Just when you think things can't get any worse - they do.

I was all set to go to the concert: decided to wear my little black leggings (with a thong underneath to eliminate ugly panty lines!) and black leather slides, ankle bracelet and toe rings, snug black sleeveless sweater - comfy but cute. Touched up my lipstick and decided I needed to stop at the convenience store for smokes and a bottle of Zima to get me going for the evening.

The last thing I reached for was my gun in the nightstand. I don't like leaving it here when I know Scott and his punk friends are going to be around unsupervised. I usually just stick it in the trunk of my car for safekeeping.

The gun wasn't there.

My mind started racing. What the fuck?!?!? Hell, damn, and shit!!!!

I went out and checked the trunk. Not there. I specifically remembered anyway that I took the gun out of the trunk and put it directly back into my nightstand after coming back from Matt's a week ago Sunday - because when I knelt down to place it in the nightstand drawer, that's when I noticed the wet carpet signifying the waterbed leak.

Someone stole my goddamn gun.

I called The Ex just to make him ask the kids for sure that they didn't take the gun, although I knew better. They may not listen to much else I say, but they have had the fear of MOM instilled in them when it comes to the gun. Besides, I knew immediately that it was one of Scott's punk-ass, no-good, thieving friends.

So I called my sister and said, well, I have to call the police and I doubt I can leave until I talk to them.

I pulled out the business card Scott gave me for his friend, Officer McDonald, thinking it unlikely that I would actually speak to him, but knowing the Grand Prairie Police Department telephone number would be on it. The dispatcher took my name and told me that the officer would call me tonight to take a report, and depending on the situation, might have to come out in person.

About an hour later, the officer called. And wouldn't you know, it was Officer McDonald! That made things a lot easier, because we immediately made a connection because of Scott. He really is a cool cop (and not just because I'm already predisposed by having a great fondness for law enforcement officers, hehe.) He was the perfect blend of friendliness and professionalism. He even invited me to do a "ride-along" one evening. Coooool - I would LOVE that!

And of course, Scott is all psyched because he thinks Officer McDonald is great, and has this mini-fantasy about hooking his mom up with him. Hmmm, he did have a really nice voice. =)

As a nice touch, about a half-hour after my conversation with Officer McDonald, a patrol car cruised by the house and passed a big spotlight over the house, like they're watching out for me. Awwww isn't that sweet?

So now, I'm officially the victim of a felony for chrissakes. I have to go down to the station on Monday to sign the report and get a copy for my homeowner's insurance claim. I also have to call the ATF to see if they can help me find the serial number since the gun was registered.

And at some point, I have to go buy another damn gun - and a new bedroom door and lock.

Ahh, but the good news is that my antenna has been found! Apparently, another one of Scott's, yes, PUNK-ASS friends took the goddamn antenna off my car and was hitting people with it and instead of putting the damn thing back on the car, he laid it down on the couch in the garage. If I hadn't mentioned it to Scott in front of James, who happened to know about it, I'd have gone and bought a new one.

Is it becoming any clearer why I want to move far away from this neighborhood? Scott's so-called "friends" have made my life a living hell. Ironically, they are the key reason I had the damn gun in the first place. They're all a bunch of perverts.

I'll end this entry with a little funny-ha-ha.

When I told my sister that the nice police officer mentioned the "ride-along", this is what she said:

"Shelley, a ride-along means you get to sit in the back of the squad car, not in the officer's LAP!"

Darn. =)