That's 6 more than 1.
We met just before my 29th birthday. Amanda jokes that she was my best birthday present. And minus a bottle of 18 year Jameson and the year I got a $25 gift card to Starbucks, she's right.
This lady has stuck by everything. Where others would have run screaming in the opposite direction, she also ran screaming in the opposite direction... but decided to come back at the last second.
She deals with my being wrong all the time. My obsession with nerd stuff. My need to shout at the television at Jeopardy contestants when they mess up answers as if they were Romo in the NFL playoffs and they just threw an interception.
She is the first one who hears the jokes I create before they're made less racist for public viewing.
She suffers through my tangents that will jump from a discussion on fish hatcheries to film theories to the inevitable tie-in to an episode of Smallville.
She's understanding. Compassionate. Lovely. Hilarious.
And even when she's throwing lamps at me for leaving my socks on the floor... or pushing me down the stairs because I left the toothpaste cap off again...
There's a love there that I've never felt. A foundation of facetious madness, wonderful debates, and never-ending support that I know will last a lifetime.
She's made me into the type of person I can be proud of. And 37% less socially inept.
Love ya, Harley. Here's to another 7 months.
Maybe 8.
9 tops.
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