Mason County Strikes Again!

Mike Armstrong, a comedian billed as a hilarious ex-cop, was scheduled to perform this weekend at Mason City Limits, a local comedy club.  Adam, myself and our friends Randy and Keri decided to check it out.

We sat along the side wall, and some random dude on the other side of Keri started a very random and very odd conversation.  I think he ended up talking mostly to himself, as neither Keri nor I showed the slightest bit of interest in his completely one-sided dialogue about all the comedians he's seen and where he saw them.  Who cares, right?

At this point, the show was getting ready to start so we figured it was a good time to avoid the random redneck and use the restroom before anyone came on stage. 

You know it's going to be a great night when, right after you leave for the restroom, the Chatty Kathy says loudly enough that both your husbands hear, "Whew!  I'm gonna have to take my wedding ring off!"

Stay classy, Mason County.

Lasik Lowdown

Most of you know that I had LASIK surgery on Tuesday.  I've gotten a lot of questions about whether the procedure hurt, how it works, how much it costs, etc.  So I'm going to answer all the questions right now.  Before I start, I should say that I don't think any of this is gory or overly graphic, but if you have a really weak stomach, you might want to pass on this blog. 


The first step is to meet with a doctor and discuss whether you're a good candidate for the surgery.  This is based on your age, how long you've been in glasses/contacts, what your prescription is and how long that prescription has remained constant.  For example, I'm 27, I've had glasses since I was 10, contacts since 13, my prescription was -3.5 in my left eye and -4 in my right eye.  I've had that prescription for at least 3 years.  All those things combined made me a good candidate for LASIK.


If you decide to go ahead with LASIK, and you are a full time contacts wearer, you have to be out of your contacts for at least 2 weeks before the surgery.  The reason for this is that contacts act sort of like a girdle for your eyes, holding everything in place...then when you're out of contacts for awhile, things sorta fall back to where they would normally be...and this can change your prescription and, therefore, how much needs to be surgically corrected with LASIK. 

Two to five days before your surgery, you have to get your eyes dilated.  That just involves some drops and an eye exam.  The reason for this is they need to measure the size of your pupils.  One of the reasons a lot of people don't like LASIK, especially younger people, is because they tend to have halos at night, especially while driving.  This is usually because when you're younger,  your pupils are naturally larger, and regular LASIK's first step is to use a blade to cut a flap in your cornea...this doesn't leave a visible scar, but there is a scar.  When your pupil dilates past the point of that scar, that's when you have the halos.  I didn't want to deal with that, especially since I have "above average large pupils."  So I went to a doctor (Scott Pinter at Eye Surgical Associates in Bloomington) who exclusively uses a procedure called Intralase.  It uses a laser the entire time, and this is supposed to eliminate the halos. 

The day of your surgery, you take 2 Advil an hour before your surgery, then you come into a regular room, they give you some numbing eye drops, and you hang out for a little while until they kick in.  Some doctors give you a sedative as well, but Eye Surgical Associates doesn't, because the surgery is so fast that by the time the drugs kick in, the surgery is over.  Then you walk into the surgery room, which is pretty plain, a bunch of machines, a bunch of nurses, and a bed, very similar to a dentist's chair but flat.

Once they have you situated on the bed, they put a little ring around your eyeball to cut off the blood vessels temporarily.  You stare straight ahead at a little red light, and before you know it, the laser is cutting the corneal flap.  It doesn't hurt at all, but this is probably the "worst" part of the entire surgery.  It feels like a little pressure, that's all.  Then they do the same thing to your other eye.  After both eyes have flaps cut, they take the little ring off, and put this device onvto hold your eyelids open, which I thought (before the surgery) would be the worst part but, in reality, I barely noticed it.  Then they have to flip back the flap with this little tool.  It doesn't hurt, even though it sounds like it would.  There are nurses there the entire time, one holding your hand, and at least one or two telling you what they're doing at every step, throughout the procedure.  It's nice to know what's coming up, even though there's nothing you can do about it.  Flipping back the flap is probably the second "worst" part, because while they're doing it, you have to hold your eye still, looking at the red light again, but once they start moving that flap, it looks like that red light is moving all over the place, so it's a very similar feeling to being drunk and having the spins.  I thought that I might throw up because I was so dizzy.  For some reason, it was only like that on my right eye though, the left eye was totally fine.  Once the flaps are flipped back, they can begin the laser surgery.  You don't feel a thing while that laser is going, you just stare at the dang red light again until it's over.  They even count backwards for you so you know how many more seconds the laser has left.  The only thing I noticed about this part of the procedure is a slight burning hair smell...and when I say slight, I mean the laser was almost done before I noticed anything, and I laid there thinking..."hmm, I think I smell something, what's that?  Oh...that's probably my EYE THEY'RE BURNING OFF! Oh boy." 

