Dad (to Grams): Here you go, I picked up up those bananas you wanted. The manager said that due to the earthquake in Chile these are the only shipment they could get in.

Grams: Thank you!

Dad: Oh wait I forgot something. (Goes to his car, comes back in with real bananas). Here you go, I was just kidding about those other bananas. (Leaves laughing).

Grams: I knew he was just trying to prank me.

Me (rolling in the floor in laughter): Grams! You had no idea! You believed him! Don’t even try to say you didn’t.

Grams: Oh I knew – once he said they were from Chile. We don’t get our bananas from Chile, we get them from Mexico.

Me: Sure, sure.

Grams: I wonder if they taste different?

Kevin: (Grabs one, snarfs it down). Nope. Just like normal bananas.

Grams: Not normal bananas. Those are Aubrey-sized bananas.

I REALLY DON’T HAVE MUCH NEW TO SAY in this post. It’s nothing you haven’t already seen – more photos of dogs, added to the hundreds I’ve already posted of them on this blog.

I know you’re probably sick of them, but this is my life as a crazy pet lady and since my camera follows me, and I tend hang around a pack of mutts…this is what you get.

(Although you will get a Made Me Laugh Monday post later tonight, and it is an absolute RIOT).

You remember Eddie?

He’s mom’s crazy Boston Terrier.

Emphasis on crazy.

Well, Eddie isn’t top dog anymore at the parents residence.

There is a new dog in town.

He’s orange.

He licks things.

He’s fluffy.

And he’s even a little cocky.

His name is Chance, and he’s taken over ever since my parents adopted him from Lost Paws, a no-kill local animal shelter organization.

Chance is a good dog, but he doesn’t fight fair. He’s a bully you see. And if he can’t beat you…

If he can’t outrun you…

If he can’t out-fox you…

He’ll bite you.

Of course King Oliver couldn’t be bothered with their petty troubles and decided to stay in Kevin’s arms where he was safely out of reach.

Kevin took a little too much pity on him.

But where was Rosco the Mole Rat? He was standing his ground. Preparing for battle. Sharpening those Rat Nose teeth. Playing victory music in his head.

Who won in the smack-down between Rosco the Mole Rat and Big Bully Chance?

I’ll let you be the judge.

In memory of Koda Bear, the most ferocious, fearless, loving little Pom-Pom that ever graced this earth. It’s been three months since you passed and we still miss you little guy.

Hope you’re still growling and Pom-Pom dancing in doggy heaven.

TODAY I DECIDED THAT ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was tired of getting up an hour after my alarm goes off. Tired of rushing late out the door. Tired of clothes that don’t fit right (so that’s how that feels), tired of fast food and feeling grumpy, and tired of songs that I’ve listened to one too many times.

I didn’t know what I could do about it. It seemed like my focus was constantly pulling me in two directions. I was always thinking of what I needed to be doing, yet when I was doing what needed to be done, I was dreaming of what I wanted to be doing, and vice-versa.

It got to be pretty darn confusing, and pretty darn frustrating.

But instead of pulling my hair out, I dyed it.

Because like that isn’t a huge decision that comes complete with a side of panic attacks and it’s own subscription to This is What Your Hair Should Look Like But You Know It Won’t magazine. But like the professional I am, I took my phone with me and I documented the event regardless of any hesitation. Only for you Internet, only for you. I was a bit worried when the stylist said stuff about putting more “violet” in it this time, since I hadn’t been there in over 11 months and I was just sure she couldn’t remember me, but somehow, miraculously, she really did.

I’d give five bucks and my first born child to have her memory.

Random tangent: I feel bad for whoever my first kid is because I’ve traded them for a lot of monetary things. I always say I’ll give five bucks and my first-born child for that grilled cheese or I’m dying for a Sonic slushie. I’d pretty much give five bucks and my first-born child for one or I bet you five bucks and my first-born that Justin Bieber is really young black kid (I was wrong on this one, but dang, I was spot-on about him not being over puberty. I CALLED THAT ONE). Just giving my first-born, my baby, the fruit of my loins would be enough, as if I’d even need to throw in the five bucks, but hey! Bonus!

Sorry future child.

Momma loves ya.

But I love this meal more.

So Jenny, my hairstylist is sitting there chatting to me as she dyes my hair, and somehow she talks me into bangs again (that she didn’t charge me for) and I realize why I came back here. That woman is good for anyone’s self confidence. It felt good to socialize, talk about something different than what I was used to, forget about work and home stress and just let myself be pampered.

