It all started when I decided to move back to Lala Land (btw, Iiiiiiiiiiiii'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack). I thought, let's try something new this time around shall we? I mean, I love a good douchbag as much as the next girl, but any and all schtick gets tired after a while, so I figured this time around I would check out a different area to live in. An area that might be douchebag free, or at least dbag deficient. Studio City is close enough to Hollywood that you can still see your friends on a regular basis, attend the odd casting here and there, plus, it's cheap, not hideous, and safe. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeert! (That's a car slamming on it's breaks) Not so fast cowgirl.
I moved into my new place on February 1st. On Feb 8th, I left the apartment for a few hours to go get my hair did. I walked exactly 1/2 block down the street and was gone for exactly four hours. When I came back, I noticed that the screen to my kitchen window was flappin' in the breeze. I wondered, "Um, was that like that before I left?" But, I just couldn't be too sure. Now, I know it wasn't flappin' in the breeze before I left, but I wasn't positive that there maybe hadn't been a tear or a hole or something and that maybe an afternoon breeze had blown it wide open. It seemed odd. It looked like a perfect cut, but...I don't know I guess I just didn't want to believe that someone had come to my house and sliced my kitchen screen open in broad daylight. Plus, I had all of this crap in front of the window and nothing had been moved. I called a girl friend and told her I was suspicious, but that I didn't want to be psycho and paranoid. She didn't have much to say on the subject, just that she was familiar with my street and thought it was a really nice neighborhood and whatever. I blew it off pretty much, but made sure from then on to shut and lock the windows every day before I went anywhere and of course before I went to bed at night.
I didn't mention it to anyone else and eventually I forgot about it.
On Valentine's day (YES VALENTINES DAY, BECAUSE THIS IS MY LIFE PEOPLE!), six days after the screen cutting incident, I came home from running errands and went to bed super early (like 5:30ish) and watched Seinfeld DVD's on my laptop til I fell asleep. Around 8pm a noise woke me up. I could hear my neighbors being super duper noisy, but I could also hear another noise and it sounded like it was coming from my kitchen. It took me a minute to completely wake up (by the way, I am freaking out even writing this and starting to get all scared again...yuck), but when I did, I realized, "Holy motherf*cking sh*t someone is trying to get into my m*therf&cking kitchen window". (The expletives are completely necessary because when your heart starts thumping like mad and you are all of a sudden feeling your most animal survival chemicals coursing through your veins, that is the language that your brain now thinks with.) Like every girl in every horror film ever made since the dawn of time, I got up out of bed and started walking directly towards the sound, which would also be the source of impending danger. I did not turn on any lights because I did not want the serial killer, monster, Freddy Krueger, ASSHOLE to see me. I crept on, and with every footstep became more and more positive, holy shit, there is a person out there, trying to get in here. I arrived at the window, parted the blinds...and there he was: A huge, possibly bald, silhouette of a man with his hands wrenching my window open further. I screamed, "What the F***********************CK" with the voice of an animal that has yet to be discovered in the wild, but that could certainly frighten off an eight foot grizzly bear, or even the king of the jungle himself. You do not know this noise. You have never made it, and you have never heard it, and I hope you never have to either. Anyway, I made that noise and the stupid F*CKHOLE JERKOFF ran away like a little girl.
I hope he pooped his pants. (see image to the left-mwahahahahah)
Anyway, I immediately shut and locked the window and grabbed the phone and dialed 911. Okay, that's a lie. I did not immediately dial 911. I actually stood in the middle of my living room and thought, "Who do I call? Do I call 911? Is this an emergency? I'm not currently being murdered? Does almost being murdered count?" and then I proceeded to call 411 so that I could call the regular police department. The idiot at 411 could not move fast enough for me though and I cut that call short (hung up on her dumbass) and called 911. I did not move one single muscle the entire time that I waited for the cops to show up (although I was on the phone with my Mom--I just stood stock-still in place while we talked.)
The police showed up exactly 9 minutes later. She (it was a she and a he-there were two of them) arrived and knocked on the door and I was still so frightened and in shock that I screamed "WHO IIIIS IIIIT?!?!?!?" in the same exact way that I had at the (enter expletive that describes jerk who tried to break in) and the officer said that I scared her. Oops, sorry.
Anyway, she came in, I told her what happened and she looked around my place. Then the next unit of cops showed up. They were cute. It felt weird to be attracted to anyone at this given point in time, but when a guy is cute, it doesn't matter how upset you are, especially if he's wearing a police uniform and is there to rescue you. Not much happened after that. They asked me to tell them what happened, so I told it again then they gave me my police report at which time I reminded them of the episode of Seinfeld where he gets his TV stolen and says something like, "Something tells me that unless the criminal gets HIS copy, I don't think we're gonna crack this thing". They thought that was pretty funny.
I didn't.
I asked the cops to wait for me to pack a bag and get in my car and they did and I left. I never spent the night there again and over the next few days I moved my stuff out (always accompanied by a good friend of course--thank you again:).
Perhaps I will share more of this disturbing tale at a later date, and yes, there is more. Ugh. But for now, I've had enough. I am safe and sound in a new building (Thanks Dad for flying in like Superman and saving the day). I'm trying to get used to all of the sounds and to convince myself that they aren't all someone trying to get into my windows. Something tells me it's going to be a while before I am completely convinced.
Until then, I'm sleeping with a hammer under my bed and considering becoming a member of the NRA.
Lesson #1 of this blog: Never leave one side of town to avoid douchebags. The other side of town may be full of serial killers.
Lesson #2: When you think someone has tried to infiltrate your home, but you just aren't sure, go ahead and buy a gun just incase so if he comes back to kill you (or steal your microwave, whatever) you can blow his face off.
And finally Lesson #3 (last but most certainly not least): If you think spending Valentine's Day alone with Seinfeld DVD's is bad, think again...it could always be about 1 trillion billion gazillion times worse.
