CAN I TELL YOU A SECRET?

You won’t tell?

Promise?

I got off work and had plans with Ashley. When I realized I was planning on being there hours ahead of time, I decided to do something I never do and, well, I. . .I went somewhere by myself.

WITHOUT TELLING ANYBODY.

I don’t know why I have that quirk – but I always tend to tell everybody where I’m going, at all times. Maybe it’s a trait my subconscious picked up when it realized I was directionally retarded, a safe-guard to make it so people could locate me when I’m stuck at the corner of Where the Crap is This and I’m Screwed. Because I pretty much feel that way when I even think about breaking down. I think the world is going to end and thank heavens my father made me put that 72 hour kit in my car and I’m grateful I never returned mom’s tent and sleeping bag because I’m all the sudden homeless.

(Breathe, it’s okay.)

But today I did it. I went somewhere far, far away without telling a single soul. Kind of like a date with myself, I planned on where I’d go, what I’d eat and what I’d do. And I stressed for .02 of a second about what I should wear before I realized I was already wearing it and couldn’t impress myself if I tried, and thanks to lasik I didn’t have to fuss with any makeup either.

I took photos on the drive and kept wondering why my photos were more blue on the camera than what I was seeing, and then I realized I was viewing life through rose-colored lenses.

No really.

I was.

Sidenote: Kevin bought me that necklace for Christmas and I haven’t taken it off since then because I love it and it reminds me of him.

There was the most beautiful sunset going on.

So beautiful that I almost skipped eating at my favorite place just so I could pull over and watch it. But Two Jacks Pizza called (okay, okay. I called them and ordered ahead so I could take it in my car with me, so nobody would see me eating all that food by myself and think I was a pig. Happy?).

And then I just drove, speeding on back roads with my hand out the window, screaming songs at the top of my lungs and wondering why I felt like the worlds greatest criminal. You’d think I’d done something illegal with all the adrenaline I had rushing through me at that moment. It was pure bliss.

It had been way too long since I’d just watched the sky be painted.

And twilight fall.

And night descend on the mountains I call home.

I drove until I found myself at Lincoln Beach boat harbor.

Then I snarfed my food and started taking photos. The lake was completely frozen but I was too chicken to walk out on it or even leave the warmth of my car.

But I was thinking of something tonight.

I’m used to being alone. For as long as I could remember, I’d take “me” time, where I’d turn off my phone and do whatever I pleased for a night. It usually involved strawberry frappachinos, bookstores, and countless hours at my moms house. I’d go visit my sister in Nephi all the time just for the excuse to have an hour to myself during the drive. But for the first time, being alone wasn’t fun. It wasn’t liberating, exhilirating, or exciting.

It was downright lonely.

I’m spoiled. Ever since I met Kevin, we’ve never spent a day – much less more than 12 hours – apart. That means for over 100 straight days, we’ve been constant companions, partners in crime going to auto shows for him and zoos for me. We always get asked if we get sick of each other, if we fight or need time alone. Trust me, I know what that point feels like, where after the first few hours with someone you want to pull out your hair and throw frying pans at their heads, and where I start daydreaming about my next break, my next “me” time.

We’ve never, ever hit that point (although I’m not naive enough to think that it couldn’t happen, but if it does we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it). Not when we first met and stayed up on IM until the early morning, not when we went to California and I was with him for five days straight. Not when we both have to drive to see each other even though we live four towns apart. He is my boyfriend, yes. But he is so much more than that. He is my best friend, my closest friend. He’s the one I turn to when I’m sad and the one who takes care of me when I’m sick. He does everything he can for me and still keeps trying to find a way to do more. He’s the only one I’ve ever believed when he tells me that I’m beautiful. He opens my door for me, texts me goodnight and surprises me by sending flowers to my work.

Essentially he is the epitome of what every girl dreams of dating when they’re little, and I’m lucky enough to have him.

And then I noticed something else.

A light.

A bright gold speck of dust on the other side of the lake that reminded me that’s where he’s at right now. A lake away from me, and I missed him. It’s not that I’ve lost the need for independence, it’s that I realized I don’t have to be completely alone to achieve that. He completes me, and I need him.

So I threw what was left of my food away, and drove back home where I belonged.

And true to form, he made time to see me late at night and bought me a donut.

A pink, heart-shaped donut.

