Lora gets LASIK

While in college I tried to limit my spending. It was really hard. I supplicated my poor sad self with DI books and dollar menus dreaming of the day I wouldn’t have to glue my phone back together and wear the same pair of contacts for months on end.

What ultimately lifted my spirits was making a list of things I deserved once I got my first real job. The list goes as follows:

1.  A smart phone: I had a firm believe college kids did not deserve fancy phones with even fancier payments.  
2. Books: Not just one or two, as many as I wanted whenever I wanted them exactly as I wanted them.
3. New clothes: One day we will all realize we are better than Charlotte Russe.
4. England: I was spending years studying about locations I could only dream of seeing. I was getting tired of dreaming and demanded reality.
5. LASIK: Developing a stigmatism made me a teen movie transformation in reverse. Meaning instead of snapping my glasses in half, straightening my hair and buying new clothes to fit my shiny new exterior; I gained glasses, lost the will to do my hair, and began to wear clothes from my high school years. It was pathetic.

The first few were simple enough. Even the England trip fell right into place. The only tricky part was getting LASIK. Tricky in the sense I’m a pansy and don’t do well with pain. Luckily I had my LASIK experienced sister who painted quite the rosy picture. Between her and the doctor, I was under the impression I merely showed up, looked at a light, and BAM perfect vision.

The day of the surgery I was a tad nervous, but by no means worried. It’s when I had to sign the release that said I wouldn’t sue if they cut off my eye-flap. 

The nurse was conveniently on hand with valium.

Valium = :)

Two minutes after I swallowed my pill, I was staring at a laser with a cap strapped to my head, booties snug on my shoes and a teddy bear firmly clasped in my arms. The doctor then began to walk me through the steps of the surgery in a soothing voice. He told me I would feel a slight pressure and it could become intense. Apparently intense is code for blinding pain.

Poor teddy almost had his head ripped off.

The procedure was over in minutes and I was soon escorted out with a handful of drugs and instructions. The Vicodin was only to be used in extreme cases, so of course I downed that sucker the second I stepped out into the sun.  

It’s a good thing I did, because by the time I got home the numbing drops had worn off and my eyes were ready to explode. The sleeping pill however worked like a gem, but even it couldn’t take the pain away. The result was me stumbling around with sleepy limbs trying to find more drugs. I might as well have been wielding four pool noodles. When I finally made it to the medicine cabinet I just started pouring unknown amounts of advil down my throat. I finally passed out at 6 pm and slept until 7 am.

Big fan of drugs. HUGE.

Let me tell you the worst thing you can do after eye surgery besides pouring salsa in your eyes: going to work. I don’t know what was worse, navigating morning traffic through blurry eyes or starring at a bright computer screen for 8 hours.

Now I realize I’m a weak dramatic little thing. I realized this most when I was talking to my cousin who just had a baby.

Nicole: “They finally got the epidural in on the third try and then I was taken into surgery to have a C-section. The worst thing was all the epidural attempts gave me a spinal headache and I could barely get out of bed all week”

Me: “Uhuh uhuh that stinks, so yeah as I was saying, they put these really scary suction things on my eyes and as the darkness took over, my life started to play out before me…"

As I droned on I can only imagine she was thinking something along the lines of “yeah sure eye surgery, getting a human being cut out of you, same thing."

Now I feel the best way to test out my 20/15 vision is to take it overseas.

Working 9 to 5 (sort of)

Today was my first day of work at my new job. Which is excited when you think about, or at least it’s supposed to be, after all this is my first adult move. Now you may be doing the math in your head. She graduated in December. It’s June. What has she been doing for 6 months? 

Well let me tell you, absolutely nothing. Nothing! I simply existed in beautiful nothingness and it was quite lovely. My days were spent by the pool sipping my sonic half priced drink and catching up on the latest books. But not today, today I entered the work force sleep deprived and suffering from a bad case of laziness.

I realize I have yet to introduce my job ahem after months of living in and out of interviews, being called everything from ungodly to amazing, I accepted a job at University of Phoenix as an Enrollment Counselor!

Doesn’t that sound all grown up to you. No? Well I’m working on it.

So after my 6 months living as a very happy hermit I was a tad nervous to have responsibilities extending beyond making my bed. And to make matters worse I have a long history of bad first days. Days that consist of harming a small child, being called an imbecile, and trying to talk my boss out of hiring me. That being said,  my mantra for the day was "pull it together Patterson, you've already spent your first paycheck."

