I have a list of places to see and things to do and I can’t want to spend some adventuring time with J-Mo. Some of our plans will be close to home, some will be not too far away, and some will be incredibly far away.

In about a month J-Mo and I are going on our honeymoon, Part 2. Part 1 happened right after we got married, but was more like an extended weekend than a real honeymoon. We both had to get back to work (and yes, I know that sounds lame, but Parts 2 and 3 will TOTALLY make up for it). Part 2 is five days in New York City! J-Mo hasn’t ever spent any real time in a big city like NYC and I am so excited to show it off a bit. We don’t have many things set in stone, so if you’ve got some suggestions for Manhattan or Brooklyn, send ‘em over!

(Honeymoon 3.0 will take place this fall and will officially be farther than either of us have ever traveled from home. As the plans get firmed up a bit I’ll be sure to be gushing about them here.)

I have a list of projects; some are already begun and need a little finishing, some need to be started, and a good pile of them should probably be tossed back to the Project Place in the Sky (thrift store) because I will never, ever, get to sanding off that entire dresser and repainting it. Ditto on completely re-tailoring that dress…it’s better just to cut my losses and find something a little more manageable in the Project department.

I signed up for some photography classes, real ones, from a photography teacher. A local camera shop has lots of different courses for various levels and interests and I signed up for a slew of them. I really hope I can get a better feel for the manual settings on my camera and learn more about photography. Not in the “I’m starting my own faux-tography business!” kind of way, but in the “yes, I took that photo that is hanging on my wall, I’m so glad you like it!” kind of way.

I purchased my first ever sleeping bag–it is like taking a nap in a big, fluffy, purple cloud–and J-Mo and I already have plans to test it out, you know, in the wild. And by “the wild” I mean “National Park.” Now that it’s warming up and thawing out, J-Mo and I are making plans to head back to Red Rock Country to visit Canyonlands National Park. I can’t wait! Of course, I will clutter up your feed reader with lots and lots of pictures, you should look forward to that.

I’ve made a list of dozens of mini-adventures for J-Mo and I to attempt, things as simple as making kites and hoping they will fly, or trying a new restaurant, or going on a nature walk in the canyon. Some are considerably more complex and require a bit of planning and/or chutzpah, like taking a cooking class together, or going on a spontaneous weekend getaway, or going skydiving.

What kinds of adventures do you have coming up? Does warmer weather make your adventuring spirit itch? Or is that just seasonal allergies? (Do NOT get me started on seasonal allergies. I am currently drugged up on a steamy cocktail of antihistamine in order to breathe and am subsequently guzzling Dr. Pepper to try and stay awake as work. It’s a vicious cycle. Let’s hope this beautiful, blooming, pollen-infested spring quickly makes way for something a little less, well, sneezy.

“A relatively new field, called interpersonal neurobiology, draws its vigor from one of the great discoveries of our era: that the brain is constantly rewiring itself based on daily life. In the end, what we pay the most attention to defines us. How you choose to spend the irreplaceable hours of your life literally transforms you.”

I’ve been thinking about this for a few weeks and I can’t get it out of my head. “How you choose to spend the irreplaceable hours of your life literally transforms you.” How do I spend my not-at-work hours? In what ways am I constantly rewiring my brain? Who do I want to be? And how do I become that girl? Hint: I probably won’t become heidikins The Awesome by watching an entire season of the latest criminal drama starring Sarah Michelle Gellar while eating Ben & Jerry’s by the pint lounging on the squishy couch…night after night after night.

I deleted a half-dozen shows from my DVR, although, I still watch Gossip Girl. I can’t seem to get away from the trashy, soap opera-y, designer-heeled episodes. Sigh. (The trash on Gossip Girl is the same reason I don’t watch Mad Men and am bugged by those who say they just watch it for the fashion and not the drama…hmmm…something to consider, Self.)

I have been reading more, but the books I choose are of a higher caliber than those I have previously picked up. I am reading more books I rank as 5 stars and fewer I rank as 2 or 3. I am reading more non-fiction, more Pulitzer winners, and more memoirs and biographies of people I admire. I read less fluff. Don’t get me wrong, I still read fluffy books, but I find they do not offer me much respite anymore, I find I am more critical of the poor writing and loosey-goosey plot points with a cute, tidy ending.

After watching a couple of “comedy” hits I have become terribly disillusioned with Hollywood; or, rather, completely disgusted by and blatantly opposed to it’s output. Since when was crassness and crudeness and the degradation of women in scene after scene after disgusting scene passed off as “comedy.” It is vile. Honestly, I was so revolted by these two particular films that upon discovering they are listed amongst your favorites, my opinion of you will probably change. What if those female characters were you, or your sister, or your daughter, or your best friend. Is it still funny? It shouldn’t be, because unfortunately, there are a lot of women who deal with sexual harassment, degradation, emotional, physical, and sexual abuse on a daily basis. You laughing at it doesn’t help, you supporting that type of media only makes studios produce more of it’s kind.

