Anyway.  I walk out one morning and notice a giant ribbon of what presumably is dry wall tape running the length of my yard.  No really, it stops at one fence and goes to the other.  My neighbors were untouched.

Once again, I’m left wonder, “what the fuck?”  I mean lets think about it.  Like really think about it.  What would one be carrying that would require this much tape other than drywall?  And if you were carrying drywall, wouldn’t you need tape?

And if you dropped this much drywall tape, wouldn’t you notice?  Was someone trying to toilet paper my house and failed?  Or just stopped caring when they saw the state of my grass.

I like the image of my local kids, running about at 4 AM twirling with glee, dragging this white ribbon behind them like some ridiculous toy before getting bored and ditching the shit in my yard.  Because somehow that explanation makes more sense to me.

I can’t read the cities, but I’m guessing what’s telling us is that on December 21, 2012 the world will die in a fiery ball because at 5PM Universal Time we cross the galactic equator and the thirteenth and hidden zodiac sign, Ophiucus… yea, I know my shit.

Time to panic people… get on with it.  The elementary school handout prophecized it.

Although I personally prefer the more colloquial “The sky is the limit this month… in bed.”

I, however, was left with questions: “this month.”  Does it refer to January?  Feb?  Are we talking yesterday through February 26? So many things to ponder.

And really, I need a universe to hone in on what’s going to be so great about “this month.” job? money? will I will the lottery? Take a vacation?  Work with me, people.  I just can’t imagine “this month” is going to be some madgasm of an explosion of happiness on all fronts.

huh, maybe I didn’t find optimism in my yard.

So someone left me a white thing. (for the whitey)

A golf ball, because I live so close to a country club?

I’m not really sure about this one.  I mean, I’d imagine it had to have bounced there, which is kind of unsafe.  My high school principal lost teeth to a bouncing golf ball, true story.   Well, someone yelled fore and he evidently missed that part, and it slammed into his face.  Either way, Danger.

Do you think maybe tiger woods left it?  trying to add me to his harem?  I mean, we know he’s straight, but I would wager he’s “straight to the gays” as they say.  Oh tiger, such an easy target.

UPDATE: I found ANOTHER golf ball.  The casa (spanish for house) is UNDER-SIEGE.  I’m going to have to hire a caddy or something.

THE SECOND BALL!

I’d like to think all of it was left by one person.

The time sheet clearly names Javier Escaname as the culprit.  He’s an early riser, working 7 to 4PM.  So here’s probably what went down.  Javier, rushing to work in his early morning, starburst induced high, realized that he had a leftover Bounce sheet attached to his sweater (it was cold), and thought, “damn that static cling.”

And whilst trying to reach for the offending dryer sheet, leaned forward and from his pocket fell his time sheet and his starburst (his primary source of energy).

I’ve decided to attach a photo of me trying to read… in my yard.

This requires a back story.  Last week some friends of mine were having their dog, Charlie, neutered.  The dog is easily the most pampered thing on the planet and my friends are clearly going to be insane helicopter parents one day…  The dog is bathed more frequently than I bathe myself, he certainly eats better than I do, and I remember distinctly hearing a tale of the pup’s rash a few weeks ago.  You can almost hear the hovering…

Anyway, after the puppy had his balls chopped, I followed up with my doting friends to see how he was doing, and being the asshole that I am asked casually, “Are you planning on making necklaces from his testicles?”  Once the question had been processed, I was met with a biting retort: “We were planning on throwing them in your yard.”

No,  I didn’t find dog testicles in my yard.

But, I did walk out to my car the next morning and found an empty bag of walnuts.  WTF?

Well, for the first time, I’ll be cataloging the story of something that is no longer in my yard.

Last night, I was coming home and saw a can of orange soda next to some circular of some sort.  This, sadly, is not typically blog worthy.  Even as I write this, there is an unopened can of dr pepper somewhere in my lawn buried under a few inches of snow.

However, here’s the real story.  This morning I was met with a mystery.  The can of OPENED orange soda was gone… Vamoose like some houdini shit.  All that was left was a series of clues that indicated that sometime between the hours of midnight and 8 AM, someone was thirsty enough to steal an opened can of orange soda from my lawn.

Note the three photos.  The first, the scene of the crime, with orange blood spilled across the virgin snow, like a scene out of one of those Michael Crichton novels the kids are reading.  The second, evidence of the perp, a foot prints.  And the third, finally, a sloppy and clearly hurried exit from the crime scene, spilled orange soda.

The scene of the crime

The getaway car… foot

And they’re off…

OHHHH, I said to myself.  Wondering why the hell the box was unfolded.

I flipped it over to see if it was a sign that said “will work for food” or my less favorite version “Why Lie. I need money for a blow job.”  Sadly it wasn’t.

Also, notice that it says something about 110 calories?  can we confirm this?

I mean seriously people, what the hell is a cellular accent?  Is it to add emphasis to a vowel?  Is it a fancy word for accessory?  Well shit, I’m sold.

Let’s brainstorm all the possibilities it could be: A Miley Cyrus Hannah Montana Cell Phone Wig.  A Halloween Toy that some somali pirate felt needed to be left on my lawn?  Glenn Beck’s anti-tear cover for the Iphone?  A hello kitty bobble?

The possibilities boggle the mind…

Another things my tender fingers haven’t touched in months is neither a rake nor a lawnmower.  My thought, live and let live, those weeds have every right to be there.

This morning I was walking out to my car and noticed that both of my immediate neighbors have done a fabulous job of keeping their now dying lawns pristine.  If you look below you’ll see a very clear property line where my one neighbor’s lawn starts and mine ends.  It’s reminds me of  when the Pope split up South America with The Line of Demarcation to give Brazil to Portugal and the rest to Spain: Brazil stayed well manicured, hairless even, while the rest of South America fell prey to cocaine dealers and hippies hiking the andes mountains.

I guess this is why I find random shit in my yard…