Let's face the facts. I swear. All the time. I swear when I'm happy. I swear when I'm mad. I swear when I'm excited, glad, upset, sick, or feeling absolutely nothing at all. I make an honest effort not to subject my readers to my potty mouth on social media of any kind. I have friends and family that don't have filthy language and I try to keep my sailor-talk to myself.
Except now.
Late Thursday night (March 31) my I-love-him-EVER-so-much brother-in-law, Gerald, brought his pretty-amazingly-awesomely-fabulous wife, Randi, and my cooler-than-cool-super-beautiful-inside-and-out niece, Camryn, from California for a visit while killing two birds with one stone. They came to watch my super-talented-handsomely-gifted nephew, Cody, pitch for the Arizona Wildcats as they played the Utah Utes and the BYU Cougars and of course the other stone was to visit ME and (I suppose) the rest of the family.
I spent Thursday cleaning the house, washing bedding and getting the house presentable for the visit and I was ever-so-tired when I collapsed into bed. Therefore, when the Deason clan came rolling in, I didn't lift my sleepy head from my pillow to greet them and left the welcoming job to Mark.
7:00 am rolled around and I figured the California visitors were brutally tired from their journey and had decided to run to the grocery store and get some food in the house before they awoke. I was throwing on some jeans, Mark was heading out of the house and Jaden was showering for school when I heard Mark come back in the house. "Oh good," I thought, "I'm going to ask Mark to start my jeep to get it warming up for me."
Nope. Didn't go that way.
"You're jeep is gone."
"What?"
"Yep. It's gone. Call the police."
"What?"
I looked out he window. My jeep was gone. I looked again, thinking I had maybe missed seeing it. It was gone. I called the police. I looked out the window. I couldn't believe it was gone. It was.
The police came. Took my statement. "Was there anything of value in the jeep?" "Heck yeah. My Tim McGraw CD was in it."
I went down the stairs to ask Gerald if my jeep had been there when he pulled in late last night. It was. Later, as we were all talking about it, Mark, Gerald and I had heard an engine rev up. I remember hearing it. And then I passed it off to someone speeding down the street.
I spent Friday and Saturday in a HUGE funk. I was shocked. I felt violated. I was angry and sad all at once. I kept looking out the window awaiting it's appearance in my driveway.
Yes. I had left the keys in it.
I have lived in this house for many, many, MANY years. I NEVER locked my front door. Mark and I used to leave our keys in our vehicles. I've left my purse in my jeep. My i-pod, my phone, cash, checks and personal belongings have all resided at one time or another without EVER being disturbed. Our neighborhood has changed enough that we have been locking our front door for a while now.
About a week before the stealing-of-the-jeep incident, someone broke into my jeep and Mark's truck. They took a few things. They were of NO value to the thieves. But the the realization hit that (duh) I need to remove my keys and valuables every night.
Tyson broke his ankle while playing basketball. Surgery was required and I found myself Thursday morning waiting at the Surgery Center to hear that my son was alive and well and would be back on his feet in no time.
Surgery went well. Tyson survived and will walk again. I headed home. I was super upset about something that had happened and wanted to get home to Marks rational thinking. I pulled into my driveway, jumped out of my jeep and wobbled into the house. I didn't think NOT ONE TIME about my keys dangling from the ignition.
Is this my fault? I have relived that moment over and over and over. If I had just grabbed my keys. If I wasn't so dang emotional. If... If... If...
Whatever. I didn't do this. I didn't ask some moron to violate my trust. I didn't invite some stranger onto my property. And I sure as crap didn't give permission for my jeep to be stolen.
Sunday morning around 10:30 my phone rang. Provo Police. "We found your jeep." OHMYGOSH! They had found my JEEP! It was in American Fork. Mark got the address and we madly drove to the location. We pulled up to the house and a sinking feeling hit my gut.
"That's not my jeep." They had it wrong. This jeep was silver and ugly and dirty. My jeep is teal and clean and cuter than cute.
Mark's answer? "Yes, it is."
Mark got out of the truck to talk to the cop-guy waiting for us. I wobbled up the driveway to look at the hunk of junk that they kept calling my jeep. Yep. They were right. It was my jeep. You could see my Deason chick sticker. Albeit it was covered in this awful silver paint, but the outline of the sticker could still be seen. And I started crying. I opened the passenger door. The filth was abundant. I have had my jeep for years now. It is NEVER dirty. Ever.
I cried harder. My stereo was gone. My speakers? Gone. The ignition was ripped out and the jeep was not drive-able at all. What the crap did they do? They had the dang key!
The spray paint, the filth, the violation, the sick feeling... all of it summed up to "dumb ass." I said it over and over and over again. Then I lost it. I opened the passenger door and flung all the crap out.
Mark had called Goose and Daulton on our way to American Fork and they had met us at the stealer-of-my-jeep house. Goose yelled for Daulton to "Get mom out of here." I was having no part of it. I threw and swore and threw and swore. I kicked and hollered and yelled and bawled.
And we towed the jeep to our house.
Tuesday I began removing the spray paint. 3 gallons of paint thinner and scrubbing and working and swearing brought my jeep closer to the jeep that was before it was stolen. I scrubbed the inside. Gerald had found a needle in the jeep. Apparently the dippety-do-dah had overdosed in my jeep, someone had called the police, he was revived and carted off to jail. The tags were off the jeep. It was OBVIOUSLY spray painted and the police ran the VIN. Stolen. Mine. NOT YOURS.
His name is Kevin Ontiveors. Nope. I don't know him. He's a lost soul who decided that it would be easier to grab my stuff instead of working and getting a jeep of his own.
To every bad, there is a good. Yin and yang. Right? Sometimes it's more difficult to sift through the horrible. But it's usually there. This time it came in the words of the American Fork police officer who found my jeep and witnessed my mental and emotional breakdown.
When all was said and done and the tow truck was on the way. Mark pulled me out of the truck for a photo op with my new BFF.
"I'm sorry this happened to you."
"It's okay. I forever say that 'worse things have happened to better people.'"
"Well, I don't think so."