That old adage, “quality over quantity” always seemed to refer to cashmere sweaters instead of polyester-fluff ones, or buying well-made shoes you can wear for years instead of cheap ones that make your feet stink after a few weeks. Although, of late, I think there is more to it than that. It means carefully screening the media you allow into your life. It means eating real food and not crap, even if it takes more time to make yourself a salad instead of grab some greasy take-out. It means only allowing the healthy relationships to take up your time and your life and letting the soul-sucking, faith destroying, toxic ones fall by the wayside. It means slowing consumerism and materialism, it means having more discipline, and conditioning yourself not to respond to the instant gratification culture in which we live. It means being more conscientious about choices that involve your time, your money, your energy, and emotional being. It means choosing how to spend the irreplaceable hours of your life so that you are rewiring yourself to become a better, healthier, more satisfying version of yourself instead of slowly transforming into a human slug.* I am not saying that I am perfect in this, or that I always make the non-slug-like choices. Sometimes, I sit on the couch and watch TV for hours before I even realize it, and I’ll watch it with commercials. Sometimes, I listen to gossipy trolls talk badly about people and generally be catty and miserable, and I’ll let it get to me instead of shutting down the conversation, or excusing myself from the friendship. But that doesn’t mean that I am not trying; I am more conscious of my choices and am working to become a better heidikins.

*You saw Wall-E, you know how this will end. And, if you recall, humans do not become the cute little robot with a healthy dose of curiosity; we end up as immobile couch/motorized armchair potatoes with Big Gulps.

Last summer a good friend of mine went to his first Demolition Derby, you know, it’s usually held at the rodeo grounds and clunker cars with funky paint jobs are absolutely destroyed by crashing them into each other, running over them with trucks, and an assortment of other “entertaining” methods. Sometimes there is some sort of fundraising for a charity involved, but not always. You’ve heard of a Demo Derby, right? Well, unfortunately, one of the drivers was very critically injured in the first few minutes of my friend arriving at the Derby, the man was carted away on a stretcher and taken to the Emergency Room as the audience cheered. For his health. They cheered to show support for his return to good working order. They didn’t (I presume) cheer because he had nearly been killed. The ambulance drove away and the Demolition continued. When my friend told me this story he recounted how he had been reading about the history of the Coliseum in Rome and the to-the-death games that were played there, you know, Gladiator style. His experience that day at the Demolition Derby was not so far removed from the Romans gathering all their citizens together to watch and cheer and heckle as fellow citizens battled to the death–or at least to the seriously maimed and crippled–in the name of entertainment. After hearing that comparison, I don’t think I can go to a Demolition Derby again. (Insert my rant that just because Russell Crowe won an Oscar for being the Gladiator doesn’t make that particular form of “entertainment” okay in today’s society.) (If we all did all the things the big, fancy actors did we’d all be in rehab or jail or both.)

Of late there is quite a hubbub about The Hunger Games and how it is, allegedly, the most amazing movie of recent memory. I have not seen it, nor do I have any burning desire to see it (but I also didn’t watch Harry Potter 7.2, after having read the books and watched movies 1 through 7.1, so perhaps I am not the best barometer for movie fever). The dystopian society of The Hunger Games glories violence and starvation and exploitation and then more violence, just in case you missed it the last time..and the 47 times before that. And I get it, it’s not that I don’t get it, I just don’t want to see it. I appreciate a good dystopian novel as much as the next person, but I have very specific (read: low) levels of violence that I can handle on the big screen. When I read about violence I can imagine terrible things, but I have learned to keep my imagination to just inside the line of terror which, if crossed, generates nightmares for weeks on end. If you’ve seen it and you loved it so much you went to see it again that’s fine. We are still friends, I don’t think less of you, I hope you enjoy movies two and three as much as the first and I hope you sleep soundly each and every time. But there isn’t anything you can say that will make me change my mind. I read the book, I know the story, I even enjoyed the story (well, the story in the first book, not so much the others), but here is the thing, and it’s an important thing: the violence I imagined in my head while reading The Hunger Games or any other book, is to the exact level of gruesomeness that allows me to understand the fear and desperation of the characters and their need to act, but that also still allows me to sleep without replaying the scariest parts over and over and over in my head. I don’t need Hollywood giving me nightmares for the next two months. (Insert your rant about how I’m too much of a pansy and should just put on my big girl panties and go see it anyway.) (Then maybe have your reading comprehension checked, as the last three paragraphs have explained it’s not about whether it’s a “tastefully done” violence or not. It’s about me.)