I arrived at work a full 15 min early and just in time to prepare myself for introductions (it seems like you never really escape having to sum up your life in a sentence). Soon the room was filled and the intros began. There were the chatty cathys that can’t help but recite their past 10 years of life experiences, the people with a masters, the people with two masters, the people working on a PhD, and me…achieving nothing, feeling like this

After intros, we began the training from 7:30-4:30. I must have blocked out how miserable working 8 hours is because I certainly cannot remember hating life to this degree. The day soon became one of those experiences that is so bad it’s almost spiritual. I could probably whip it into an inspiring sacrament talk someday.

Speaking of sacrament, for some odd reason after I announced my recent attendance at BYU I had several people come up to me and start the exact same conversation. All of them first confirmed I went to BYU then glancing side to side leaned forward and whispered “are you Mormon?”

“Yes?”

Very strange to say the least. 

In conclusion: I have a job! I am no longer a dirty little moocher. HUZZAH!

Pomp and Circumstance

I have officially graduated from BYU. Which is just like me technically graduating in December, but now I get a mini diploma which makes it all the more legit. I mean, if you can’t carry your diploma in your wallet what’s the point of even going to college?

In order to official graduate I made the arduous trip back to Provo to don grad gear which depressingly enough covered up my classy wear and my well-deserved tan. All well, don’t want to make the pastys depressed.

While in Provo I made the routine grad visit to the bookstore to load up on BYU t-shirts and sweats that I would have never worn while attending. I just didn’t want to be that girl. The one who only dresses in sweats to class and justifies it by claiming school spirit. No thank you.

Now that I have left the campus I feel a certain pride wearing my newly purchased apparel about Mesa. I even dared dawn a BYU t-shirt  at a stake FHE only to run into BYU haters. These people openly admit to never actually living in Provo YET they have extensive knowledge of BYU’s many faults. I think it all boils down to the letter of acceptance they didn’t receive. 

Ok that was harsh and a big part of me hates that I even wrote it, but somehow BYU cracked my “Provo sucks” attitude and apparently now I’m taking any and all opportunities to defend its honor.

I don’t know how it did it, wait, yes I do. It was that blasted campus (oh and the teachers/classes/friends/blah blah blah etc.) 

Heaven help me, that campus was beautiful. And it wasn’t just in the fall with the deadening leaves or the spring where plants are literally leaping onto the sidewalks for you to admire. It was all the freakin time.

That campus was like that privileged girl at camp who woke up looking shiny and rosy even though the rest of us were breaking out and tying our hair in knots just because letting it loose on the camp site was not a good idea (ok maybe that last one was just me).

My point is, BYU was (is) gorgeous year round. To this day I crave my ritual walks to class where I was greeted by the morning pushing its rays through the trees to gentle smack me in the face. And yes I know there are numerous ways, better ways, to talk about walking in the sun, but it really doesn't matter because no matter how many ways I try to say it nothing will ever compare to what I experienced. 

Enough about the campus, the point is I graduated huzzah and here are some photos from the blessed event. 

 

My mom and my sister Jill were able to make the big day. They're just so great. 

Somehow Kelly and I were able to be near each other during the whole experience which is fitting since we've been taking the same classes/living together for years. I can't imagine anyone else I would rather be with through it all. 

Graduation was a blast, but being able to spend time with these girls made the whole journey worth it. I can't believe how incredible lucky I was to have such amazing roommates. I just wish all the Sperry girls were able to be there that night. 

P.S. I have a confession to make: I see myself pressuring my children to go to BYU. I know, I'm talking crazy. Apparently the spirit of the Y is a real thing and it'll get you whether you want it to or not. You have been warned.

The Princess and the Pea Malady

I’ve had a bout of the Princess and the Pea Malady for about two weeks now and this is my story.

For those of you that have never heard of  PatPM, let me explain.

The disease has it's roots in a common fairy-tale. The story goes a Princess has her princesshood (real word? Probs not. Shortening "probably" = grammar offense? Likely.) questioned by a skeptical mother-in-law to be. The MIL tests the Princess with a pea hidden beneath many a mattress and blanket. The Princess proves her royalty by sleeping on this precarious bed and waking to bruises covering her delicate back from said pea. Frail skin = ability to marry prince (I'm really getting into using =)

The symptoms displayed by the Princess parallel those effected by PatPM; meaning, patients with PatPM are unable to undergo any amount of discomfort without semi-permanent damage to their body.

