Endlessly Grateful.

I feel that the word 'thankful' has been overused this year leading up to today, Thanksgiving 2012. For me, it's lost the depth of what it's meant to convey. So therefore, I'm calling this entry "Endlessly Grateful", because I am so much more than merely thankful for the things and people I'm going to list.

So, without further ado, and in no particular order other than in which these pop into my head, what I am endlessly grateful for.

Internet radio, because it allows me to indulge in my musical schizophrenia and skip from genre to genre without having to have an organized play list, or cart every CD I've ever owned around in my Jeep.

My Jeep. It's so much cooler than a PT Cruiser.

My animals, for always being able to make me laugh, wanting to play with me, an just generally loving me, regardless of what time I feed them, or that I make them go outside when it's time for us to eat.

My ex-husband, for teaching me many valuable lessons, though roughly three-quarters of them were not fun to learn. Also, for giving me my beautiful child. If all I am able to have is just the one, I'm glad we had him.

Alcohol. I like to drink it, but not too much. Even more, I love to serve it! I've met a lot of great people by pouring them a glass of booze. Not to mention, it's what pays my bills and buys me all the awesome shit I have.

My sister, Christie. She was one mean bitch when we were kids, and I did not believe our parents when they said we would be best friends when we grew up. But, they were right, and we are. She's not perfect, but she will always be my idol, the one I look up to, and the funniest, most wonderful woman I will ever know.

My best friend, Jessica. I wish I could change the circumstances under which we became best friends, because that guy needs to be handcuffed naked to a tree, then covered in honey, but I'm glad she and I are so close. I love that we can nerd out together over Harry Potter, Stephen King, Tolkien, Doctor Who, and any number of other things without thinking the other is weird. She's a beautiful inspiration, a giggle in the back of my mind, and I don't know what I'd do without her.

My friend, Heather. Even though it's difficult (to say the least) to get her to answer her phone, return a text message, or to even 'like' a Facebook post, I love her to pieces. She's been there for me through a nasty divorce, a brush with alcoholism, a difficult breakup, several stupid decisions, many ridiculous situations, and finding the love of my life. I wish I saw and heard more of her, because I love and miss her very much.  

My job, and my coworkers who are becoming more and more like family every day. They're infuriating, annoying, supportive, wonderful, hilarious, moronic, amazing, and I love them so god damned much.

The Rebound (the douche I dated after my divorce for those who weren't aware). That may sound strange, but I learned a lot during the two years he spent as a leech attached to my very living soul. Such as how to stand up for myself and not be walked on, or taken advantage of. Expensive lesson, to say the least. I learned that I'm not crazy, and that I don't want to be a doormat. I use him as the perfect example of the kind of person you don't want to be when Jamie and I are having Serious Talks with Corbin.

Christmas lights.

Coffee.

Cute sweaters.

Hot chocolate.

My Uggs.

Cherry Coke.

Chipotle.

The letter C, evidently.

Reese's Pieces.

My knife set.

Mark Harmon.

400 threadcount sheets.

Sephora, and Lush; my two favorite stores in the mall.

Country music.

Sharks.

Kissing Jamie at the end of a long day.

My voice; singing makes me happy.

Cheese.

Our bed.

Harry Potter.

Stephen King.

George RR Martin.

Breakfast sandwiches from Starbucks.

Sundays.

Wednesdays.

Winter.

Pizza.

Steak.

Altoids.

Fireball cinnamon whisky.

Summer rainstorms.

Leg warmers.

Doctor Who.

My cousin, Delaina, for helping me find my inner Julia Child, being a total badass, and loving me like we've spent every day of our lives together.

Freshly cut grass.

The way Jamie smells when he's been busting his ass.

The way I feel after I work out.

My sister's husband, Chris. He's brought a much needed splash of color to all of our lives, and more importantly, gave me back my sister. I love him very much.

My mother. I have no illusions that she likes me even half as much as she does my sister, but that's OK. Parent's have their favorites, and I don't mind not being my mother's. She's never taught me any great life lessons, nor did she pass along any family recipes. Hell, she didn't even teach me how to cook. But when I'm having a bad day, or need someone to talk to, she never seems to mind listening to me vent. She doesn't offer advice, but I don't really want any. I just need to hear her voice sometimes, and she understands that.