A few days ago I was eating lunch with myself and a new book at a restaurant near my office. I have taken up reading on my lunch break and it has been one of the more rewarding decisions of my recent life. So there I was, reading Bossypants and not really paying much attention to anything else around me. A table of 6 or 7 youngish men was to my left, and other than noticing they laughed a lot and talked pretty loud, I paid them no attention. Eventually I needed to tackle my lunch with two hands, so I put my book down and, apparently, opened my ears. From what I gathered, these young men (some seemed to be in their 20′s, some in their early 30′s) were all in the military and had recently served in the Middle East. It seems they all had a great time, enjoyed the companionship with their fellow soldiers, didn’t mind the heat too much, totally shot that turbaned guy in the head, first try, no second bullet required…. What? I stopped eating and started listening. For the next several minutes I listened, slack-jawed, as these soldiers regaled each other with stories of the men they had killed. They one-upped each other on the hardest shot, the most men killed in one given day or battle, the most militant town they toppled, the number of land mines sidestepped before going in for the kill, the brutal or technical manner they executed someone in a particular town, or on a particular day. Now, I know they are soldiers who were serving their country in a war zone. I know they are trained to do exactly what they were describing. I need to believe that they bravely and honorably signed up to protect their country, protect their homeland, and to fight for the rights and interests of oppressed people everywhere. I am convinced that–if they are good soldiers–any one of them would put himself between me and a dangerous threat, acting first and asking questions later. I know there is no real way I can thank the men and women who serve our country in times of peace and times of war. I know they see and experience terrible things I cannot imagine seeing in my lifetime. I know there are serious psychological issues when a soldier returns home and tries to assimilate back into society and forget all those terrible things. I know very few are able to unsee, but some are able to cope. I know all this. What I did not know was that killing dozens of foreigners was so damn funny. I didn’t realize the levels of humor and hilarity that go on in a war zone. And I certainly did not know that those jokes and games and bragging “well, listen to this!” stories would make their way to an overdecorated Mexican restaurant on my lunch break.

I went to the bathroom and threw up.

It didn’t make me feel any better. And no, I am not bulimic nor do I make a habit of throwing up my meals.

It has been 14 years since that geography class where I sat and watched someone be killed on a grainy Chinese news clip played on a 32″ box bolted to the wall. I still remember every detail of the clip and my reaction. There is this part of me is relieved that after nearly a decade and a half I am still so disturbed, so moved by real violence that I need to excuse myself and be sick. It is that part of me that refuses to allow the rest of me to go to another Demolition Derby, or to watch The Hunger Games. I see no reason to desensitize my little heart to real violence with a bunch of fake violence (i.e. Hollywood and special effects). When I see a grainy news clip of someone ACTUALLY BEING KILLED, I want it to move me tremendously, I want to be able to feel that emotion, I want it to hurt. When I overhear the method, timing and details of how one human being killed another, I want it to upset me, even if it means I can’t finish my lunch. I don’t ever want to be the kind of person who can shrug off the death of another human being because I’m just too cool to care about such trivial matters. I don’t want to be the kind of person who would ever think “Yeah, sucks for that guy, but did you see that awesome movie about the teenagers killing each other on national TV? Now that shit was crazy.”

My Essentials:

Putzing: This is my quirky way of unwinding; I wander around the neighborhood admiring the old homes, drawing the house plans and planning renovations in my head. Or I’ll wander around the produce section of the grocery store touching the fruit and veggies. I will wander around my apartment, straightening things that don’t necessarily need straightening and dreaming about things that don’t really apply to where I am at that given moment. I make lists just to cross things off,  I imagine fantastical things. Putzing is my alone time, my detox time. I can putz for hours.

Books: I remember the first book I ever bought with my own money. I was working two jobs, saving up for my first semester of college and decided to buy The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings series and re-read them before the first movie came out in theaters. I bought the cheapest version the bookstore had—a $4.99 half-sized paperback—one at a time over a few weeks. In the last 10 years I have amassed a considerable book collection and have started to build a bonafide library in the loft space above my apartment. Sitting in front of those shelves, running my fingers over the spines, reorganizing my “To Read First” shelf (yes, shelf) and reliving the stories and memories associated with previously read titles is one of the most calming things I can do at home. (See: putzing) Does this make me materialistic? Maybe. Do I care? No. I’m a paper-and-ink book person and I’m not willing to fight it.

Writing: Writing is therapy to me. For my 8^th birthday I received a journal, a red leather-bound book with lined pages and gold edging. My first journal entry is from my Mom and the next is written in a thick pencil and my shaky, 8-year-old handwriting. I wrote about the weather, my birthday, and my first visit to a restaurant. Almost 6 years ago I started blogging for the general, internet-savvy public however I still write for pleasure and to solidify my thoughts and opinions. I still keep a journal, several, actually. There is nothing quite like the promise of a new, empty notebook of lined pages. I tend to fill them with thoughts, stories, lists, sketches, ideas and rants.