Now on to my story: Two weeks ago I slept on my arm wonkylike and awoke to a function-less limb. Literally could not use my arm for days. This was only the beginning. 

Last week I went to the Easter Pageant with friends. Upon arrival I was informed that instead of sitting in the white chairs spread before us, we would sit on the grass. You know, why not? According to them (boys) the ground is a lot more comfortable.

Is it? IS IT!

Well it probably is for the usual girl, but not for a girl in mid-battle with PatPM. When I got home I was experience slight discomfort and by morning I could not leave my bed. I wish I was merely kidding. I couldn’t move. It was pathetic.

It took about 2 days till I started to feel like going about in my regular routine (though my mom would argue lying in bed all day is already a part of my regular routine. Rude).

Saturday came and I woke to my brother pitifully shoveling tons (imagine a rather large mountain of dirt) into a wheelbarrow and pushing it to his newly acquired backyard to spread about. I quickly headed out to help which resulted in me spending the day hunched over pushing and pulling dirt with a rake (not an ideal tool for the job) trying to level the ground. It actually wasn’t bad. I even had the naïve thought that perhaps my disease had gone into remission.

Twas not so.

To be fair everyone involved with this project suffered intense side effects, but I like to think I suffered the most. Probably for the attention. You just never know when people will give you a chocolate milkshake for your pain.

Anyhoo, I've come to the hard realization that this malady could be a permeate function in my life (there is no known cure for PatPM). And I need to face the fact that I can no longer jump into situations all willy-nilly like. Now I need to take into account my new fragile existence, but I hope that one day I will be able to find a way to live a happy and productive life.

In conclusion: I live with PatPM, but I will not let it define me.

If anyone would like donating money to research a cure for this terrible terrible illness, call me and I'll make sure it gets to those in need i.e. me.

What's in a Name?

People keep asking me and asking me and asking me "Why did you change the title of your blog!!" Ughh, I feel like Maroon Five. Why can't they understand! I just want it to be a secret!!

Ok, fine. One person asked me. But considering the actual readership of this blog, that's about 25 percent. So a quarter of my fans want to know and you've got to give the people what they want because lets face it, I'm not Maroon Five, I have the moves of an 80-year-old lady gearing up for a hip replacement.

Wild times was great and all, but I was really banking on marrying a guy with the last name Wilde and since that never happened the title has begun to mock my failure.

Can we just take a moment to imagine how magical my life would be if my last name was Wilde. The blog would of course transition to "Wilde Times" and it would have a tear-jerking/romantic/enchanting post on how we were fated to find each other. Girls would hate me, guys would envy him, and I would love every second of it.

But let's put the blog to the side for now, THINK OF THE CHILDREN. My firstborn son would of course be named Oscar. And I would dress him like this. (And no I didn't just find a random baby picture on the internet. I'm not a lunatic. I just morphed my face with James Marsden's...)

And I would only address him as his full name Oscar Wilde. My daughter would be Olivia Wilde and she would always come second in my heart because lets face it, my son is name after one of my favorite authors.

Poor Olivia.

In return she would despise dear Oscar Wilde and pine after the love I so cruelly kept from her. But in the end it would inspire her to write a New York Times best selling memoir The Importance of Being Oscar Wilde which would be accompanied by the sequel, The Picture of Olivia Wilde. Her success would help her gain the glory she needed to finally receive her mothers love. Ahhhh It's like a fairy-tale.

But alas, my dream was destroyed (ok I'm 22 it could still happen, fingers crossed.) and I had to title it something else. Since Wilde had failed me I turned to Shakespeare. I realize how cliche it is to be an English major who loves Shakespeare...but I really don't care. So I spent a while looking through my favorite plays for the perfect title and there was a lot to choose from. The blog was almost called "Howl, howl, howl, howl!" BUT I thought that might make me seem completely unmarriable. I finally settled on a line from my favorite play "A Midsummer Night's Dream."

"The poet’s eye, in fine frenzy rolling."

No this is not me claiming I'm a poet (terrible doesn't begin to describe my attempts to rhyme). This line comes at a point in the play when no one believes the tale that happened on a one midsummer nights eve. They accuse the characters of confusing the mundane with the other worldly, calling them poets with ever rolling eyes turning to the imaginative.

I don't know if you've been reading this for long, but my tales tend to drift into the exaggerated and unbelievable side of life leaving my readers thinking things like "there's no way that happened," or the more unfortunate phrase, "you can't possible be that stupid." But that's why this quote is perfect for my blog. I want to forever lean to the embellished/fantastical/bizarre side of life.