Once both eyes are done, they put the flaps back down, put some lubricant drops on them and then let them dry for a minute.  After that, they help you sit up and you're done.  Literally, the whole procedure took maybe 10-12 minutes...and most of that was flipping the flaps back at the beginning and putting them back down at the end.  The actual laser was only on for 31 seconds on my left eye and 34 seconds on my right eye...so barely over ONE MINUTE.  I cannot express to you how bizarre it is to think that my whole life of glasses and contacts is gone, over, done, in ONE MINUTE.  One minute can change your life!

When you sit up, it's a little foggy, sort of like you've been in a hot shower too long...but you can see!  I thought I was going to break into tears when I sat up and I could make out the nurse's face!  Never in my life, even when I knew I was having LASIK, did I imagine I would ever be able to just sit up and see, without glasses or contacts! 

I walked on my own, all the way back to the examining room we started in, they took a quick look at the corneas, explained my new eye drop regimen (FOUR sets of drops, one once an hour to keep your eyes from being dry, one once and hour to help reduce swelling, one 4 times a day as an antibiotic to prevent infection, and one more one-time-only that day, that's basically a super lubricant), gave me some goggles that I had to wear 24/7 until I saw them for my next-day check up, and I went home.

You go home, sleep for about 3 hours, hang out, watch TV, check your email, whatever you want.  You can do anything!  It's amazing!!!!!

The next morning, I had my post-op checkup, which was really quick and easy.  The doctor said I was doing "fantastic" for less than 24 hours after surgery, and after testing my vision with the normal eye chart, he pronounced that I can now see 20/15.  Before surgery I was seeing 20/420.  Quite an improvement, I'd say!  :) 

I do still have a little bit of a glow around brightly lit objects, but there's less and less every day, and they tell me it will eventually go away, as my cornea stops swelling. 

I recommend this surgery to anyone and everyone who can get it.  Do it now.  You won't regret it!

Save the Grandmas, Save the World!

Thank you all for your patience while I totaled up the Blogging for Betty site hits, comments, facebook friends and followers.  I had every intention of posting this blog on Monday, but I forgot that I'd have a crap load to do that day since my LASIK surgery was the next day. 

I will post later with a full blow-by-blow of the LASIK procedure, as the surgery details seem to be a popular topic of conversation lately.  Bottom line, I am seeing 20/15 less than 24 hours after LASIK.  If that's not an endorsement, I don't know what is. 

Back to our charitable donation totals!  Your efforts really paid off for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk for the Cure.  Thanks to all of you, we raised $78.84!  Quite a bit more than I thought, but that's a great thing! :)  And, just to make it a solid round number (our accountant likes those!), I'll chip in a little extra and make it $80! 

Once again, my faithful readers surprise and amaze me!  The donation will be made today to 3-Day Walk for the Cure and, since every little bit helps, I hope to do this again next year.  Save the Grandmas!

Blogging for Betty: The Grand Finale

WARNING: This may be a tearjerker.

First, I want to start by saying thank you to all of you who became Facebook friends w/ this blog, "liked" this blog and commented on this blog for the past month+ of Growing on Goofy's 1st charitable endeavor: Blogging for Betty.  It means the world to me and my family that so many people care.

I struggled for most of this event, trying to figure out how to best sum it up.  How do you sum up the life and influence of one of the central figures in your life?  Well, my conclusion is...you don't! 

Anyone who has lost a grandparent, especially a same-sex grandparent who was a central figure in your life, knows how difficult it is.  You feel as though part, if not all, of your childhood dies with them.  And even though it's usually inevitable that your grandparents pass away before you, it still sucks.  I hesitate to say that it's worse when the death is unexpected (you can't say goodbye) or unpreventable (horrible diseases like cancer) than it is when old age simply claims them, but it's safe to say it's different. 

Our family experienced both ends of the spectrum.  One grandmother came out of brain surgery awake and talking, only to pass shortly after.  The other, of course, fought for over a year to rid her body of cancer, and ultimately lost that fight. 