Pursuit of Knowledge: I love learning. I love learning about new things, new people, new words, new ideas. I love learning old things for the first time, random facts, chronology of world events, social or geographic history or myth of far-flung places and interesting factoids close to home. I think I am happiest with my nose deep in a book and a notebook to record my findings.

Fabulous, Fun or Interesting Shoes: I know this may seem somewhat superficial after the magnanimous “writing” and “pursuit of knowledge” line items, but I have found over the years that I am more optimistic, more positive, and generally happier when I am wearing shoes I love. Superficial? Yes. Invalid? No. My day is better in red heels. Always.

Scarves: More than often than not, I will wear a scarf regardless of the weather. I have scarves in almost every hue and the pop of color at my face makes me smile and the snuggle-factor keeps me happy and cozy all day. Yes, even in the summer (hello, office AC). I have thick wool-y scarves and very light, airy ones, but most are a delicious Pashmina weight that are universally perfect for daily wear. I love them.

Razor sharp kitchen knives: I find mincing vegetables therapeutic, but only if my knife is crazy-sharp. There is a knife sharpening shop downtown where I drop off a bundle of cutlery every six weeks or so to be ground, sharpened, polished, wrapped in brown paper with tied with string and then returned to me for my next mincing adventure.

High Thread Count Sheets: Several years ago my older brother found 1,000 count Egyptian cotton sheets on Amazon for something crazy like $100 dollars. He ordered them immediately. I ordered them immediately. Several other family members ordered them. They are heaven. I don’t care if 1,000 count sheets don’t come in cute polka-dots, or fancy stripes, or chevrons, or mod floral graphic print. I have a hard time sleeping in scratchy sheets. I need 1,000 count Egyptian cotton.

Hugs: Yes, I need physical human contact. In some of my more scared moments, or darker days, or more lonely weeks I have been known to go to a yoga class and do the poses a little bit wonky just so the instructor would move my arm to the appropriate place. I have been known to schedule a massage just for the comfort of someone touching my shoulder. Does this seem extreme? Perhaps. But pouncing on a stranger on the street and insisting they give you a hug is highly suspect and usually illegal, and I’m not about to wear a sign around my neck stating “Hugs for Free” because, ew, creepers.

Sunshine: I am one of those people who will never go tanning, I wear SPF 45 every day. However, just a few minutes of sun on my face will lift my mood in amazing ways. I do some of my best putzing sitting in a sunny spot.

Sparkly Unicorns and Pegasus Ponies: Not really. But after “hugs” and “sunshine” it seemed the next logical progression. I am (mostly) kidding on this one. (Or am I?)

My Favorite Non-Essentials:

Chapstick: I’m not talking about lipgloss, or lipstick (neither of which I have worn for years). I’m not talking about Chapstick brand stuff that is pink with a waxy flavor. I will wear Bert’s Bees in a ruby grapefruit color, but I prefer Natural Ice, although it is next to impossible to find in grocery stores, gas stations, big box stores, or boutique stores. Sometimes I’ll find it at REI and stock up. Last fall I finally got the brilliant idea to order a dozen tubes of Natural Ice from Amazon. They are now nicely lined up in my dresser waiting to rescue my chapped and dry lips.

White Christmas Lights: I have only ever used white Christmas lights, and typically only at Christmas. However, several months ago I strung one strand around my bedroom window and love the soft twinkling as I get ready for bed or dream up grand adventures, tucked up to my chin in covers and studying the enormous map of the world on my bedroom wall.

Maps: I love maps. I have several hanging in my apartment and have always had at least one map to look at and dream about and study. I loved taking world geography in 9^th grade and learning the names, locations and capital cities of all the countries. I have mostly retained this information and love studying various pockets of the world and trying to sort out, again, where everything belongs. In my next life I will have a couple of gorgeous globes to reign in my library.

Office Supplies: I have an unhealthy obsession with office supplies. Stacks of college-ruled paper, packages of Sharpie’s in a rainbow of colors, boxes of unsharpened pencils waiting to be ground to a point and fill a notebook with ideas. I love office supplies.

Fresh Flowers and/or Live Plants: I love having fresh flowers on my dining room table. I have very rarely had anything fancier than a small bouquet from the grocery store, but even $6 dollars worth of tulips will keep me smiling for two weeks. I have had an aloe plant for 5 years now, and have managed not to kill it. This winter I have added a baby fir tree, a now flowerless poinsettia, an ivy plant, and some IKEA bamboo…so far, nothing has died. We’ll see how long that lasts.