LASIK HAS ALWAYS BEEN SOMETHING I’VE WANTED. I’ve worn contacts since I was in the beginning of eighth grade. So eight years ago.

EIGHT YEARS AGO.

Moment of silence please for my first, “I’m getting old” moment.

Thank you.

I finally looked into getting lasik last December. After staring into all these funky, high-tech machines they decided I was a good candidate and we set a date to get it done – January 28th. I was excited, and nervous as all get up. I mean, dude, it’s a laser. A beam of light, cutting into my eye, magically fixing it with all it’s beam of lightness and I have get to stay awake for the entire thing.

Let’s do this.

First I had to get my eyes dilated. They have to do that to enlarge my pupils to make sure there is still a brain in there making conscious decisions – or something. But getting your eyes dilated also means you wind up with super crazy Night Vision/Cat Eyes so you have to wear special shades all day.

The kind that come with a complimentary unibrow.

And kind of cool dark eyes.

You don’t think those photos are impressive until I tell you that I couldn’t actually see the camera. And my eyes stayed dilated for two days.

Night Vision/Cat Eyes have their trade-offs I suppose.

Surgery day came and Kevin went with me to document the event and be my chauffeur home. I was pretty excited.

They gave me a personalized name tag! (When are they ever non-personalized?)

And someone came in and scrubbed my eyes for me and gave me this fantastic bonnet.

They gave me a sedative and waited patiently for me to pipe down and shut up. Then the doctor came in, talked about how I’d see bubbles during the surgery – this appealed to me greatly – talked a little bit more about random things – something about a suction? Yea that’ll be important later – and then told me we’re good to go back to surgery.

Now. Here is where I type in bold.

IF YOU DO NOT LIKE CREEPY PHOTOS OF EYEBALLS THAT WILL MAKE YOUR EYES HURT, STOP HERE, CHECK BACK IN A FEW DAYS FOR A POST ABOUT DOGS OR SOMETHING. THE FOLLOWING PHOTOS DEPICT MY EYE SURGERY AND SUBSEQUENT BLOODSHOT EYES AND ARE NOT FOR WUSSES. BASICALLY IF YOU’VE NEVER SEEN AN EPISODE OF DR. G, GREY’S ANATOMY, OR ANY OTHER CREEPTASTIC HEALTH RELATED SHOW, LEAVE.

And make sure you come back on happier post days.

You’ve been warned.

Kevin was led to a two seat alcove where he could watch the entire surgery from a screen, while I was led back to a freezing room full of nice lady assistants. They gave me a blanket and a squishy star shaped stress toy. By now I could tell the sedative was working. I was still worried, but mostly just curious. They laid me down and told me they had to put the suction on my eye. Apparently the suction holds my eye in place so the laser can make a perfect flap. Then they flip this flap up, and shoot a different laser in my eye which corrects my vision. Then they push the flap back down and viola! Insta-eyes.

I was excited/nervous about the laser, but they kept saying stuff about this suction-thing.

Suction, shmucksion.

I’m tough as nails. I’ve had my tonsils out.

I was just wondering where the camera was. I wanted to give Kevin a big thumbs up, a look at me! I’m so tough. No big deal, I handle things like a champ type of a grin. I didn’t find out until after that the camera was in the machines they use, so the only thing he could see the entire time was my eye. MY FLINCHING, ITCHING, WATERING, FLESHY, SENSITIVE, PRECIOUS EYE BALL.

Sorry. I get a little teary when I think about my vision.

Back to the real story. They positioned the suction above my eye and lowered it on.

After an insane amount of pressure (but no pain due to numbing eye drops) they got the suction on, and well, suctioned. My vision went dark and that’s when Dr. Lady decided to say, “take the suction off”.

Um.

No.

No. No. No. You don’t do that to me and take it off. You do that and get it over with. She explained that while they had it perfect, they needed to reposition it because the machine didn’t like it.

Well you know what machine? Neither did I.

Then they decided they needed to stretch my eyelids open further, so they put a little metal device up under my eyelids and slowly pulled it open. It only looks painful. That part didn’t hurt.

The suction? Well. It sucked. A ton.

(HUZZAH that’s my second good joke of this post).

The photos below is the laser cutting the flap in my eye. The bubbles is where oxygen is getting under the flap.

Okay. Here’s my second disclaimer.