So here's to a new title, a fresh start, and more completely unnecessary pictures.

When Interviews and Wal-Mart Unite: A True Story

Let me tell you a little bit about my week. As some of you know I’ve been on the job hunt which means I basically spend my days alternating between living on my bed and going to interviews.

The interviews have been fine. All you really need to know is how to lie sell yourself. But last week was especially exhausting. I had 5 interviews and some of them were 4 hours long. My last interview was by far the worst experience of my life. And like most bad experiences in my life, I could have easily prevented it… but I didn’t.

Here’s my story

Friday I went in for my second interview at a new and upcoming marketing company. The job was for a marketing management position. My first interview went extremely well and I thought I was a shoe in for the job. When I showed up for the second interview they had a little surprise for me. I entered the office and was immediately introduced to two guys who would “show me the ropes.” But first they were going to take me to lunch.

This fact excited me until I found out I would be paying which isn’t a big deal unless you factor in that I’m unemployed and broke.

After lunch they started describing the job and everything seemed to be going as planned until they told me they had a strict policy that no one could be a marketing manager unless they first did sales.

OK

They said it would just be easier to show me what “sales” meant. The next thing I know I’m following them as they zigzagged their way out of the valley and into a Wal-Mart parking lot. I parked and creepily watched them as they changed from suits to polos and then I continued to follow them as they set up a table and started selling satellite TV to already aggravated walmartites.  

I.Am.Not.Kidding.

The next four hours were the worst of my life. They combined my three biggest nightmares:

1. Having to go to Wal-Mart in the first place AND not even getting a pint of Ben and Jerry's out of it.
2. Becoming that annoying sales person who badgers people until they finally have to tell them to F%@# off (not kidding, I probably heard this phrase at least 3 times that day).
3. Standing on my feet for long periods of time ( for some reason they turn bright red after a couple of minutes and then break out in this bizarre rash all over my legs…too much info?).

The only highlight of this experience is when a meth addict came in the store and started stealing merchandise. Luckily a sales woman, who spoke in mostly expletives, scared him off and then told us how he pulled a knife on her just last week.

I just realized that wasn’t really a highlight…

When I finally got home and told my siblings about my “interview”, I had to wait a good minute or so to get a response other than laughter. Their unanimous reply was why in the world didn’t I leave after a couple of minutes.

BECAUSE I CAN’T

I can’t disappoint people who are expecting something from me. I can’t. I couldn’t leave Mr. A’s world of music class even though the rest of the room cleared the second the lights went off. I couldn’t leave the embarrassing bridal shower that ripped my innocence from me. And I couldn’t leave Wal-Mart as those fools followed old people around trying to get them to buy overpriced satellite TV.

It was bad people. It was real bad. 

Here’s to another week of pj’s and suits.

A New Blog

William Hazlitt argued that books act as "links in the chain of our conscious being. They bind together the different scattered visions of our personal identity." And that quote completely encompasses how I view literature. I am a piece of everything I have every read.

When I stand in front of my books I see my entire identity spread before me. There lies my history, a record of my happiest moments and my saddest. And every book not only shapes how I view and process the world, but they store the memories of every time I turned to them for… well, anything. My poor copies of Ella Enchanted and Harry Potter have probably suffered the most damage, but they were always there when I needed them. Mostly because they didn’t have a choice.

The bottom line is that like Ray Bradbury I will forever “lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfume” because I can’t exist without literature and I don’t even want to try.

In honor of this maddening love Ms. Kelly Badger and I have decided to start a new blog dedicated to reading. So if you are interested in discovering new amazing books to read, feel free to follow us from a safe distance

It's called Kelly and Lora Reading and here's the link.

Post Grad

Welp, I’m a college graduate living in Mesa trying to mold my life into something more than a one way street to never leaving my bed and forever mooching off my siblings.

If you really want to get a behind the scenes peek into my life watch Post Grad. Alexis and I are pretty much living twinsy lives… except I don’t have the amazing internships at famous publishing houses, a crazed family, or two attractive men vying for my affection BUT other than that it’s basically the same.

I mean come on, we're both recent college graduates with a degree in English and a love for Literature. AND we're both unemployed and desperately trying to find the perfect job. It's a bit uncanny if I do say so myself. 

Anyhoo, this pre-documentary on my life inspires me to not be so disappointed that things aren’t happily-ever-after quite yet. Though technically Alexis got her happily-ever-after relatively quickly (88 minutes to be exact), but I do believe the movie spans a summer of suffering so I guess I only have three more months of interviews and rejection. Pip pip, here we go!