Things I Could Easily Live Without:

Smart Phones: I know, it sounds nuts, but I am becoming more and more anti-smart phone. It’s not that I don’t like the convenience of having a mini computer-communicator-television-navigational system-word processor-camera the size of a credit card, it’s just that after sitting at a computer for 9 hours a day with the expectation to respond to email promptly and answer the phone by the second ring, and then a few more hours at my laptop in the evening reading and writing blog posts, researching tidbits of information, and/or gawking at adorable baby animals, I don’t really care if I am connected for the other 3 hours of my waking day. When my current smart phone (1^st Gen. MyTouch Android) dies I will be downgrading my device and my plan.

Voice mail: I hate voice mail. I keep trying to convince my phone company to turn off my voice mail all together. Remember when it used to be an add-on? Why is it that now I cannot for the life of me turn the damn thing off? If you know me at all you know that I listen to my messages religiously once per quarter…or, if I’m feeling rebellious,every six months. Send me a text if I don’t answer the phone, don’t bother leaving a message unless it’s cool that I don’t listen to it until September.

Popcorn: I haven’t had popcorn since I was in junior high, and I don’t miss it. I like the smell well enough, I won’t gag at the movies or anything, but I have absolutely no desire to try it. None.

Let me explain:

When I was young my parents split up, my mom changed her name back to her maiden name and over the next 6 or 7 years I spent a lot of time hating my Dad. Yep, Lurch, the man I absolutely love and adore now and can’t imagine not having in my life. It’s a long story, a story I don’t want to get into; besides, this website doesn’t have the space to hold all the drama and emotion and turmoil. Suffice it to say, when I was eight I started using my mother’s maiden name and when I was 15 Lurch gave his official, notarized permission for me to legally change my name from Surname to LastName. As a side note, my identical twin sister kept Surname and my younger sister legally changed her name to LastName-Surname. Three biological siblings, three different last names. Your protestations of “But families should all share the same last name, otherwise it’s just so confusing!” will do absolutely nothing here. It’s not confusing to have kids who have different last names than their parents or other siblings. It’s not embarrassing or shameful, nor does it somehow make you less of a family. No, if anything, having a different last name than your parent, or your child, or your sibling is the most American thing you can do. Have you seen the statistics on this lately? If you have the same last name as, and are still living with both of your biological parents you are in the minority.

When I got married the first time I had no intention of changing my name to X’s name, a fact he had a bit of a hard time reconciling. Months later X’s father purchased plane tickets for us to visit him in the Midwest, and I was too scared to call and tell my father-in-law, keeper of X’sName, that my name his name was wrong. Instead I changed my driver’s license to reflect the name on the ticket so I could get on the plane, and that led to having to change my bank accounts and my social security card and everything else; the government doesn’t like it when everything doesn’t match.

The day my divorce was final I started the process of legally changing my name back to Heidi LastName (a process that was considerably more difficult and frustrating than changing from Heidi LastName to Heidi X’sName, I might add) and I vowed never to change it again, regardless of my marriage status. Frankly, I think if I change it one more time the state department will come looking for me thinking I am some kind of terrorist or criminal on the lam.

Anyway, with that kind of lengthy introduction, you may have already guessed that my reasons for not changing my name post-wedding are perhaps a bit more involved than may be expected. This not some flippant decision I have made in the last few months, it is not me stretching my feminist wings, nor am I trying to give Patriarchy a swift kick in the shins. My decision to be Heidi LastName is entwined in the very fabric of who I am, it is something I have thought about in a very serious way for over twenty years.

Twenty. Years.

I am not changing my name. I am not keeping my maiden name as a middle name and I am not hyphenating. J-Mo has a lovely, normal last name, it’s not impossible to pronounce or spell, it doesn’t have iffy undertones or a dirty double meaning or anything like that. Nor is Heidi Mo the name of some kind of convicted criminal or murderer. Frankly, this decision has very little to do with him or with us. Heidi Mo is just…it’s just not Heidi LastName. Heidi LastName is who I am and who I will always be.

Did you change your name when you got married? Do you plan to? Did you and wish you hadn’t? If you are one of the 3 male readers of this blog, do you have an opinion on a woman who doesn’t want to add your name to her driver’s license/passport/library card?

*Just to be clear, when the bank asks for your mother’s maiden name I don’t give them LastName, I have another code-word that I use in its place. (Also, when and where did this habit of using something that is PUBLIC RECORD as a “security question” for all your financial information begin!? You should ALL use a code word instead of your mother’s maiden name! “Batman” would be a more secure password, for heaven’s sake, at least it’s not something one would find through the ever-more-powerful Google!)

**I hesitate to mention this, but if you search for Heidi OneOfTheLastName’sIMayHaveHadOrAlmost HadAtOnePointOrAnotherInMyLife you may discover a true story about a woman close to my my age–A WOMAN WHO IS NOT ME!—who spent time in a Utah prison for manslaughter after being found guilty of the neglectful death/murder of her infant child. Yeah. I can’t make up that shit.

And then I remembered the probable culprit: I’m old.

