's a pretty tough cookie like here mama but still.