If you have a weak stomach or if you’re disturbed easily, don’t scroll further. I’m okay viewing it because I am weird…and because I know it’s my eye. If I’d have been shown this photo below prior to surgery, I probably would have yelled eff that or the mormon appropriate freak no and ran away screaming, cradling my boxes of contacts and cherishing them for life.

That’s the metal eye stretcher thingy. My eye is upside down because I’m laying down. The foggy part of my eye is the flap that’s just been created, and it’s 100% normal.

And 100% freaky.

This next photo is a little freakier, because the doctor is putting a sharp object under the flap of my eye to lift it. Looks bad, but it didn’t hurt one bit.

This is the laser locking in on my eye to fix it. My eye appears grainy because that’s how your eye looks underneath I guess.

After staring at a blinking light (the laser) for twenty seconds, they pushed the flap back down, rinsed my eyes out, stood me up, walked me out and handed me to Kevin.

“I don’t know how in the hell you just did that,” was the first thing he said to me. To be quite honest, I don’t know how I did either. All I knew is I couldn’t see worth a darn, it looked like I was looking through a foggy window pane, or a used milk cup. When before I’d dreamed about reading and blogging when I got home, my thoughts changed to sleeping or clawing my eyes out with rusted nails. They hurt.

They hurt real bad.

(Enough of the bad jokes. But my lips are chapped right now and they do hurt real bad. But I’m scared of the dark. I’ll just stick to blogging).

Now you’d hope this has a happy ending, that I’d wake up and exclaim, “I can see!!!” for the whole world to hear. And you’re right, I can see. I can see so darn good. I can see the alarm clock in the morning like I’ve always wanted, I can see cars at night. I can see Kevin when he’s sitting across the room from me, I can see everything.

Do you wanna see something?

Really?

Okay. I’ll show you.

That’s my left eye post-op.

And this is my right.

Is that a wrinkle I spy?! Just kidding. I had to tug on my cheek pretty darned hard to get that shot, since my eyes were sensitive and I still couldn’t see very well. The blood is normal, apparently the suction sucks so bad (man, does it ever) that it breaks the blood vessels on your eye.

It rocks.

It’s just too bad I didn’t do this around Halloween, those red eyes would have made the perfect zombie get-up.

I HAVE A QUESTION.

Is it too late to blog about Christmas? I mean, it’s been almost a month, but I have a video to share with you.

Yes it’s of my niece, and the times that it’s not her, it’s of my dog. The one video I did of me turned out so weird that I can’t bear to watch it – it’s like hearing myself on a tape recording, or watching videos of me when I was five. Just awkward.

Scratch that last part about the videos of me when I was five. We actually don’t have ANY videos of me when I was growing up.

I was a neglected child.

*start pity music*

Anyway, Aspen is a non-neglected child and she got just what she asked for for Christmas – a barbie car. Her reasoning? “Bennie ate my Barbie car, I need a new one!” The video below is her reaction when she opened the present.

Ash, I hope you don’t mind me posting it. I did so because your Blogger account was being lame and I’m a nerd that lives in a basement and still plays WoW cool and have my own lame website that my mom doesn’t even read domain.

I SKIPPED MADE ME LAUGH MONDAY BECAUSE I HAD NOTHING FUNNY.

Whoa boy, was I ever wrong on that account. I had something absolutely hilarious happen to me tonight, and that is how I almost set the kitchen on fire. I almost set the KITCHEN on FIRE.

Kevin and I have a favorite food called Chicken Roll ups. It’s chicken mixed with cream cheese and butter, wrapped in croissants and rolled in breadcrumbs. Pure deliciousness. Well, I decided to be Little Miss Helpful – a recipe for trouble all on it’s own – and preheat the pan he was going to use to cook the chicken, so I poured in some vegetable oil and cranked the heat up to high. But I forgot to turn the heat down before I moved on to the next task, MULTITASKING FOR THE WIN, and the next second I turn around to find the entire back side of my kitchen covered in smoke that was rising from the burning fluid. So naturally, I did what any freak of nature would do and I grabbed the pan and turn off the burner.

What was left of the oil instantly turned into flames.

At this point, it was safe to say it was a two foot high, spitting, hissing fire, in a pan that was half a foot away from me. I yelled “Babe!” which is a much better alternative to the unladylike words that easily could have slipped out instead, and I rushed the pan to the sink.

Mistake number one: leaving a pan of vegetable oil on a hot stove. Mistake number two: Putting the pan – which was now on fire, under a constant stream of cold water.