I turn 29 today, without qualms or freak-outs or emotional anxiety. Just with the extra aches and pains that come from being old, or rather, older (and yes, for sitting in one position for approximately 11 hours yesterday, I should give myself a little slack here). I wish I could regale you of amazing stories about how I am launching into the last of my twenties with all cylinders blazing, no holds barred, and ready to rock and roll the rest of my life! Hell yeah!!!

…

Um, is it okay that I’m not feeling quite that ambitious? See, I woke up feeling like a steamroller had eaten me for breakfast, silently (or perhaps not so silently) grumbling at my alarm to please let me sleep for 20 more minutes, or at the very least, to shut up. I got ready and made breakfast and smiled as J-Mo groggily and adorably wished me a Happy Birthday. In fact, other than a terribly charming phone call with a chorus of little people singing “Happy Birthday” very nearly on-key, today has pretty much been like any other Monday. Tonight J-Mo and I are going out to dinner to a new restaurant, and I’m looking forward to that. But it seems, particularly the last few years, that my birthday is a fairly low-key event. I think I will have to throw an all-out bash next year to properly welcome my thirties. Hold me to that, will ya?

*Due to Leap Year, that number in the post title is correct, although it jogs me as wrong every time I look at it. Silly Leap Year.

I find that, in general, I do not miss being uber-connected all the time. I’ve stopped incessantly checking my email on my phone and looking for updates or new texts.

I also reduced the shows that I DVR. J-Mo and I recently signed up for Netflix Instant and while I spent a solid 30 minutes getting my list of shows and movies queued up…I haven’t starting watching them yet. Nope, not a one.

I spent a few hours cleaning out my fridge. And my freezer. And my pantry. I have been collecting cardboard boxes to sort, contain, label and stack remaining clutter. I think my closet will need to be next, and that whole thought both terrifies and…well…terrifies me.

I also desperately need to pare down my Google Reader. Right now I am subscribed to 521 blogs. Five-hundred-and-twenty-one. Holycrap. Yes, that needs to be reduced in a serious way.

I read somewhere that limiting electronic use for the hour before you go to bed helps you relax. As I have thought about it I realized that usually the hour before I go to bed is full of DVR, text messaging, video chat, email, reading up on blogs…the list goes on and on. I’m going to try to calm down and unwind instead of finish up the last few things before the day is over. Perhaps I should try reading a book before bed instead of reading blogs and texts and emails and everything else.

What does this all boil down to? I need to simplify my life. I need to spend more time and energy doing things that make me happy and less time doing things that complicate my life unnecessarily. I am reducing clutter, removing the electronic connectivity-clutter and trying to live more with less. That doesn’t mean that I am giving up blogging, because–and this post is a prime example–writing things down help me to process them, and the community of blogging is something that I really, truly love. (Hi community, I love you!) So, what does this all mean? Nothing. I’m not making a goal, I’m not amending my New Year’s Resolutions, I’m not filling up all vertical surfaces of my apartment with post-it notes reminding me to SIMPLIFY! SIMPLIFY! SIMPLIFY! Nope, I’m just trying to make a lifestyle change to make my life less chaotic. Of course, I will let you know how that goes, but for now, it’s just my new thing.

SIMPLIFY! SIMPLIFY! SIMPLIFY!

…Am I the only person who imagines Hermoine waving her wand and yelling this at an ugly pile of To-Do List failures? Yes? Okay.

I turned 28 this year, I don’t actually remember what I did on my birthday. But, the next day–which happens to be Valentine’s Day–was my second date with J-Mo. I told him he could come see me if it was just another Monday and not Valentine’s Day. He brought me cupcakes that he’d made himself. With sprinkles. Swoon.

While I did not go on any international vacations (yep, move that New Year’s Resolution into the “fail” column), I did visit three new states, four new National Parks (and five more return visits) and a gaggle of other places. I went to Phoenix for the annual booksale, I walked all over San Francisco, hiked Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park, wandered through The Devil’s Garden in Arches National Park. I rode on the back of a Harley through the desert.  I went to Montana for the first (and second, and third) time and fell in-love with the gorgeous mountains and laid-back living. I visited Yellowstone National Park for the very first time and pretended I was a real photographer. I visited (and feel I truly “discovered”) White Pine County, Nevada. I went to see an old roommate in Portland and knocked Oregon off my list of states to see. Before I started my final semester, J-Mo and I went on another motorcycle trip to Glacier National Park in Montana (trip #2!) and rode the amazing Going-to-the-Sun Road. This fall I went to Philadelphia, the birthplace of America, and the famous Mushroom Festival in Kennett Square, PA. On this trip I also made a quick detour through Delaware, making my states visited 36 of 50 (only 14 more to go!). Add two weekend trips to Phoenix to see family (no photos/no blog post), a road trip of beautiful scenery around Southern Utah, another weekend with J-Mo in Zion National Park to see the fall leaves, and then the most wonderful weekend imaginable in Bryce Canyon National Park. A trip back to Montana for Christmas rounded out my travels for 2011.

