I don’t fucking believe it. My bike was stolen. A gated retirement community is the last place I would’ve ever thought anyone would steal a bike from, but sometime during the day, my bike was stolen. His wasn’t because it was chained to the carport post. We left mine unchained, but its wheel was always wedged into the chain so that they both appeared to be locked up. What did the thief do, walk into the carport, and actually inspect the place? 

I see people leave shit around here all the time. Bob never locks his bike, but my bike really did stand out. His is just a dull gray bike, but mine was bright and colorful. 

As always, God made sure I didn’t see them in action for I’d have beaten the living shit out of them in a heartbeat, even over a $99 bike that can be replaced easily enough with something better. The bike wouldn’t have been the main point of the beatdown. Sending a message for what may happen if they tried again with our shit or something else’s would have been the point. But no, God must always protect Jodi’s perps, and let me guess… instead of karma biting them on the ass for it, they’ll win the lottery or something. Maybe a trip to Maui, right? Something good will happen to them, I’m sure. 

I highly doubt it was anyone who lives here. It was probably one of the landscapers, a caretaker, or someone visiting who thought their daughter would just love it. 

Wonder if they might try breaking into the house next, thinking no one’s here during the daytime when I’m asleep and unable to do something about it. With our one car gone every day, you’d never know I was home unless you saw me sitting outside, and God would make sure I was in the shower or asleep and caught off guard. Really, I’m just as pissed at Him as I am the thief. But someday someone’s gonna screw me over that not even He can protect, though I’d rather not get screwed in the first place. I always knew it was a matter of time, though, before some perp slipped through the so-called protection crack. 

Well, when I’m on days I’ll make sure I’m fully dressed right down to my sneakers, blinds wide open, etc. Do come back tomorrow Mr. Bike Thief. :) I’m ready for you this time, though I don’t know what else you might want to try to get your paws on. Damn, I wish I’d caught you in action! But since I didn’t, I hope whomever you stole that bike for gets in a bad accident, I really do. Then after you’ve had a little time to grieve and wonder if the “new” bike was really worth it after all, I hope you get hit by a car. :) 

Meanwhile, we’re now locking the storeroom, and I think we should start locking the car doors, too. Luxury cars are kind of common in this park, but it’s a Cadillac for God’s sake. It should be locked. 

On the bright side, I do prefer handle breaks instead of pedal breaks, and this bike was still a bit high for me. I’d prefer a 20” wheel instead of a 24”. Cruisers just aren’t good for such hilly terrains either. 

No problem with my meds yesterday, but I worry about today because the torture from that has been an on-and-off thing. Besides, leave it to God to torture a person who tries to be a good person and do the right thing, while my bike thief is probably in great health. Probably doesn’t even need medication. 

Then again, God is just a theory and not a proven fact. There’s just as much chance one doesn’t exist, as there is that one does exist. 

Been skipping the caffeine for now, since it helps keep me calmer. I felt fine till I had a cup late in my day yesterday, and then I felt slightly wound up for a while. So no more caffeine. Now it’s decaf or tea. 

Old Navy keeps calling. Obviously, someone who owes money to them gave a fake number and it just had to be mine, of course. Really, really hope whoever gave out my number doesn’t also happen to know my name. If that were true then it has to be someone I’ve known recently. I never shop at Old Navy, so if someone’s been trying to get credit in my name, I have no idea who it could be, but more than likely my name isn’t involved. Just my number. 

Had a hilariously interesting dream last night where we went to a pet store. Only the pet store had a few 15” humans for sale, too. There were two young males and a young female, all in their early 20s or so. As small as they were, they could live as long as your average full-sized human. They all had a full wardrobe, mini furniture, hygienic items, gadgets, and even a “toilet.” 

I loved the idea of a “human doll” as a pet that I could chat with any time I wanted to chat when Tom wasn’t home, assuming they weren’t asleep or busy reading a miniature book or something. I wondered if we should take them all or just the girl or just a guy. I hated to take just one and have them lonely for another miniature being, but didn’t want them breeding either if I took one of each sex. Feeling like it’d be mean of me to take the guys and abandon the girl, I asked the girl, who could sit on her hair, if she’d be willing to cut it to her upper back to make it easier for me to wash, dry and comb it for her, and she agreed. I assured her she didn’t have to cut it if she really didn’t want to, though, since it was her hair after all. 

I told her we had a huge living room and could make her her own private room in a corner of it, but was she sure she wanted to come with us since all she’d do is just hang around, never to have a career or seeing anyone her “size” ever again? 

She said it was fine with her because it was either sitting around there or in someone’s home. So I chose the girl and wondered how she handled periods. I guessed she had mini-female supplies. 

“What do we do if you’re in pain?” I asked, knowing I couldn’t give her ibuprofen that’d be like a golf ball to regular people, and well, it was just an overall funny dream.