We’re home, but not without a ridiculous amount of drama and aggravation. After a nice flight (Thanks, jetBlue!), we landed in Boston and got home around 11 p.m. to find someone broke into our house and stole our DVD player. Unusually, the culprit didn’t steal our TV, any of our Patriots stuff, or my mp3 player. Even more unusual, the culprit drank much of the Coke that was in the fridge and put dishes in the dishwasher.

We know exactly who did this and we also know she has a severe drug problem. Of course, she vehemently denied the allegations this morning, but I’m no fool. In addition to the missing items, someone also drove my car around, added more than 200 miles and drained my gas tank. Like I explained to her, a random person would not drive around a car and return it. I could blame myself for leaving my keys on the coffee table, but when you lock up your house, you do not expect someone to break in, know which car is yours in the parking lot and drive it around for a week.

Worst of all, my boyfriend is not talking to me because he was accused of breaking in. I knew he didn’t do it, why would he, but in haste, my family pointed the finger. He has had ample opportunities to steal our stuff and hasn’t.

We filed a police report, although the responding officer said there isn’t much we can do. It’s too difficult to prove and, naturally, they can’t make an arrest on our allegations alone. We listed the girl as a suspect and the officer also included the car theft and return in his report in case of the slight chance she committed a crime while driving my car. He assured me he hadn’t received any information on a black honda in his packets, so I think that will be alright.

Every ounce of relaxation I gained while on vacation was washed away in ten minutes. My boyfriend is insulted and won’t answer his phone. I can’t blame him. Merry fucking Christmas, Angela. I knew coming home was going to suck, I just didn’t realize it would suck this much.