And I won’t lie. It felt good having someone else wash my hair for a change. I don’t know what they use but it smells amazing. I’m planning on not washing my hair for four days.

Five if I’m lucky and don’t let anyone come too close.

Don’t judge me. You know you wear your jeans just as long as that before washing them.

Don’t you?

As if all that wasn’t great enough, I walked out to my car afterwords and found Kevin had left these flowers on the hood of my car, and broke into my house to start making my favorite dinner.

Here is what I looked like before the chemicals that’ll probably fry my brain transformation:

I look happy, but I’m hurting on the inside. Real bad.

My lips hurt real bad.

Sorry. Random Napoleon Dynamite quote that nobody remembers or understands.

I now give you the after:

And no.

It’s not black.

It may look black. Just like I look like I’m paying attention to you when all I’m really thinking about is one of those slushies… but hey! At least I don’t look almost naked like I did in this photo! Woo!!

Moral of the story is this,

Be selfish. DO SOMETHING FOR YOURSELF because as my friend Jessica puts it, “you can’t make anyone happy if you’re not happy with yourself”.

WELL, IT SEEMS I DIDN’T HAVE TO GO THE EXTRA MILE TO EMBARRASS MYSELF WITH THAT LAST POST. My dad emailed me a photo of even better arsenal.

Let me repeat: MY DAD EMAILED ME.

And because of the magnitude of that event (well, that and the fact that the email was titled, “Blog This!”) I had to post it.

Internet, I would like you to meet me, at age oh seven or so, being what we affectionately call a “picky eater”, or alternately The Girl Who Thought She Was Dying When We Held Her Down And Forced Her to Eat Jelly.

Did I sound bitter about that still? Sorry.

Anywho. This is almost worse than my Hanson photo. I’m guessing by my expression, puffy red cheeks, the ear of corn, and teeny tiny piece of ham that it is Thanksgiving.

Or pretty much any night eating with me.

There’s times my parents thought it was funny, like when I mentioned above that they had my sisters hold me down and Dad shoved a tablespoon of strawberry jam into my mouth. Or the time when they replaced my peas and carrots with fake candy. But I’m sure there were other times that weren’t so much fun, when I was hissy and whiny and pouty all over gross foods that I probably still wouldn’t eat spilled milk. And for these times Mom and Dad, I am truly sorry.

I can only hope that posting this photo was some sort of retribution.

But I need to ask you one last thing: Did I have a mullet?

Much love,

- Your Picky Eater

NOW THAT I’VE EMBARRASSED GRANDMA B, (Sorry Grandma.

Grandma? Grandma! Are you still here?

Rach?

Jackie?

Anybody?)

I figured I’d post something embarrassing about myself. Kevin already stated it on his Facebook when he updated his status as, “Just found out my girlfriend can touch her nose with her tongue.”

Kind of like this:

Except even more gross because I’m a human and not a dog.

I can’t help it. My tongue is so big that when I stick it out, it reaches the bottom of my chin. It can do the roll and the wave, and because of it’s size  I probably snore at night and would be a great backup for that guy from Kiss. Add to the fact that I’m already a walking freak show – I’m extremely double jointed in the arms, fingers and thumbs and I can fit my entire fist in my mouth – and you can pretty much call me to any birthday party if you’re looking for cheap entertainment.

The problem is, most people don’t ask to see these things.

I volunteer them.

I realized this probably wasn’t the best thing to walk around advertising when Aspen looked at me from her car seat and made the accompanying “mmmmph!” noise as she stuck her tongue out and tried to lick her tiny nose.

I only made it worse when I poked mine out and stuck it up my left nostril.

I know. I know.

I’m gross.

But you know you kinda wanna see it now.

So it’s not exactly wordless. But to make up for yesterday’s gross post I figured I’d show you a photo of Kevin’s new niece, Madyson.

And I’ll tell you all about her soon.

Just as soon as I can stop begging Lindsay to let me hold her.

A PACKAGE WAS WAITING FOR ME ON MY PORCH TODAY WHEN I GOT HOME.

But I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t Ramen.

There were three little jars.

And a note.

It reads:

Aub –

Aftermath of an elk abortion : ) One is an antelope. Read on the lids.

Don’t want them back.

Best Gram

You read that right. In the jars, preserved and floating around in alcohol were three tiny animal babies. I know I blog about Grams a lot – the one that I live with. But my dad’s mom should also get some recognition. The conversations I have with her are hilarious and always worthy of their own separate posts. We butter each other up and tell each other that we’re the best and we’re each others’ favorites. (Which we pretty much are).