Yea.

Don’t do that.

Wanna know why?

Because you wind up with a flame that goes from a measly two foot flicker to a four foot roaring fireball straight up to the ceiling…while you’re still holding it. And you can say it, I’ve said it plenty of times. I’m surprised those ugly, 1970’s curtains didn’t catch on fire in the process.

I was pretty much lost for what to do at this point. Stop, drop and roll don’t really work unless YOU are on fire.

“Take it outside,” Kevin opened the door and covered his face with his arm as I walked past, awkwardly holding the pan out at arms length. I stood for a good two minutes like that, arm outstretched trying to figure out how to get this pan to stop hissing at me. I finally guessed the cold pavement would be my best bet, so I dumped the remaining fluid in the middle of the driveway and fell to my knees by it.

“Are you okay?” Kevin asked from the bottom of the stairs. I shook my head no and realized I was shaking all over. The odd noise I could hear was coming from me. It was somewhere between a laugh and a half-sob. He wrapped me in a hug and then coaxed me back inside to survey the damage. The entire downstairs was coated with a thick, nasty smoke that burned our eyes and noses. We used blankets to attempt to air it out. It’s one of those smells I’m sure will stick around for weeks. “We’re lucky it didn’t spread…Gram’s has oxygen tanks! Boom! But in the end, nothing can replace a life. I’m just glad we’re all okay.”

I was busy at this point taking photos of the damage and also of this warning label.

“But you got to admit…” he added a few minutes later as we both flapped blankets in the middle of the kitchen, “this’ll make for an awesome Twitter post!”

Postnote: I may have ruined our appetites and scared us a bit, but thankfully in my own defense I didn’t ruin dinner.

I just made him cook it.

Post-Postnote:

I have a confession to make, Internet. On Christmas Eve I came home to realize I’d left my hair straightener on all day, only two inches away from the wall. It left a burn mark on the counter (MOM I’M SORRY AND I GOT THE MARK OFF *thank you Magic Erasers*).

This all goes to prove that I shouldn’t be allowed to use electronics of any type, specifically those that generate heat.

Send help.

WE HAD A SWING SET IN THE BACKYARD GROWING UP. And I think out of all us girls, I appreciated it the most. My special spot was right up on the top – the one spot kids normally shouldn’t climb to. If I were stressed, worried, or upset I’d run outside, climb my way up to the top and perch like a cat for hours. I felt invincible there, like nothing on this Earth could touch me. I pondered things a lot from my roost.

As I sat last April on a Hoodoo in Bryce Canyon, I had that same reflective feeling. I never could have guessed that I’d grow up this way.  But who ever does? Is there ever a point that you think, “that happened just as I planned when I was 10″? I never would have thought I’d be the person I am today, surrounded by the people that I love most, doing a job I enjoy. I’m glad things didn’t turn out as I’d expected.

There is a lot I don’t blog about. Breakups* are one of them. I want my blog to be an escape for the reader as well as myself. But there are times when I don’t have something cute, or funny, or exciting to post about, and all I need to do is just write out how I’m really feeling. The snippet below is from one of those times, on September 18th, about a month before I’d broken up with Dale.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to walk away from problems and issues. To be able to say, “I’m done” and leave, pick up a new life and move on. Some days I want that. I was upstairs with Grams when we had a long talk about the reasons why I’m okay with NOT being married right now (after dating for two years).

“I like my freedom,” I defended quite confidently.

“What freedom? Freedom my dear, is the ability to pack up and go, to hitch hike to Wyoming, to do whatever you feel when you feel it! What you have is not freedom. Sure, you might have a degree of it, but you’re not truly free. You’re bound by obligations – work, school, Dale. You don’t take the time to let yourself be free.”

It was that instant, when her eighty year old eyes locked onto mine with the fire of someone young at heart, with the passion of someone who knows the value of life, and with the urgency to instill a thousand meanings at once, that I realized she was right.

I’m not an accomplished person, you see.

I’ve failed myself.

And although it felt better to write that out, I never did post it. It didn’t belong on my happy little blog. But it’s not the words that didn’t belong, it’s the feeling of unhappiness and disappointment that accompanied it, that created it. I was not a happy person.

So why now? Why would I share something so deep, so personal and from so far back?

I want to remind myself to be this girl.