I'd like to sum up this Blogging for Betty event by writing about how my life has changed since her passing. 
Yesterday, my sister and I realized that when she gets engaged/married, when either of us have kids, basically any major future life event...there will be no grandma to call.  No grandma to get advice from about crazy bridesmaids, your kids, your marriage, your LIFE.  Kristin and I were fortunate to always have "Grandma 911" when we were younger.  "Grandma 911" is when we kids got frustrated with our parents "not listening to/understanding" us, we could always call Grandma, and she would listen/understand and give advice accordingly (whether we asked for it or liked it, or not.  More often...not. :))  So, to the grandparents of our future children, I'd like to say, STAY HEALTHY.  I want my kids to have a Grandma 911 too. :) 

Little things are different too...not always sad things.  I pay more attention to rainbows and butterflies.  I trust my instincts more often.  I'm closer to my mom and other female relatives now.  I cry easier...but only because I have everything I want...and I appreciate it so much more now that I know what it's like to have the people and things you love taken away.

Like I said, you can't sum up the life of someone like Grandma Betty.  You can't close the door on her death as if it's just another chapter.  But what you can do is remember that her spirit, and the spirits of all the grandmas that have gone before her, remain alive, even if only in our hearts. 

I'm counting all site hits, friend requests and comments through the end of today, what would have been Grandma's 72nd birthday.  I will try to post the end result, which will be donated to the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk for the Cure, by the beginning of next week.  Thank you all again, for everything.

Skid Goes to Canada

People always ask me if Adam ever gets offended by me blogging about his adventures.  The answer is no.  Believe it or not, I never publish anything without asking him, and usually reading it to him, first.  He might do some crazy stuff, but I'm not a jerk.  So rest assured, the following story is rated AA, Adam Approved. 

Adam's dad is turning 60 this year, and for his birthday, Adam's mom planned a really cool 7 day fishing trip in Canada.  No girls allowed.  (No worries, there is nothing about 17 hours of driving, outhouses or mosquitoes the size of a fist that appeals to me!)

Adam is notorious for being an "efficient packer," however that is partially due to his tendency to underestimate the amount of things you will actually need on your trip.  He suggested that I help make a packing list so he wouldn't forget anything.  Ok, sure, sounds reasonable...until we sit down to make the list.  Keep in mind, I've never been to Canada, never been on a fishing trip, etc. 

Me: Ok, so let's start with the basics.  Underwear.  You're gone for 7 days, so that means you'll need 7 pairs.

Adam: What?  7?  Why?
Me: (Silence)  Um...why not?
Adam: Well, whatever, I'm only packing 5. 

(Anyone beginning to see why I wasn't too sad to be missing out on this shindig?)

As he is loading the car, I realize his packing includes: 5 pairs of underwear for 7 days, 12 rolls of toilet paper and he's mad because his new Playboy has not come in the mail.  I'm like...are you going fishing or spending a week in an outhouse?  But I digress.

In the Canadian woods, there is obviously no cell phone reception, so this was the first time in our relationship that I didn't hear from him for more than a day.  That was a little tricky, but booooooooy am I glad.  The following story is worth it.

The boys arrive in Canada.  Adam meets the Canadian man who helped organize the trip on their end, for the first time.  And after 17 hours of driving, really, whose first question upon meeting someone for the first time wouldn't be "Uh, where's the restroom?" 

This is the shirt Adam was wearing while making his "special" first impression:

In case you can't read it, it says "Merry Christmas, Shitter Was Full."  (For those of you not in the know, that's a line from Christmas Vacation.)

Adam uses the restroom, comes out, and (while wearing said shirt) has to find his Canadian contact and report that he is in need of a plunger...because the "shitter was full."  The poor Canadian man was quite embarrassed and sent Adam off to the kitchens to track down two women who could help him locate the plunger.  He found one, and remedied the situation, but I think he ended up being the most embarrassed one there.  After Adam came home, he told me he didn't think he'd be wearing that shirt anymore, as it's "cursed."

Hate to break it to you, honey...it's not the shirt. :)   

On their way home, he called me from the road, just to let me know they were all alive and uninjured.  Thinking I was being funny, I asked him if he ran out of underwear.  He not only didn't get the joke, but reported that he actually still had an extra pair. 

Ladies, hands off!  He is MINE! :)

You Might Be a Redneck If...

I'm not in the burbs anymore. 

Last week, I woke up at 6:45 AM, because the dog was in the yard, barking like a maniac.  I realize most people reading this are probably thinking "So what?  Dogs bark."  Perhaps.  But not this dog.  And not this loudly or viciously.  In a way, that's the guard dog you hope for, right?  The one whose every bark means something is awry? 

