One with brown eyes, one with blue eyes… both have the same barber.

Monday mornings are generally crappy. Monday mornings when it is supposedly spring, but there is an inch of fresh snow on the ground, are especially crappy. Monday mornings when there is an inch of snow on the ground and it is windy-butt cold and I have to cart a three month old out into the world so I can drive to the Police Station are the crappiest of the crappy.

I filled out something called a “Fraud Packet”, which sounds official, but it is really just lots of pages stapled together. And the pages have a ton of questions on them, which are general and boring and make you want to fall asleep except that you know you have to sign the whole thing at the end, so you’d better pay attention. There was a section that can be thought of as the “essay” portion, where I had to explain in detail the events surrounding some idiot stealing my credit card number. I turned it all in and now I’m just waiting for a call from the detective. I’m insanely curious to find out if the thief is someone I know.

Then I officially reported the theft of Jachin’s bike. Jachin’s $350 bike. Jachin’s bike which looks pretty much like this, except black:

I dug around this morning until I found the serial number (I knew I had it somewhere… because I rarely throw anything out). I am now armed with the bike’s serial number and a case number from the police department. If I see some kid riding it around town, I get to knock the kid off, load the bike in my car, and drive the kid to his home where I will let the mother know what a horrible parenting job she is doing. Then there could be some punching.

Okay, not really.

But I do get to take it. It’s mine. We paid the frickin money for it. We paid for the bike lock that Jachin used to lock it up… except that he likes to click the lock together and then not mix up the numbers, because what a pain that is to have to spin the numbers around to the right order. With any luck, I’ll recover the lock as well.

The bike is my white whale. I am obsessed with finding it. I am fueled by my hatred of theft and my tight-wad mentality that forbids me from buying Jachin another bike. The whole idea of buying him the Trek was that it would be the last bike he’d need until he’s an adult. That whole concept is out the window if we are replacing it every two years.

So I don’t care if it takes me all summer. My eyes are sharp, my senses are heightened. It may be at the pool, at the Rec Center, at the school, at the mall. But when I see that bike, it’s mine. And if you are the punk kid riding it… Heaven help you.

I’m in a bad place… a place where tensions are high and F-Bombs are wanting to be dropped. In the last week and a half: my credit card number has been stolen, Jachin’s $300 bike has been stolen, and there was an attempt at Jon’s car (not that there’s a whole lot in there to steal).

I’m sick beyond sick of theft. Sick of people thinking they can help themselves to whatever they see.

I am angry. Irritated. Discombobulated. And just plain put out.

So now, for a moment, I am going to a happier place. A place with catchy rhythms and snappy rhymes. I think I had a dream about this song the other night, because it’s been in my head for a couple of days. And every time something else from this house goes missing, I close my eyes and count to ten and sing this song… doing so forces dark images right out of my head. Images like me kicking the ass of some friendly neighborhood vandal/thief.

*sigh* There… doesn’t everything feel a little better now? Not totally better, but y’know a little better. Not like, look Jachin’s super expensive bike is back in the garage better, but a little better.

Biddy biddy bop, funky funky… I’m still sitting up with a shotgun tonight.