I read 18 books this year, which is not the 25 I was hoping for and certainly nowhere near the 60 I read last year, but I am happy with my number. I had a lot of other stuff to fill my brain with (ahem, 8 university classes and the required readings and assignments that go with them). The best book I read in 2011 was Half the Sky. It is not an easy read, nor is it fluffy, but it changed me forever. Check out my post detailing all the books I read this year for extra details.

I did not suffer any major illness, but I have the somewhat freakish, undiagnosed business going on in my chest. Hopefully 2012 will bring some resolution and peace on that front. I am still dealing with back/spine issues from the aftermath of my car accident almost four years ago. I have a sneaky suspicion my spine and hips just won’t ever be the same.

I fell in love with a boy, and I fell hard. J-Mo and I started dating in the early months of 2010 and got engaged in November. Our low-key, non-traditional wedding celebration will be this January. He is, hands down, the best match I could have ever imagined for myself. I have even started seeking out country music (I know, I know) because it reminds me of him. It’s a darn good thing J-Mo has decent taste in country music, no twangy bangoy business about missing your truck and your dog.)

I did not lose any weight, I didn’t even try.

My little sister gave birth to my new niece in November (can’t wait to meet her!) and several other friends and extended family members had new babies of their own, some in better circumstances than others.

I did not attend a funeral, although my grandfather is getting more and more frail. I don’t know if I will be so lucky for 2012.

I did not contribute significantly to my savings account, but I did pay off my student loan and my car. In February I tried a financial experiment to try and curb extraneous spending, not sure if I can feasibly do it again this year, but I wouldn’t mind trying.

Year after year, I find my largest expenses are for travel. I don’t operate on a massive consumption budget. I bought more shoes and more books in 2011 than I did in 2010, which isn’t saying much as I was employed for the entirety of 2011 and only half of 2010. Unemployment means no new shoes or new books. Except for a few “fill in the gap” items J-Mo and I will need, and hopefully a new mattress, I see 2012 going about the same way.

I wish I had done more pleasure reading (as in, not a textbook, don’t be gross), more cooking, and more exercising. I wish I’d spent less time on Facebook. Although, Mr. Zuckerburg’s recent changes have mostly eliminated my desire for it altogether. I’m kind of over social media, I’ve removed Twitter and Facebook from my phone, cleaned up my contact lists and locked down my security and privacy settings. Perhaps I’m paranoid, or perhaps I’ve just had enough.

The TV shows I managed to keep up with are Bones and Project Runway (although I’m kind of over Brennan being pregnant, I think it was a lame-sauce plot point. Angela was pregnant all last year and now Brennan is pregnant…I just want them to be smart and solve crimes, not talk about puking and breast feeding and stuff like that. I have enough blogs to cover that, thank you). I have recently fallen head-over-heels for Big Bang Theory. I think part of my brain assumes that listening to all those geeks and nerds talk about physics and…stuff…will somehow increase my IQ. So far it just keeps me up far later than I should be watching the DVR’d episodes back-to-back-to-back.

My biggest achievement this year was finally finishing my University degree, a Bachelor of Science in Economics. It has been a long, hard road, and I am absolutely THRILLED to be done with it. I honestly don’t really think it has sunk in quite yet, give me another few weeks.

My biggest failure…I’ve failed at a lot of things this year, but at this point I am over it. I’m sure I have let people down, hurt others unintentionally (and perhaps even intentionally), I’ve probably told less than the complete truth and purposefully omitted certain facts to spare myself some embarrassment. I’ve eaten too much chocolate and spent more money than I could have, but I don’t think of myself as a failure. I guess I failed at going on 2 international vacations, and I did not hike to the top of Mt. Timpanogos, I didn’t even try. So both of those things will go back on my resolutions list, however, “failure” seems like a pretty harsh label for something like that.

This year I think I finally realized how great my Dad is, growing up we had a strained relationship at best, but for the last ten years or so it has gotten better and better, and this year, in particular, I think it has really blossomed. He has been my biggest support, loudest cheerleader, and a really great friend. He’s like a trump card I keep in my back pocket, he has taken care of me for a long time and while I may not need him as much as I have in the past, I like knowing that he’s always going to be there. This is really new for me, and I’m surprised at how choked up I’m getting while writing this paragraph. You may have had your parent as a BFF when you were tiny, but for me I didn’t learn to really see or appreciate my Dad until well into my twenties. I’m glad it turned out this way, actually.

