What I'm Thankful For:

Leonard Bobswell Style

Jord, Jal, Jallen: likes the color teal, very leggy sex goddess, business savvy, makes great pizza.

Kayla, Kay, Kaylor, Lor, Lorence, Pip, Lil Pip, Pippy: voice of reason, innovative salad extraordinaire, and one hell of a head of hair.

 

Katie, Kate, Kath: Not a morning person, heart of gold, impressive musical taste, heavy drinker. 

Britt, Chronley, Chrontons, Chron Bean, Chrontons: Dog enthusiast, swears often, batshit crazy, but v. loyal.

I am thankful for them because they:

Support day, week or month-long fits of neuroticism even when it has reached scary Linda Blair level. Only offering kind words of advice and having unyielding faith that there is a light at the end of the bastard tunnel that is my twenty-somethings.

Encourage gluttony whole-heartedly, and openly curse tooth-pickesque models in Cosmo with cookie-filled mouths often consequently bespattering the counter with crumbs and drool.

Say nothing when the bathroom has become personal home-spa (i.e. sweat-shop dedicated to making a hefty Greek girl appear slender and Swedish.) littered with hair-plucking, tooth-whitening, armpit softening, stretch mark removing, zit-zapping, skin-toning, eye-brightening, bang-straightening, nail-clipping products for days at a time.

Disregard chronic kleptomania, and wait patiently for missing magic fat-disguising shirt, or ass-shaping skirt to return.

Occasionally fold and deliver clothes left in dryer for six or more days. I know the system I use (i.e. removing necessary articles from dryer one by one, namely underwear and tops) does not always coincide with everyone’s individual needs, so your efforts to correct my bad habits are not in vain, the management has noticed and you will be rewarded in due time.

Say sweet and ego-boosting phrases like “Guitar sounds great! Keep it up.” Or, “Was that you playing? Man, I thought it was the radio.” Or, “Woah, I didn’t know we lived with Bob Dylan!” Despite the small fact that, it does not in fact sound great, and we don’t live with him, those are posters I jerk off to, and you’ve been hearing the same four chords played exactly one way for the last two years.

Have not yet submitted me to What Not To Wear, but have instead stuck to nearly effective tactics such as: open ridicule, whole removal of horrid sweater, keenly placed fashion magazines, and the weekly observation of Gossip Girl. 

And because they love me, all the time.