Adam went outside to check out the situation, came back in and told me to put my glasses on because I was "not going to want to miss this."  Our vicious attack dog was right.  Something was awry. 

There was a horse in the front yard.

A HORSE. 

It had no saddle, no rider, no owner...just a stray horse, munching on our lawn like it owned the place. That is, until Bella's barking spooked the horse and he began to walk down the street towards the main drag.  I had no idea what to do, initially.  My first thought was to call the pound...until I remembered we don't have a pound. 

I thought perhaps some of our horse-owning friends might recognize the horse, or at least know what to do, so we called them and they called around as well.  Nothing.

Eventually I called the County Sheriff, because I was out of other options and I was afraid either the horse would get hit and injured, and/or someone would be injured hitting the horse.  Sure enough, I'm put on hold w/ the sheriff, only to have him come back and say someone reported a similar horse missing earlier that morning, and they would take care of it.  I never heard back, but I hope the horse made it back home safely. 

Thinking about the situation later, I realized I am beginning to assimilate into the local culture in ways I am not entirely prepared to admit. 

For example, imagine this situation had happened in a suburb.  In fact, I called my mom and asked her what she would've done if she'd woken up to a horse in her front yard.  Her reply?  "Oh honey, someone would've called that in long before I woke up and saw it."  Touche.

A few years ago, I would have called animal control, PAWS, a horse rescue...something.  Last week, I could think of at least 5 people to call, off the top of my head, BEFORE animal control or the sheriff.  What's happening to me?!

But that was not the end of my day o' weird.  Nooo no.  Later that same afternoon, I was speaking with a friend from a large metropolitan area, when I was forced to interrupt my own story about the horse, to inform her that I had just driven past a local restaurant which loudly proclaimed (via sign) "GATOR IS BACK ON TUESDAYS!"  Gator.  As in...alligator?  I thought it was a hot dog stand!  I guess you never really know what's in your hot dogs, but geez! 

As I continued my drive, I noticed something coming towards me from the opposite direction...It turned out to be a rusty Ford Escort, painted a delightful shade of spray paint red...on the parts that had paint, that is.  But this rusty ride was extra special.  Apparently its owner thought so too, because he took the time and energy to replace his front bumper with a 2x4 and spray paint "FRANK" on it.  In mirror-reverse...like on an ambulance.  This way, should "FRANK" come up behind you as you sail down Goofy Ridge Road, you'll be able to read his name.  Right.  Because the first thing I think when that steel shitbox comes up behind me is, "oh, that's Frank" and not "Dear Lord, WHAT IS THAT?!" 

I'd like to think I'm not a redneck, but all signs are beginning to indicate otherwise.  In the meantime, I've compiled a short list of how to tell if you might be a redneck, for those of you who aren't quite sure.

10. If you have ever had to stand on the side of the road and have someone pick sand burrs out of your butt.
9. If you've ever gotten out of a hot tub to pee, then decided you'd rather "go" on the deck.
8. If you have an ATM in your driveway.
7. If you see a restaurant sign advertising "gator" and you actually stop to try it.
6. If you know the difference, just by looking, between a frog and a toad.
5. If you no longer notice the sound of a crop duster flying over your house.
4. If you don't think it's weird to ask your friend whether they ate their pet rabbit after it died.
3. If you can think of 5 people off the top of your head to call regarding a random horse in your front yard, and none of the 5 are animal control or law enforcement officials.
2. If having a paved driveway means you're rich.
1. If this is your church:

Little Bunny Foo Foo?

No matter how long I live in this area, certain things still surprise me.  The following is no exception.

A few weeks ago, at our weekly gathering, a friend mentioned that her 16 yr old went out to feed her pet rabbit one morning...and found it half dead.  It lives in a nice outdoor cage, and something had burrowed under the cage, and eaten the rabbit's feet, leaving it to bleed to death.  By the time the girl got to the rabbit, it was too late. 

My husband, Mr. Sensitive, asked if they ate the rabbit. 

No, no, they did not. 

This was determined for certain not because my friend said so, but by my neighbor, who said they probably couldn't have eaten the rabbit anyway, because it likely wouldn't have been good after being kept in captivity like that. 

WTF?  Where AM I? 

Did I seriously just witness a conversation about why you should/should not eat your dead pet? 

You might think after the frog vs. bullfrog incident last year, that this kind of reaction towards animals wouldn't surprise me...but you'd be wrong.