Horrible...

I guess you can tell I moved in, but unfortunately, my first post since then isn't a happy one.

I moved in on November 6, and I've LOVED my new house. The Colonel settled in well, I got great deals on furniture and Ikea-hacked myself into a decently-decorated house. I was planning on buying a new bed (mine is a queen, and it looks TINY in my HUGE bedroom), and was THIS close from splurging on a nearly $2,000 bed and mattress.

Until December 29.

I came home late from work, and was so worried that the Colonel had an accident because I had left so early that morning and couldn't make it home for lunch. I opened the door, which was sticking a bit - I assumed the cold was making the door and new lock settle a little oddly. I looked up, saw the empty television stand. In my naivete, I assumed the dog had gotten curious behind the TV stand and knocked the flat-screen over. I freaked out, thinking I'd find a squashed beagle under a 50" plasma. I ran over, looked down, and the carpet never seemed so...barren. No television. I looked to the kitchen, the dining room, and the rest of the main area...

And I swear, it was like it was in the movies, where everything comes into focus. My entire house was ransacked. The back doors were basically destroyed, having been kicked/battering-rammed in - through a deadbolt. The trash can was on its side, having been thrown across the room. The dog food container lay on its side, and I noticed I was walking on dog food. A heavy can of peanuts, a hammer, a rubber mallet, and several other throwable, heavy objects were on opposite sides of the room from where I had placed them before. I looked in my bedroom, saw my bedroom door destroyed as well. The entire time, I called for the Colonel - nothing. I looked to the guest bedrooms, saw the doors were closed, and suddenly realized it was possible I wasn't actually alone in the house.

I literally dropped my purse and work computer on the floor, left my keys in the door, and took off for the neighbors two doors down, as the next-door neighbor's light wasn't on.

I interrupted their late-Christmas dinner. I was hysterical, said I had JUST moved in, and I was sorry I hadn't introduced myself yet, but that I needed to use their phone because I had been robbed and everything looks gone worth any value and I CAN'T FIND MY DOG AND IT'S TEN DEGREES OUT...

We called 911, and an officer took my statement and said it would be a little while before the Crime Scene unit came, but to NOT. TOUCH. ANYTHING. The neighbors scoured the neighborhood all they could for the Colonel, and found nothing. I sent them home and thanked them, and that I was very sorry to have disturbed their dinner. I called Meghan, and asked if I could stay with her - I couldn't sleep at my own house that night. Of course, she said yes. I called the insurance company, who dispatched an emergency reconstruction contractor to repair my recently-painted dining room wall and door. I stood in my house, not touching anything - just...staring - for three hours while I waited. I called my parents and one friend from home, who started the Lynchburg Rumor Mill, which truly runs at a speed greater than any force EVER. I texted a few random people. I called for the dog. Nothing. My mother offered to drive down immediately, as did more than a few friends both locally and otherwise, but I felt like even though I wanted the company...for once, there was nothing she nor anyone else could do.

It was freezing.

The Crime Scene Unit came, and I tried to at least make conversation with the officers. We discovered that the theives had driven around the back of my house - and just loaded right up. I remembered turning the lights on when I came home, so it was obvious they hit in broad daylight. The Crime Scene investigator covered almost every inch of my house in fingerprint dust...and apologized that it's hell to clean up. I said it was ok. He took about 10,000 pictures, and then said that the only fingerprints he was able to lift - from the entire house - was one palm print on a closet. He took my palm prints as elimination prints - because he couldn't rule mine out as being the one he found. I guess that means I really am a good housekeeper if he couldn't find one other print - even from me. He apologized for having to take mine twice...because he'd "never done it on anyone alive before..."

Finally, he left, I called Meghan and said I was going to be LATE, called a coworker and asked her to look up my boss' phone number (my internet was out because they'd stolen my router), and she was extremely sweet in offering to call me in on PTO and offering me a place to stay. The contractor finally got there and boarded up my doors...it looks like a railroad got laid over them. I still called for Colonel Mustard. I drove through the neighborhood until at least 2 am. Nothing. I finally drove over to Meghan's and got in her guest bed, exhausted. I sent Dan an email, saying only "I have bad news...my house got robbed. They took a lot, and the Colonel is missing. I'm safe, I'm fine, and I'm sleeping at Meghan's. I'm sorry, I know you're busy and can't deal with me, I'm just...lost." He called five minutes later from Afghanistan, and for the first time that night, I burst into tears.

I woke up to a friend's call - he wanted to know HOW to help. He offered to come over and help find the Colonel, to help me clean, a place to stay, guns, anything - and again, I felt so awful, I couldn't tell people HOW to help. Nothing helped. I got up, sat with Meghan and Matt and the kids, had a BIG cup of coffee, and ate a couple of donuts while Caroline drew me a picture of "Miss Molly and her Doggie", because she was worried about him. I'm still crying thinking about it when I write this - a week later!

