Thank Y-O-U

It's the last day of November.

I am wearing blue.

And in the last two days, this side of Arizona has finally accepted that it's simply not summer anymore.

But let's go back to the last day of November bit.

Because this month I have written exactly two posts (the current included). And neither of them, up to this point, have said a single thing for which I'm grateful.

Which, on the bad person scale, puts me somewhere between a babysitter who steals a scoop of ice cream and kitten killer.

I like to stay as far away from the kitten killer side of that scale as possible.

So, I have decided to remedy this by telling you at least one thing for which I am grateful on this, the last day of November.

And here goes.

ONE. The Auto Zone.

When my car's engine light came on twice, in not so many months, I was saddened.

And I said, "Lola, the Corolla, what the heck? I know I called you akin to a low grade stripper, and I sometimes park you outside of the lines, but seriously. A battery, a 60k service and your very own bottle of Febreeze in just a couple of weeks? What more do you want from me? Why are you flashing that ridiculous-looking engine light in my face?"

And after that speech, I began picturing myself riding one of those engine bike things on the 60 freeway to work everyday. Maybe with a pink helmet and some nice knee pads.

But since my face is sensitive to the wind, I knew that would never work.

I prepared myself for the worst. I visualized handing over my Visa to a smiling mechanic with car grease stuck under his finger nails. And I practiced reacting to the news that Lola was simply not going to make it this time.

But then I found out that Auto Zone would tell me that Lola was dying for free. And I thought that sounded like a good enough deal, so I drove her to the store and parked her right up front.

Guess what!

Lola needed a new gas cap.

Not open heart surgery.

Thank you Auto Zone; I am grateful for YOU.

TWO. Vegetable Broth.

Needs no explanation.

THREE. Blankets.

Have I ever mentioned my affinity toward being warm?

FOUR. Blog posts without lists.

I must remember in the future that writing lists not intended for the grocery store or a busy Saturday irritates me.

FIVE. A lot of other things, for which I am even more grateful than vegetable broth and $12 car repairs.

And I would list them, one by one, except that I can't for various reasons, including, but not limited to, that it would put me too close to the hearts, stars and rainbows extreme of the bad person scale, and I don't want to give any false impressions or anything, and also, that's a lot of pressure, since no one can be a Lisa Frank explosion all the time.

Also, I don't know if you missed the bit a few paragraphs above about banning all future lists that are not meant merely for organizational purposes.

So basically, in conclusion, I would like to give a note to the other things, of which there are many-- I am grateful for YOU, all the time.

But especially today,

the last day of November,

on which I wore blue,

and it was cold outside.

I saw the bottom of Lake Pleasant. And it was dirty

I am currently wrapped up in a fleece blanket that I stole from the living room, chewing on a KitKat leftover from Halloween, and it's starting to look like my plans to clean the bathroom tonight are going to fall through.

The bad news is: if I have any guests over that need to use the bathroom, I'm going to have to send them to the Chevron down the street.

The good news is: with this new opening in my schedule, I have enough time to tell you all about becoming scuba certified, and the lessons I learned along the way.

I'll start with the most obvious--

1 ~ I should never, under any circumstance, move to Alaska.

Let me explain with a series of statistics--

Day One of pool lessons.

Outside temperature: 96 degrees.

Water temperature: 80 degrees.

Wetsuit type: short - 3 mm

Normal reaction to circumstances: fine

My reaction to circumstances: unstoppable shivering.

Day Two of pool lessons.

Outside temperature: 94 degrees.

Water temperature: 79 degrees

Wetsuit type: long - 8 mm

My reaction to circumstances: mostly controllable shivering.

After day one in the pool, my instructors bumped me up to the thickest wetsuit there is. Because I am apparently the type of person who needs 4 extra mm of neoprene to stay warm in a heated pool.

I have been searching Craig's List for a drysuit ever since. But so far all I've found is a men's extra large. I am happy to report that if I continue to eat leftover KitKats at the rate I am now, I'll fit into that suit in no time.

2 ~ My mom wasn't kidding when she said, "Put on your lifejacket. If you don't, you might drown, and we'll never find you."

I thought she was exaggerating. But I saw the bottom of Lake Pleasant. And it was dirty.

3 ~ 'Tis better to pee in your wetsuit, than to not.

I'll tell you what, if you happen to be suffering from a mild case of OCD and/or germaphobia, you may want to consider diving.

It'll fix you right up.

Because when you're deciding between breathing out of that mostly unsanitary regulator that 5,000,000 other people have put in their probably-mono-infected mouths and taking in a big mouth-full of Lake Pleasant water, you're probably going to put the dirty regulator in your mouth and feel pretty darn good about it.

And... when your swimming in the 68 degree water thinking about how you really could use a bathroom break and a Snuggie right now, you might be faced with some hard decisions...(to pee, or not to pee)... And I'll just say that one option is like pouring a bucket of hot water into a cold bath and the other is like looking for a bathroom in a rainstorm.

And I'm not implying that I chose one thing over the other, I'm just saying that one option was clearly better than the other.

And, when it comes down to it, the most important thing I learned (besides to NEVER hold my breath and to try to avoid decompression chambers) is that "good stuff is good, pick it."

(Thanks to Alex B. for supplying those words of wisdom, which, just for the record, actually had nothing to do with staying warm in wetsuits, and almost everything to do with choosing not to give terrorists pencils.)

Now, I'm going to go see if I can reschedule my cleaning date with the bathroom. Because, like the bottom of Lake Pleasant, I have seen my bathroom. And it is dirty.