My father, even though I didn't have enough time with him. No, not nearly enough. Too many things to say about this, but I think I'll keep them all to myself.

My son. I said earlier that if I was only able to have one child, I'm glad I have him. But, there's more to it than than. How to describe the love a mother feels for her only child? I don't think I can, without sounding chiche. I'm so proud of him. The last few years have been tough for him, and he is struggling with anger, but he's doing a damn good job of keeping his head above the water. He's a very kind person, despite his anger, and is starting to understand that he can't use that anger as an excuse to not do well in school, or to be a mean person, or to develop that infuriating sense of entitlement some people have after having a less than stellar childhood. He's a good kid at heart, and blindingly intelligent. He'll be rich one day, marry a sweet girl and give me grandchildren. When he's 30.

My husband. Brace yourself: this will be the longest paragraph in this entry.
I've spent the better portion of my life in the vise grip of depression. My father was my first love. Something broke in me when he died, and I've never recovered. I'm sure there were plenty of things that fueled it, some of which I can remember, but many I can't. I never sought treatment, because I was told by everyone around me that I was just being childish, dramatic, and selfish. My mother, the ex-husband, and everyone in his family. When everyone tells you the same thing, it must be true, right? The anger, sadness, and self-loathing were unbearable. The Rebound tried to convince me  I was crazy, when in reality he fed on my depression, and used it as a weapon to keep me in a corner. Enter Jamie. For the first time that I could remember, someone cared without an ulterior motive. He wanted to talk to me to hear what I had to say, instead of to talk my pants off. He listened to me and pointed out things he saw that I couldn't. I didn't have to be afraid of him, but instead felt not only safe, but like I'd come home after years of wandering. We went to Savannah for a long weekend, and I breathed freely and deeply for the first time in my adult life. I was already in love with him, but in Savannah, where we had no schedule, and neither one of us cared what we did or where we went next, I knew I wanted to marry him. He was so gentle and loving, but needed me to care for him, and I wanted to. The unwavering trust he has for me is humbling, as it's the first time in my life that anyone has trusted me. He's shown me that I'm better than being a bed warmer, and that he wants me by his side, as a partner, a teammate, and an equal. I'm not selfish, or childish. I've been depressed, but I can stay on top of it. I deserve to be happy, and to have the things I want. I've learned that I want to be his wife, and do wifey things like cooking, and cleaning, and grocery shopping, and laundry. Well, not so much laundry, but I'll do it anyway.
It doesn't hurt that he knows everything, and can fix anything that's broken. He can build anything, do anything, and loves my cooking. I love my cooking, too.
To sum things up, Jamie brought me a long way from broken to fixed. I still struggle, and probably always will. But I let go of my anger, with his help. I'm happy, thanks to him. My son has a better mother, and I can be the wife he deserves.

Happy Thanksgiving. :)

So, our neighbors are moving out.

We're not totally sure if their landlord/mortgage company knows about it.

We've been in this house for about a year and a half now, and I think we might've exchanged seven words with them? Not because we're assholes- no. It's less to do with us being antisocial recluses, and more to do with the language barrier. I'm not totally sure where they're from, but judging from the Latin music they sometimes play on the weekends well into the wee hours of the night, and the yelling in Spanish you also hear on a regular basis, I'm going to hazard a guess, and say they're Hispanic.

So far, since Friday afternoon they've made three trips with a full 24' Uhaul to Lord knows where. They've taken everything from the blinds I'm pretty sure came with the house, to the haphazardly installed brick retaining block around the bushes in the front yard. Who the hell does that?

What they haven't taken yet are the icicle lights put up for Christmas of 2010 that were never taken down. That is not an exaggeration. More than anything else about them, it's those fucking lights I hate the most. Not the 3am fiestas, or the fact that I have trouble getting out of my own driveway sometimes because they've blocked half of it. Or even how trashy it makes the neighborhood look when they leave their garage door open, and you can see half their business. Before I go to bed tonight, I'm going to go outside and look to see if they've taken them down. If not, I'm going to finish what more than a year's worth of wind and rain has not managed to do, and rip the damned things down.

Call me Gladys Kravitz if you want. Maybe I am channeling her. But, I'll be glad when I don't see icicle lights hanging from that house like frozen snot every time I drive into my driveway, anymore.