31 for 31

Happy Monday!

I turned 31 on Friday. Please don't sing "Happy Birthday." The only reason I don't post my birthday on Facebook is because I avoid that song like the plague. I hate it. HATE IT. Have you ever noticed the more people involved in singing it, the more out of tune everyone is? What is that about?

Anyway, as much as I would have loved to do a second year of good deeds to match my age, I was working (saving days off for my honeymoon) and really did not have the budget. However, I did come up with an idea to celebrate my 31 years of age and, um, wisdom.

So, here you go. Thirty-one of my personal tips and tricks I've collected throughout the years.

Why I like Myers-Briggs

Last year, as part of my obsession with immersion into all things The Art of Simple (formerly Simple Mom), I listened to Tsh's podcasts on my commute to and from work. One of the topics she talked about was Myers-Briggs personalities.

I took a little psychology in high school, but I had never heard of Myers-Briggs. I decided to take a test to find out what my type was. I assumed the personalities wouldn't be that much different and it was possible this was another pop-psychology personality test. Like those quizzes in magazines in which I would usually find myself answering with all Bs and the answer key would tell me I am smack-dab in the middle of everything. Yawn. Oh, but I was wrong. And learning about Myers-Briggs and my personality type has actually helped me dramatically in finding out more about how I function, as well as how I thrive in certain environments and feel uncomfortable in others.

Simply listening to a wonderful Christmas song (Why I Like "Wonderful Christmastime")

Something happened between last year and this one. I don't know what the sociological shift was, but it made everyone decide they *hate* Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Chirstmastime." Maybe they already hated it, though. But it was this year it seemed those people decided to post about it on social media. At least once a week, a status would pop in my feed about hating the song. Even my beloved Simple Mom posted about it. It was as if my friends realized, "OK, YOLO (or some other Carpe Diem-esque statement), I can now admit that I don't like something one of The Beatles did without looking like an ignorant child saying I hate mommy and daddy's music generation."

To those people, all I can say is, "Come on! That's your least favorite Christmas song? Really? Of everything out there?"

Holidays don't have to equal stress

Some tips I've accumulated over the years to cut down the holiday stress. Some are wholesome, some not so much ...

Beating SADD

The Lights at Virginia Beach, where the fiance and I
went for Thanksgiving.

I felt my seasonal grumpies start in October, of all things. There's been a lot of stress at work and at home while we slowly moved into our house. I lost about 40 minutes a day in the car because my commute is longer. I was pretty busy when November hit and I kind of took it one day at a time to try to make myself happy anyway I could (Read: Goodbye, diet. Hello comfort food.)

Once the end of November hit, while most people complained about how early people were pushing Christmas, I was happy to see decorations up. I had remembered my trick last year to staying positive.

31 Days: "Does anybody remember laughter?"

When was the last time I laughed?

I asked myself this question yesterday midway through my shift at work. And I couldn't answer that question. It could have been that morning over something silly my boyfriend did. Or it could have been the day before with some coworkers. But I honestly couldn't remember having a "fit of laughter" in some time. At least not one memorable enough to look back on and laugh about later.

Actually, that's not true. I did get reminded of the "Saturday Night Live"  with Will Ferrell and Norm McDonald in a "Celebrity Jeopardy" skit in which McDonald plays Burt Reynolds and changes his name to Turd Ferguson. Something about that skit made me laugh uncontrollably at my desk last week and I couldn't stop. THAT'S the last time I memorably laughed.

(Until a few minutes ago when I decided to find the clip of that to post and ended up laughing so hard, I began coughing, a leftover side effect from my recent cold.)

It's good to know I have at least one trigger to incite my laughing. And, after watching that clip, I took stock of how I felt after. My shoulders let go of some of the tension; my mouth perked up on the sides, as if expecting to laugh again; my mind seemed less focused on "I must, I must, I must get this blog post written" and more on "What else is going to make me laugh this month?"

Here's where the challenge comes in.

Less is more: Cleaning out my closet

I'm currently reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. One of her tasks was a major wardrobe downsizing. Between her and (the love of my life) Tsh of SimpleMom, I had heard the phrase "You only wear 20 percent of your clothes 80 percent of the time."

Considering how my laundry was piling up, I could have probably just gotten rid of anything that wasn't in the laundry basket, since I seem to always look in my closet and have "nothing to wear." But I still decided to take L.'s nap time to reorganize the disaster closet. 

The "nothing to wear" closet.

Getting to know ... me

This being my 18th post, I guess I should do an introduction of sorts. Also, being a fan of Simple Mom and, especially, the Simple Mom Podcast, I feel it would only be appropriate to answer Tsh's questions she asks her guests at the end of every podcast.

(Please let me know when I'm turning into a scary Simple Mom groupie. I fear I'm almost at that level.)

"Tsh, Simple Mom, I love you.
I loooooooove yooooou!"

So, before I turn into this stalker praying mantis, let's get started.

What it's like at the end of the tunnel

So many people told me there was a light at the end of the tunnel. The thing was,  I was so used to being in the tunnel, I was used to it. It wasn't until a few days ago when I found myself "accidentally" dieting and being conscious of getting more movement into my daily routine did I realize I was finally in that light at the end of the tunnel.

The boyfriend and I recently celebrated being together for a year. The exact date is really unknown since I began staying with him only a few days after L.'s father and I agreed a divorce would be best. It started out as a gesture of friendship. I was uncomfortable at "home" and he and I worked the same shift and we were fond of each other's company. I had my grieving period, and it was a rather weird transition into a relationship from there.

I kept a lot of emotions to myself. I was able to rationalize myself down off temporary emotional cliffs. But every so often, something would set me off. And that's when the boyfriend would hold me. He wouldn't tell me everything would be alright; instead, he told me "things aren't always going to seem as bad." It was exactly what I wanted to hear. I was exactly what I NEEDED to hear.

Attempting to be hipsters with our glasses, PBRs and Instagram.
All of which we, actually, somewhat enjoy. But not ironically.

Simple Mom, take me away!

About a month ago, I was in a rut. Not even a rut of boredom. It was a hectic rut. My anxiety levels were through the roof. Sleep, which is when the sub-conscious is supposed to file all those thoughts and memories into neat little folders for me, wasn't as efficient as it usually was. I kept just feeling like I was barely hanging onto sanity.

The only time I was able to focus on anything was when I gave my 110% to L. And then, I realized that meant I wasn't giving anything to myself. I was in a mental place where I felt like I didn't deserve it. I had let any idea of a diet fly out the window because I couldn't afford to eat well. My bills were paid exactly on their due date because of an e-mail reminder, and the ones with automatic withdrawl usually weren't accounted for in my head so I would overdraw my account. (Luckily, thanks to "Friends," I put 10% of my paycheck into a savings account, but by the end of the two weeks after getting paid, I usually have transfered most, if not all of that, over to my checking account.)

My only form on entertainment for myself were podcasts I began listening to in the car to and from work. I had gotten sick of the radio. And I don't just mean the Top 40 stations since those don't even have a preset in my car. But I mean my alternative station wasn't any good anymore. My oldies station just wasn't playing music that I felt fit my mood, even NPR was just too much, especially after working at a newspaper for eight hours and the last thing I wanted was to hear about the news I just had to read about.