The girl who can learn from others, and not stress, and not worry about things. I want to live life and take the time to appreciate everything I have been given. I am so very very blessed and I don’t want to take that for granted. I tend to stress too much, whine when I have no need, get frustrated too easily, give up to fast. And you know what? Life is just too short.

So I encourage you to go.

Climb Hoodoos. They are great for reflecting.

Just remember, it’s easier to climb up if you’re looking forward with anticipation and not back with regrets.

*Post Note: No I am not/will not/have not broken up with Kevin. We are doing great, he is included in the “surrounded by people I love” part and he’s one of the many blessings I count in my life every day, along with having amazing immediate family (Ash and Aspen, as well as the other 3/4ths of my family who don’t read this blog), amazing extended family (Grandma B and Rach, you are awesome, thank you for always reading and commenting), great friends (shout out to Kamie) and a good dog who is currently sleeping on my lap. Thank you to every single one of you, family, friends, blog friends. Thank you for making me who I am today, and for encouraging me to be whoever I may want to be tomorrow.

ON NEW YEAR’S EVE, KEVIN TOOK ME TO SALT LAKE CITY. They had a party going on called Eve, where there was guaranteed to be snowboarding, ice skating and hot cocoa.

We parked and walked around looking for food. And I don’t know if it’s just me, but the City is a completely different place on foot. But I get lost anywhere. I get lost on a car, on a boat, on a train, in a plane…

We hunted for food while I made him stop every ten feet so I could take another picture of another building. He was starving. And cold. And hungry. And did we cover hungry? Let’s just say he’s got a lot of patience when it comes to putting up with me.

I was taking a photo of the SLC Temple from across the road when a man in a top hat behind us tried to cajole Kevin into going inside Zions Bank.

“Happy New Years! Step inside here for a minute.”

“No, we’re okay.”

“No seriously come inside.” He pointed in the Bank.

“Emmm we’ll pass. Do you know where we can get some food?”

“Come on in! We have eclairs!! ECLAIRS!!!” A new guy waltzed out of the building and opened the door for us.

“What the heck is an eclair? I just want real food. Where around here can we eat?” I knew Kevin was losing the battle when the guy grabbed him buy the front of the shirt and tried to pull him in.

“Look. Just at least come in for a glow stick,” he tried a last ditch effort.

“You have GLOWSTICKS!?” We said at the same time,  and hurried inside for our treasures. Are we the only 20 year olds that still think glowsticks are cool?

Thankfully the guy was nice enough to tell us afterwards where we could find food, and it turns out we’d walked a big loop around it.

We ate at a small, clean looking shop called the Bayleaf Cafe. “This place is trendy” Kevin whispered to me like it was a secret. And I agreed. It was trendy – not so much that there were weirdos and hippies. It was trendy in the sense that I felt like I was in New York, so I pretended to be for a few minutes. And I took even more photos while we waited.

“I’m so hungry I could punch you!”

Just kidding. He didn’t say that.

After we were full we walked back to the “Eve” event where people were snowboarding.

And people were singing.

And others were ice skating (I saw a guy who split open his head from falling. Yea. I’ll pass). We also saw some girl point at a lady wearing flashing glasses and scream,

“Hey look!!! It’s Jean Luc Picard!”

“Excuse me?” The lady stopped and asked.

“Your husband, he looks just like Jean Luc Picard – you know, from Star Trek?”And with that last part, the husband and wife couple stomped away, but Kevin and I had to admit that he did, in fact, look just like Jean Luc Picard and we were laughing our heads off.

We rode the Trax over to The Gateway mall, where they have the coolest tree I’ve ever seen.

On the Trax ride back, Kevin pointed out a guy with a tear-shaped tattoo under his eye. “That means he’s killed someone.”

“Really?” I whispered in horror.

“Yep really,” he looked down at me and chuckled.

“I don’t wanna be on train no mo!” I pouted. The guy with the tattoo was giving the couple ahead of us directions and wishing them well as we unloaded. “That’s the nicest murderer I’ve ever met,” I said in all seriousness, which made both of us laugh. We didn’t even realize where we were until Kevin spotted a certain someone.

It’s our local news lady!

And her green screen!

And that other lady! (I’m so good with names, aren’t I?)

By this point we were cold and started hunting for hot chocolate. I didn’t like mine and threw it away in favor of a strawberry frappachino.

Happy 2010 everyone!