PlazaJen: Passion Knit

All I've done today is bitch. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Some of it was work-related, most of it has been related to the burglary, and the fact that three months later, someone is writing checks on our closed account. GOOD FUCKIN' TIMES.

Yesterday afternoon, a little collection notice showed up, claiming we'd written a check for some Pizza Hut back in early October and that the check had been returned. Duh. The only time in my LIFE I've spent around $61 on pizza is when I moved. Apparently our little idiot friends who tried to pay their $1600 light bill ordered their bitch asses some Stuffed Crust Monster New York Bitch Ass Hand-Tossed to celebrate. I fucking hate these people so much, all I want to do is slap them. SLAPPITY SLAP. God, it would feel good. And maybe make them do manual labor. And take several things from them that they really like. Maybe then the universe would balance out.

In any event, it fueled a new set of Rage Pistons inside. I called the police again, and was more than a little disgruntled to have to leave a voicemail. And then was appalled with myself for the message I left, because I? DID NOT STOP WHINING. I couldn't. I just went ON and ON and ON and the hardships and the inconvenience and the lack of action and the questioning of how much longer do I have to endure this whack ass situation?

And when I hung up, anyone in my vicinity heard me mutter, "Mother FUCK the po-lice." Because if you want to get something done, it's good to quote Dr.Dre around the po-po.

Well, they called me back, at least the front desk lady did, and she tried to tell me it had gone to fraud. UH-NUH-UH, lady. I've officially hit Terrier Mode on this, and I am not letting up, because if I do, my head will explode off my body, and I'd prefer that not to happen. So she goes off and thirty minutes later, a Sergeant calls me back. He's apparently new, and that seems to be the saving grace. He used to work in fraud. He sees these latest developments as LEADS and is actually pushing to get something done. Making calls himself. Holy shit. I become a completely different person in the space of 60 seconds. I even brought up the cell phone package they tried to buy when this first happened. He has no knowledge of this, nothing in the file - despite the fact I went over ALL of it with a detective. Let me interrupt myself to tell you one solid thing: GET NAMES. I document like a muthah, but I did not have everyone's name written down, and that's crucial. There's no accountability without it. And you know what he said? "It's no problem to get a subpoena, I can do that in no time at all." OH MAH GOD. I was torn between gnashing my teeth in a fit for the lost time, and kissing him, because this has been all on me to push, to prod, with limited power, all this time and finally, someone's doing something. ANYthing. He gave me his fax number and I sent over all that information as well. Jesus.

So then we went to lunch, at Chili's, and were seated next to eight policemen. It was all I could do not to take them all down (unrelated, recall my deep-seated fear around police officers that I will lose control and try to take their guns.) Kristin offered herself up to be wounded so she could go home for the day. She's selfless, really. And then they gave me the wrong dressing again, or now they've changed the recipe, because it's no longer Honey Lime, it's Honey Lime Mustard That You Hate And It's All A Vast Conspiracy To Make You Crazy. However, this time, the waitress did not argue with me and we found a reasonable solution (Balsamic Vinaigrette! It's tasty!) and I did not have the hatred displaced errantly in her direction.

Now I'm just looking for other things to take on, as long as I'm in this mode. I'm like Joan of Arc, crusading through, except now that I think about it, things didn't really end well for Joan, so I might need to re-think my role as a Vanquisher of Evil and Terrier Proponent For Justice. Maybe I'll get some Thai food for dinner. Red Curry Beef: soothing the savage beast.