Someone is Messing With Us

So it's Valentine's Day. Or what I like to call Kay Jeweler's Day. That place really knows how to milk this holiday. I don't even have cable and the commercials are still annoying me. It's not that I'm bitter about VD, it's just that I feel like it's a load of crap. De Beers probably invented it right about the same time they started destroying people and their lives for hunks of stone in the earth.

Effing De Beers. (As I finger my diamond earrings I accepted from my sister as a graduation gift. Gaw! I'm a fraud.)

Anyway, so I tell Internet Guy (or MDCJ, or Handsome Redhead, or whatever you want to call him) that I don't want anything for VD and I meant it. He probably thinks I'm setting some crazy woman trap in which if he fails to get me something I will pitch a hissy fit and later throw it in his face.

Wrong.

Just like my dad says on his birthday when I call him and tell him "happy birthday, Dad!"... "Just another day, Brynn." What a buzz kill that guy is.

Lately, however, the roommates and I have been receiving small gifts in the yard. A little holiday cheer for the blue house. Someone is definitely messing with us.

One night I came home to this.

Seabiscuit? What is that? According to the poster, it's a movie. In which Jeff Bridges participates and where "a long shot becomes a legend."

So the night I came home to said poster, I first (naturally) took a picture. Then, since I assumed it was one of the roomies', I brought it inside, only to hear the girls the next day, "What the hell is this? Where the hell did it come from?"

It's from the neighborhood watch. It's from the man/woman who keeps leaving us extraneous gifts on the porch. It's from the orange cat who posts up on the porch furniture and vomits on everything. It's his way of saying he's sorry.

That's it. The cat did it. He's sorry. Love, Fat Orange Cat.

Acceptable. But how do you explain the red mountain bike in the yard at 2 AM. How did you manage that, Fat Tabby Cat? That bike is pretty hefty. I know because I lugged it into the house at 2:03 AM, leery that the owner of red bicycle was hiding behind the fence and watching, waiting for some thief to come along and drag his bike away, (drag because he had cleverly let the air out of the tires so it could not be driven) and then jump the thief in a crazy hobo-like rage. These are all the things that my head made up as I panicked over the bicycle for the good three minutes I waited before I made my move; ultimately deciding that, Thanks Guy, I have a new bike.

And so... we wait. Will the gift giving continue? Are we going to get something for Valentine's Day? A De Beers diamond? A bouquet of red roses? Probably not. We're probably going to get a steaming pile of dog shit next. Because, let's be honest, someone is definitely messing with us. He/She is laughing his/her ass off because he/she keeps putting junk in our yard/on our porch, and we (mostly me) keep dragging it in our house and leaving it lying around looking cumbersome and really messing up the design of our living room. This is funny to this person. He/She is probably keeping a diary over how stupid we (okay, me) are. I know because if I were messing with someone by leaving random shit on their porch, I would for sure keep a diary about it.