What I really learned from her experiences is that even if I did get an amazing job at a publishing house I would throw it away just to be with my guy. SO I don’t even have to worry about not having that position since I would quit anyways to go into the New York sunset with my…oh right. Details details.

P.S This movie also shows that if you ever have the chance to get with a hotty Brazilian go for it, that’s what I’ve always done…

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the college graduate

I’m officially done with college. I don’t know if I should celebrate or dramatically wander around the JFSB sobbing uncontrollably. I wonder if they would sic security on me. I almost want to try just to see.

Tuesday afternoon I had my first final. It was for my Poe and Hitchcock class and instead of a standard test we stood in front of our class while they questioned us about our final essays. I believed this would be better than a final. I was wrong. Instead of getting out at 3:00 like I estimated, we stumbled out at 5:00.

On Wednesday I had my Russian lit final at 7:00 in the morning. Just let that sink in. By the time I had successfully bundled up the sun still hadn’t come out. So I trudged my way to campus and realized something, I love walking to school without the sun glaring over the mountain. First of all, it’s dark. Second, no one’s out so I don’t feel rude ignoring people. And third, it’s dark.

When I hit the ramp I fell into step right behind the neon clad tyrant from my first semester. It was quite poetic as I followed the glow of his bright purple jeans all the way to the basement of the JFSB. Well, poetic and kinda creepy on my part.

Today was my last final and it was for my Senior Course. We had to do a 20 min presentation on the senior thesis we've been working on all semester. This paper is supposed to be the best thing we’ve ever written. No pressure or anything. I still haven’t turned my essay in. I don’t want to talk about it…

I've spent my life thinking about what this moment would mean for me. I've always heard that graduating is wonderful because you finally can do whatever you want. That’s a lie. I would rather spend my days with literary geniuses trying desperately to keep up with their lectures and my nights eating and laughing with my friends.

I didn't mean for this post to take such a negative turn. Let me start over.

I’m done! No more hours spent studying obscure references in hopes that I can find that one quote that proves my entire argument. No more restless nights worrying over thesis statements and concluding arguments. And no more editing classes, thank goodness.

Now I get to kick back and relax…

Well that moment was nice. Now I need to get a job. They hire English majors right?

Provo vs. Mesa

I am entering the final moments in the fourth quarter of my game of higher education. You would think I would have a game plan, something snappy or clever or really anything at all. But that’s not my style. I like to let the audience sweat. I like to make them believe I don’t know what I’m doing. And I have to tell you, my performance is rather convincing.

So convincing that my brother Adam—in total concern for my well being—called last night to remind me that I only have one month left to get married before I leave ol BYU.

This idea takes me back to my freshman year when people said is was IMPOSSIBLE to get out of EAC as a single person. And the very idea of leaving BYU without a ring was inconceivable  

I like to believe I stayed single on purpose, but more than likely I just never got around to it.

It’s not like I want to be married right now, but I have to say, it would help in the decision process. Just last week I went to a career counselor for humanities majors to decide where the best opportunities for me were. Instead the session started with this question “Is there a boy” and lead to a 30 minute discussion on how my decision should work around where my husband is. Awesome

I plan to not do that {though he did bring up some great points on the advantages of marring rich}

Now I only have one week before I need to decide for sure. Here are my options: Provo or Mesa. And knowing my obsessive love for lists, here is a list of the pros and cons.

Provo

Pros:

1. I love it here
2. I love my room
3. I love my roommates/friends
4. I know my ward
5. I don’t want to have to pack up all my stuff (yes laziness will factor in).
6. I’ve recently discovered the best antique book store nearby {I want to live there} 

Cons:

1. My friends will be leaving within the year.
2.  I don’t want to be one of those people who are afraid to leave Provo so they just stick around pretending they’re still in college.
3. I feel my life becoming stagnate here. 

Mesa

Pros:

1. I get to live within 2 minutes of three of my siblings
2. Most of my extended family lives there.
3. I love Mesa and I know the area
4. There are more opportunities there
5. No snow 

Cons:

1. I have to start over
2. I’ll miss all my friends
3. I will have to be the new kid in the ward
4. I don’t function well in city traffic and frankly I fear for my passengers
5. No snow (I have a hard time deciding if I hate snow or not) 

All of this life planning I’ve been doing has made me realize that I shouldn't be in charge of anyone’s life, least of all mine.