I finally decided to go home and have a hard look for the Colonel. When I got home, I tore through the woods, calling him, and finally, when I got back up to the house...there was this little beagle, curled up on the blanket from my bed that I had left out for him on the back porch. He was a little lame on a leg, and shaking, but not bleeding or broken. I don't think I've ever hugged him so much or apologized so much - I kept thinking he'd run away, believing I had put him through that experience - getting hammers and trash cans thrown at him by scary people, when all he was doing was barking his head off trying to protect me. I thanked my lucky stars.

Then I came in, and for the first time, I understood why people coming back after hurricanes, tornadoes, floods and fires burst into tears. Because I did. The house was still a wreck. Fingerprint dust was everywhere. I didn't even know where to start. I tried cleaning the dust, and realized I needed professionals, and called the first licensed maid team I could find. They had no availability, but called a COMPETITOR when they heard my story, they came that day. $150 for 1300 square feet of solid MESS. Worth every penny, even if the insurance refused to pay.

My cousin came that day and stayed for three days, and we drank like sailors. That's about all we could do - nothing else works. I went to Ikea and replaced some of the broken stuff. I rang in the New Year, and tried to remember that 2009, and the decade that no one wants to properly name, was actually pretty good to me. I drank a lot of champagne and egg nog and danced like an idiot, remembering that exactly ten years before, Meghan and I were standing in NoWhere Bar in Athens. I won't elaborate on the trouble we got into the first hours of 2000. I couldn't believe where she - and I - have gotten since then.

My stepdad and brother spent the night this past Sunday, and I've slowly been piecing my life together since. I can't sleep, not more than 2 hours a night. I'm scared of the bad guys coming back, and that I'll be there. I got a security system and am protecting myself even further. The detective has taken my case and said she might actually be able to track it down since I had pretty good documentation, but...90% are unsolved.

Overall, how do I feel?
Frantic until I found the dog.
Elated once I did.
Now...I'm terrified, violated, and mostly, ANGRY.

I'm terrified that someone staked out my house and knew three things - that I lived alone, I worked long hours, and the dog was all bark and no bite. I'm terrified they'll come back and that I won't be able to protect myself. I'm terrified that they might somehow be connected with me and I don't know that I'm walking among them. I'm terrified that I'll never be able to sell the house. I'm terrified that I'm never going to get the fingerprint dust out of the carpet - by the way, there's no hint from Heloise on that. I'm terrified that they stole my credit card statement and other pieces of mail that I had assumed were just lost. I'm terrified about it turning into an identity theft nightmare. I'm terrified that they've seen pictures of me. I'm terrified that the Colonel will get scared in public and bite someone if they happen to be the same size, shape, race or smell of the thieves.

I feel violated that I had to watch police officers take pictures of my underwear, because the thieves tossed everything out of my drawers. I feel violated because my laptop was in my bed. THEY WERE IN MY BED. I feel violated because it's the ONLY place I NEED to feel safe. I know it sounds crass, but it really feels one male organ short of rape. I'm absolutely shocked at how violated I've felt - I was once mugged, and never felt violated. My car has been broken into, my bike has been stolen, and someone TRIED to break in when I lived in Philly while we were actually in the house, but they got chased off by police. I was a little aggravated and saddened by all situations...but I never felt like my very personality had been stolen. Not like this.

And I'm angry. Angry that they made me lose a general sense of pacifism and faith in human nature. I had grown up in two houses where we NEVER locked the doors, and even though all my doors were locked and deadbolted, they got in. I'm angry that no one saw anything. I'm angry that Dan wasn't there. I'm angry that someone raised their children and didn't set the example of forcing their 5-year-old to take back the pack of gum they had stolen and apologize, and those kids grew up to rob my house. I'm angry that Samsung doesn't print their serial numbers anywhere permanent on their televisions, just on a label that's easily peeled off by thieves. I'm angry at my original home security people for not being able to install until January because of the first-time homebuyers program pushed them to a backlog. And I'm angry at those ass-clown scumbag cowards who had to admit to each other that they were ass-clown scumbag cowards in order to carry a 50" television out of the house. Angry as hell. For breaking my new doors, for tearing up my back lawn, for making a mess in my FINALLY-cleaned up house, for two televisions, for my laptop, for my hard drive, for a DVD player that wasn't worth jack, for every piece of jewelry I'd ever received from a boyfriend, from my dad, from my grandmother who had received them from her husband and unbelievable people while working for the state department, and every other piece of jewelry I've ever owned except a few minor pieces I was wearing or in a shoebox about to give away to goodwill. I'm SUPER-angry that they hurt my dog and might have to be restrained if they ever are caught. I'm angry that CMPD doesn't have the resources to track them down, and that even if they did, Mecklenburg County won't prosecute unless it's ironclad more than freaking Law & Order cases. I'm angry that I couldn't figure out ways for my friends to help when they offered. I'm angry that I have to suck it up when I get scared, because I HAVE to get back to normal sometime. And finally, I'm angry that it made me this angry. I never wanted to be a victim, and I hate being one.

If you come over to visit, do me a favor - come in the front door, and ring the doorbell. Don't surprise me around back - because I'm not necessarily waiting for the ADT panic signal to get to police. I'll be relying on a more traditional system of home defense if I get an intruder, and I'm not going to be asking questions first.