Shaddup Already!


Bad boy, bad boy, whatcha gonna do?

So there was another installment of my now daily soap opera that ended with police involvement.

Basically I got a few more frantic phone calls while I was at work. CNL had no idea where Sophie was. I took the key that I risked life and limb to get yesterday and tried to check in on the pooch. First I rang the doorbell, then I knocked on the door, then I tried unlocking the door.

The door unlocked, but it wouldn't open. Huh?

I kept pushing and pushing and realized that something was keeping it from opening at the top of the door. I assumed it was some sort of bolt-lock that can only be locked and unlocked (and seen) from the inside. You know those extra protection thingies.

So I came back and called CNL. Of course I had to talk to Vera again. Of course Vera seemed irritated to hear my voice again. Of course the line was busy again.

I called back in a bit and actually got through. So I asked CNL if she had some sort of lock only on the inside of her door. After much talk and explanation about nothing at all, she did admit she had one.

I agreed to go back over and try one more time to get into the house. This time when I was trying to open the door, Sophie started crying. OMG, it nearly broke my heart. But what could I do?

After a few hours a friend of CNL called me concerned about the dog. I checked the house, noticed a light that had been on was now turned off and it appeared the TV was on. I relaxed a bit, figuring that dipshit had come back.

A little bit later CNL's friend called back and said she was really concerned about Sophie and she called the police for advice. They suggested having an officer meet her at the house and he would see what he could do.

I said fine, I'll give you the key, but I have a splitting headache. Is it any wonder? So I'm going to bed. I'll leave the key in an undisclosed location and you can meet the cop.

We arranged where the key would be, and I went to bed to nurse my headache. I was lying in bed watching the Jetsons, because I am really a 10 year old stuck in a 32 year old body, when my doorbell rang. I figured CNL's friend couldn't find the key, so I got up to give it to her.

There was someone at the door, who I assumed was the person I had been speaking to. It wasn't. It was another of CNL's friends. This one had been called by CNL's son, who hasn't come down here after all, and wanted her to meet the police at CNL's house. So apparently, there was some telepathic meeting of the minds that decided police would be called and houses would be opened--we hoped.

At this point I was involved again. I now had the key in my possession, the police had just shown up and CNL's first friend was pulling up. I crossed my arms over my chest because I wore no bra and that is something that no one should subjected to. (I did have a shirt on, BTW, but I'm kind of endowed and they ain't perky either!) I went over and joined the party across the street.

Now the police officer was a very nice looking young man. Have I ever mentioned that I have a thing for men in handcuffs? I mean men with handcuffs, yeah, that's it *grin* Seriously, I'm a borderline cop groupie. I think it stems from their uniform looking very similar to the uniform my dad wore as a pilot. They say girls are attracted to men like their dads.

Anyway, we all stood around while Mr. Cop-man was trying to get in the front door with the key I gave him. Then when he couldn't get in, he went to the back and looked in the sliding glass doors. We were chatting away and trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Apparently CNL has been telling different stories, has no intention of evicting dipshit, nor pressing charges for the money he has stolen to buy crack. I added that last bit of information to the stores that are already crowding my overtaxed brain.

We found out, what I already knew, since CNL hadn't filed for eviction and since dipshit had set up residence there, he had every right to be there. We couldn't break into the house to get the dog, because the dog looked fine from the sliding glass door.

There was one woman there who apparently knows everything there is to know about drug addicts. She asked what dipshit was like and I said he seemed like a nice guy with some issues. She responded with, "He's a drug addict, he's not a nice guy." That kind of rubbed me the wrong way, especially since she's never met him (I'm not defending him by any stretch of the imagination) and she was standing there telling stories about how she wouldn't be a bit surprised if he killed the dog out of spite.

You know the dog we can't get to. Yeah, thanks for putting new worries in my head even though I think you're full of shit, lady. You can be a nice person who does drugs and makes very poor choices in life. You need to take the consequences for those choices, but you don't need the image of Sophie murderer hoisted on you.

I do worry about the dog, but I worry more about neglect than outright killing. Neglect is still bad, but it takes a different kind of person to kill an animal, deliberately, out of spite. God, I'm not making sense and I still sound like I'm defending dipshit. I'm not, trust me.

Anyway, back to COPS, we stood around discussing our options. The know-it-all asked if the cop could come by and check the dog again at the end of his shift. He said yes. Then she asked if I could look in the windows in the morning. (Gee, thanks so much for volunteering my services even more) He said yes, I could do that. He said I could go in the back yard and look through the porch. Then he said, "Is it legal? No. Am I going to arrest you for it? No."

Damn! I can't even get frisked by Mr. Cop-man out of this deal. This just ain't right.


2005 update

Remember when I said I would probably eat black-eyed peas for New Year's for as long as I live? I am seriously going to have to revisit that idea before next New Year's.

It is January 4th and aside from the above tale of woe, this is what else has happened to me:

I slipped on something in my house and fell--hard.

I think I bit the side of my tongue in the process because now everything I try to eat or drink hurts. Actually, I don't know if the things I'm eating or drinking feel pain, but I do when I eat or drink them.

I have PMS.

I walked into a hanger. Yes, a hanger. That one would take explaining and even then I'm still not sure you would even understand what I mean. Just know that I almost impaled my face with a hanger.

I was stuck at a team meeting with the two overly type-A personalities who are also rabidly right and control freaks. I was there alone with them because the only other sane person on the team (relatively speaking--consider the source) forgot about the meeting. I told her we decided to kick her off the team. Then I told her I spent the entire time doodling in order to disassociate myself from the negative, know it all, type A energy, so they decided to kick me off the team too. She asked if we could be a team of two. I think that is a brilliant idea. Now, if I could only bring it to fruition.

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