What the Letters F.H. mean to me. (Imma cuss, stop reading if that will upset you)

   When Jim and I moved to Texas, I had my first encounter with Fuck Heads--which is what I call "thieves". They are Fuck Heads. If you don't  like cussing, stop reading.
    We were moving from Colorado to Houston, and stopped in Arlington (between Dallas and Ft. Worth) for the night. We had everything we owned packed into a UHaul and my Honda Civic, which we were pulling behind the trailer. We took the cat and a gun and a change of clothes into the hotel with us. One day we were driving to Houston, full of hope and excitement, the next we were waiting for a cab in the hotel lobby to deliver us to the airport, because everything we owned had disappeared. Jim asked me in that moment "Do you want to just go back home?" He meant me, he had graduated from college and was moving to a job. I was just tagging along, hoping to transfer to UH and maybe a B. Dalton.
     Since I am writing this and we now have 2 children I clearly did not go home.
     The initial reaction of having something stolen is much like grief, I guess, but I was never in denial, I was very aware that it happened. I mean, I had no clothes. I had a cat, but nothing to wear on a  job search. We were moving  down with only my car since Jim was going to work at his cousin's car dealership and could drive demos. But now I did not have a car to go job searching. I had a cat, but I could not ride her into Houston.
     So there's a lot of that I don't want to explore right now, but I will say the cat lived with us the entire time we were in Houston, and for several years in Denver. Her name was Hobbes and she was a tortie and I loved her very much. The point is I had everything I owned in the world stolen when I was 21 years old. I believed the phrase "Lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place". But it does.
     I had no issues with thieves whilst in Houston.  I had friends who were carjacked, or otherwise impacted, but I lived believing the Fuck Heads didn't see me, because I had already been struck. For God's Sake I lived at CSAW (The Commerce Street Artist's Warehouse), which is exactly as it sounds, in a pretty shady area without any issue other than the occasional gunshot outside.
     Then I came back home to Denver. Our teeny, tiny little house in Platt Park was brutally ravaged during the day. The house was on a corner lot, one block from Broadway, it was pretty brazen of the FH. They had to be watching to know I wasn't home, but also had to know we had a dog--a good sized, loud border collie. Here's what the Fuck Heads did at ten am on a weekday: They broke down my front door. Broke It Down. The hinges were ripped out of the frame. Kicked my dog. Stole our VCR, Jim's gun, my jewelry and generally ransacked our tiny 450 square foot home. Like we have treasure? It's a rental, and I'm an actor, what do you think we have?
    Not much before or after that (memory collapses) I had traded in my EXP ("Push, Pull or Drag", they said, and we did all three) on a convertible  Jeep Wrangler I named Pongo. I loved Pongo. We invested in some nice speakers to mount in the back since the music was faint with the top off.  I went to a rehearsal, and parked him right next to the theatre in the day light. There are businesses, a restaurant across the street, it's a busy area. NONETHELESS, when I left rehearsal I stumbled upon two guys with screwdrivers in the back of my Jeep. They were trying to steal the speakers. During the Day. With people looking right at them. I said "Hey, the hell, Fuck Head?" and one guy jumped toward me and said "We were trying to help." He ran past me and my fellow actor, both of us standing, stunned, in the bright sunlight. The second FH exited in  the opposite direction and disappeared. After that I refused to park at the theatre, and a fellow actor told me he had his car stolen from the parking lot on a Sunday afternoon during a matinee. Fuck Heads, like the Honey Badger, don't give a shit.
     I now live in a nice, suburban neighborhood.  Over the last few years we've had a few instances with kids walking up and down the street trying car doors, ringing doorbells. I am not sure if it's the fact that I'm on "Nextdoor",  that I'm old or that Fuck Heads are multiplying, but the car break ins up here have multiplied. Last night, Harper heard someone trying to get into the FJ in our driveway. It was 4.15 am. She is not sleeping well lately, so she went to the window and yelled "Can I help you?" and they ran off.
    It's one thing to try car doors as you are taking your loser constitutional down the street, it's another to walk up into someone's driveway.
    And so, Fuck Heads. I work very hard at more than one job to keep my family' s bills current. We are not rich, there is nothing that suggests we are. Might I suggest that you try getting a job, you loser piece of shit, instead of taking things that do not belong to you. My husband is from Texas, and Colorado has the Make My Day law. I promise we are not the only people in this neighborhood with those credentials. I have no interest in rehabilitating you, or excusing your behavior due to your home life or any other whiney ass psychobabble. You  Steal. You Know It's Wrong.You're A Fuck Head.