This year I was also surprised and embarrassed by the appalling behavior of others, and of one person in particular (who, I should note, is in no way related to me). I won’t go into much detail here, but her behavior is strikingly similar to something I’ve seen before. In fact, I had a front-row seat to this kind of ridiculous, immature behavior for quite a while. In the long run, things didn’t turn out so great the first time, and I really don’t see how it could possibly turn out the way she thinks it will this time. MB: you’re doing it wrong. Knock it off already before you screw yourself over for the next 10 (or 40) years. Or don’t, no skin off my nose. (Yes, I am being deliberately vague.)

Dates that stick out to me from 2011 are November 5, the day I got engaged to my sweetheart; November 23, the day I took a spontaneous, adventurous plunge; December 15, the day I discovered I passed all my classes and am officially a college graduate! (Wow, it’s been a good 2 months!)

My New Year’s Resolutions for 2010 were kind of hit and miss; some I kept, some I didn’t.  New ones will be made–per tradition–for Chinese New Year in a few weeks.

Life lessons for 2011:

1. It all works out in the end. If it hasn’t worked out, it isn’t the end.

2. Good things come to those who wait.

3. Always say “yes” to an adventure.

Last Christmas Day I was lounging on the sun deck of a cruise boat catching up on my reading.

Last Christmas I ate a delicious meal (one I do not remember precisely but can guarantee included chocolate cake).

Last Christmas was quiet. And lonely. And in some ways, desperately needed.

Last Christmas I realized I had probably lost one of my best friends, and while I was definitely not okay with it then, I am now.

Last Christmas I was, for all intents and purposes, alone.

*****     *****     *****     *****     *****

This Christmas was the fourth in a row that I have, more or less, skipped my own family’s traditions. Last year I was in Mexico, the year before that I was working 90 hours weeks and only had a day and a half off, the year before that I was in Seattle.

This Christmas was another departure from my own, personal, traditional Christmas morning.

This Christmas I spent the weeks leading up to it finishing up my last round of finals, working hard on some important office deadlines, last minute shopping (mostly online, thank you Amazon!), and a few holiday parties.

This Christmas J-Mo and I drove north to Montana to spend Christmas with his family.

This Christmas I read three books in four days (and started another) and reveled in my new-found Reading For Fun bliss.

This Christmas I was smushed into a cabin with 16 other people (9 of whom are of the pint-sized variety).

This Christmas I loved being able to help out in the kitchen, I have discovered that cooking for people makes me happy. Strangely enough, so does doing a lot of dishes. (Good thing too, because 17 people eat a lot and dirty a lot of dishes.)

This Christmas I was treated to the most amazing turkey I have ever had–it was wrapped in latticed bacon, people. I tell you, it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

This Christmas was not quiet. The Pint Sized People received, collectively, 2 karaoke machines, 2 iPods, a couple of wii games, 18,376 remote control cars/motorcycles/helicopters/tractors/Things That Go and a pogo stick. No, it was definitely not quiet.

This Christmas I spent a lot of time thinking about a handful of my closest friends and while I did not get the chance to talk to them all on Christmas Day, I have told them all in the last few weeks how much they mean to me.

This Christmas I realized even more how much I love J-Mo, how much better off I am with him in my life. I cannot wait until all the craziness from finishing school/making it through the holidays/planning a wedding settle down and we can just be together. You and me, babe.

This Christmas, and Christmases for the rest of my life, I will no longer be alone. Part of this security comes from finding and choosing an amazing man for a husband. But that isn’t all of it. Part comes from the handful of friends and family who will always be a constant in my life, the unconditional “no matter what” love we have for each other won’t diminish. But that isn’t all of it. The bulk of this realization comes from a the deep, constant, and life changing love I have for Jesus Christ. And, most importantly, the love He has for me. And that, right there, is what Christmas is all about.

Goodness, what a huge relief! Answers! They’re coming! And if that means going under the knife to get them I’ll do it, because ANSWERS! Hello!

(The only bad news is that (TMI Alert! As if the former paragraph wasn’t already TMI!) until cancer or any other major disease is completely ruled out, I cannot take birth control because the hormones could interfere with the upcoming rounds of tests. Which is fine, except for the part where I am currently set to start my period the day after I get married. So I’ll be all crampy and bloaty, doesn’t that sound lovely? What? I told you it was TMI! Don’t scrunch up your nose in disgust and act like I didn’t warn you.)

Anyway, I don’t have all the answers, but I feel really confident in Dr. A. When I told her how Dr. F had treated me and what my experience was like she visibly cringed, she apologized for his bad bedside manner and ensured me that she would do everything she could to make sure that I understood everything that was going on in my body, and that she answered all my questions, and that, in the end, we figure out what this thing is and take care of it. I almost hugged her even though I was still wrapped up in my super classy paper gown and everything. Weight from shoulders: lifted. I have a follow-up appointment in February, and I’ll be sure to let you know the next steps from there.

Again, a million thanks to all of you who offered support and a virtual (or literal) shoulder to lean on, cry into, and rant over; it means the world to me.