First, the other crap. Christmas was tolerable, I love my family and Mr. T’s, but it was still sad. Obviously. Moving on.
I got Raving Rabbids TV Party and can’t wait to play it all night tonight while drinking gin punch and eating spinach dip and cheese fondue from my new fondue pot. I call dibs on the pink food stabber! Obviously. Moving on.
The government is stupid ridiculous. I didn’t realized until today, when my coworkers were discussing it, that I never received my 2008 personal property bill. Why? As I found out, when I moved to STL county last year, I informed St. Charles of the move (so they didn’t send a bill) and then registered my car with my new addy at the DMV and with the city in which I live…but NONE OF THOSE DEPARTMENTS COMMUNICATE WITH STL COUNTY. Not a one. I didn’t know that I had to do something else to get my bill issued from the new county, but I was told today that, since none of the county, city or state government agencies communicate with each other, I have to write a letter to the county requesting my bill. So I did, and it was no big thing, but it’s still irritating that the agencies to whom we pay taxes every pay period can’t even manage to communicate. Government is wasteful and an unfortunately necessary evil. Obviously. Moving on.
The cops came to my house on Saturday. Not so obvious, not moving on. Here’s how it all went down:
Mr. T left around 4:30 to go help a friend with some stuff. That means I am home alone at night. As discussed in previous blog entries, I am scared of the dark and I believe that there is a serial killer living in our attic. These are important facts to remember.
So, I’m chilling in our bedroom, playing on the internet and watching TV at a ridiculously high volume in order to block out all the creepy settling noises our house makes. I have no idea that the winds have picked up to about 40-50 MPH outside. About a half hour after he leaves, I hear a noise in the kitchen that sounds like someone dropped something. Even Tedders heard it. But he’s a wuss like me and neither one of us investigated it. I assumed it was something weird (the cat was with me, too, so I couldn’t blame the animals), talked myself back to calm and continued with my evening.
About 20 minutes later, I hear a noise like nothing I have ever heard in my house before. It sounds like someone is in the house, sawing something. You know, like the killer in the attic was sawing through the floorboards for a surprise attack. We leave the TV on for the animals when we leave, and I’m pretty quiet, so he might have thought we were gone. Regardless, I freak out and begin to sweat with fear and panic. It happens again a few minutes later, and I grow balls big enough to allow me to check the back door and run to the front door to lock it (note to Mr. T: LOCK ME IN, FOR GOD’S SAKE!!!).
As I head back to the bedroom from the front door, I hear it again. It’s much louder in the kitchen and sounds like it is either coming from right below the kitchen window (from the outside), or from the attic. It’s dark outside and I’m alone, so I call Mr. T. No answer. I call about ten more times before I am sure that he doesn’t have his phone nearby. So I call the next person on my panic list – my mom. My mom who is way worse than me.
She answers and I tell her that I’m scared but don’t know what to do because I can’t reach T and am too scared to check it out myself. She insists I call the cops. NO WAY. That’s crazy talk. I mean, I’m probably being crazy anyway, so there’s no need to bring the law into this. She tells me if I don’t, she will and she’ll call 911 instead of the non-emergency line. I tell her I’ll call and hang up.
I call the non-emergency line and the following conversation ensues:
- St. John Police Department.
- Hi. I have a little issue. I am home alone, can’t reach my husband and hear a loud noise that sounds like a saw coming from somewhere in or around the house. It’s really probably nothing, and it’s definitely not an emergency, but I’m too scared to investigate myself. What do you suggest?
- Well, it might be the wind, but I’ll send someone to you to double check. What’s your name? [I give it.] Address? [I give it.] Date of birth? [I give it.] Okay, someone will be by in a few minutes.
- Okay, thanks. I feel stupid, but I appreciate it.
- No problem. Have a good night.
Okay, so I call mom back and tell her someone is on the way. She can hear the noise from her end of the phone and she understands why it is freaking me out. She stays on the line with me until the cops pull up. When they get to my door, they ask if Teddy is friendly and then come in. Before that even happens, I am aplogizing profusely for bothering them as it’s probably nothing. Keep in mind, the noise has happened intermittently for the past half hour. As soon as they pull up, the sound stops and never repeats while they are there. Just like taking your car to the shop. Figures. The next few minutes go like this:
- Good evening, ma’am. You are hearing something in the basement?
- No, now I think it’s either outside or in the attic. I’m so sorry, it’s probably nothing. I’m just a chicken.
- And what does it sound like?
At this point, I figure a good description is worth more than my guess as to what it is. So I say:
- It sounds like a giant bumblebee. I know, that sounds crazy. I’m not saying it IS a giant bumblebee, just that that’s an accurate description of the sound. That, or a saw.
- A chain saw?
- Well, more like a circular saw. A circular saw cutting wood.
- Okay. We’ll check out the attic.
Keep in mind that I NEVER go into the attic. It’s a walk-up attic and the stairs are covered with grocery bags that need to be recycled and our bags of dog food. And one of the handrails is broken. So they practically break their necks getting up there and I feel even worse. Obviously, they get up there and say that no one is there. They come back down, take my name and date of birth again and head to the front door. I apologize even more, insist that I’m not crazy and apologize again. They brush it off and tell me that if I get worried again, to just call and they’ll come back – that’s their job. But then, as they’re walking out, I hear the older cop say:
- It’s going to be one of those nights. *sigh*
Well, crap. So now there’s a file at the local police office showing that I’m a crazy person who hears things and is afraid of the dark. Not two minutes after they leave, the sound starts up again. No shit. So I lock the door, grab a butcher knife and a beer and head to the living room to watch TV. I called Mr. T and left a message telling him he was in SOOOO much trouble and the cops just left our house because he didn’t answer the phone to calm his crazy wife down. Then I saw that P.S., I Love You was on HBO. I’d not seen it yet, so I turned it on.
When T got home, he walked in to find me on the couch with a beer in one hand, a giant knife in the other, crying like a baby.
Good times, good times.
Happy freaking new year, everybody. Here’s hoping 2009 comes and goes with no one dying, calling the cops or telling anyone that a giant bumblebee with a saw is trying to get in her house. Good luck with the last one…