But the conversation we had last Saturday takes the cake. It was one of those rare moments when I wasn’t with Kevin – which means I was a lost puppy and wandered over to my moms house for comfort.

And to eat her food.

Which in turn makes Machelle mad and makes both Mom and Dad tell her how I’m a guest in their house and can eat all the Doritos I want.

And I do.

So I’m sitting there stuffing my face and gloating in Machelle’s general direction when “Grandma B” shows up. And I don’t know what got us talking about it, but she brought up the fact that she put in for a Moose tag this season.

“I didn’t know you hunt!!” I blabbed.

“Oh of course I hunt, I even have a baby elk that I preserved in alcohol from one of the first elks I shot.”

“Grandma, that’s gross. That’s blog worthy!! I’m going to come to your house and photograph it and post it on my blog. “

But she trumped me. “I’ll give it to you! I’ll leave it on your porch. So if you ever see a little freaky, dead thing in a jar on your steps just know it’s from me. Treasure it – I’ve spent many years freaking people out with that.”

And I can see why.

They have ribs.

They have creepy caved-in heads. And the top of this jar said it was from ‘89 – which means it’s been dead for as long as I’ve been alive.

And this baby elk has hooves and a mouth.

But the oddest of the bunch has to be the antelope.

It was just so developed. from the split hooves to the lungs, ribs, eyes right to the tiny little tail. Now before you think my Grandma B is some heartless baby mammal killer, you should know she had a permit to kill these animals, which means that the babies would have died regardless of if she’d have kept them or not. And you should also know that they used the meat for steaks and it didn’t go to waste.

But they’re still creepy.

After I took some photos I ran the box upstairs and showed Grams. Her reaction was along the lines of, “what the hell!?” and “there’s the garbage outside”.

But I’m not throwing them out. They are a family heirloom that will be scaring kids for generations to come.

Thank you Grandma B.

PS I claim your buffalo head you have hanging on your wall.

Just kidding.

I don’t think I could sleep with that in my house.

WE STAYED IN VEGAS ON THE WAY DOWN TO SAN DIEGO. Well, since we’re in Utah, a more accurate description would be, “we stayed in Vegas on the way over“ but who cares about being politically correct? I was too busy trying to figure out how to get the display on the radio to stop changing colors like a bad disco light. Took us a good half hour but we finally fixed it to just stay on one color.

Sue stayed at the hotel and had a nice hot bath while Kevin and I wandered the Strip for a few hours. Mind you, we’re both too young to gamble, drink or rent strippers (just kidding, but I do have a good story to tell about that later) so we basically just laughed at all the drunks walking around holding empty bottles of Jack Daniels people watch. We’d only been dating for a month at the time so we were both still pretty shy. Which means I didn’t beg him to go to Mandalay Bay to look at the fishies like I wanted. However, I did beg him to go to the MGM – possibly a mile walk from our hotel – so we could see the lions.

AND WE DIDN’T SEE THEM. Shoulda stuck to the fishies.

He took his camera out since I was too shy/nervous/scared to take mine so I left it at the hotel. Some scenery and photos he took:

We went in a mall and found pretty ceilings, a pretty tree

And Paul Blart!

Then we took some photos of us and wandered around for a bit. This could just be the worst, greasiest photo of us ever. Well, of me anyway.

This one is not so bad. Matter of fact, I kind of like it.

Eventually we find the M&M World Store and peruse the shelves. Kevin makes me hug this M&M who, “looks like he’s saying, ‘Mmmm chocolate’ after sniffing his finger”.

I did not make that up.

Then he decides we need some chocolate and Peanut Butter M&M’s sound quite good, so we go straight to the back to this gem.

That sweet, sweet wall of candy that would fulfill even Willy Wonka’s every dream.

And apparently I look like the devil.

Don’t mind me.

Kevin grabs a bag and fills it chock full of Peanut Butter M&M’s. I mean, STUFFED TO THE TOP THEY ARE POURING OUT EVERYWHERE type of full.

“Erm you might want to ditch some. That’s a bit much.” I advised. And rightfully so. Here is where the funniest part of the night happens. He dumps half of them out and takes them to the cashier. She weighs them and without missing a beat demands $10 for them.

TEN DOLLARS FOR A BAG OF NORMAL M&M’S.

100 DIMES.

1,000 PENNIES.

You get my drift. Kevin looks at her in confusion, looks at me and then looks down at his wallet and I lost it. I had to go walk around the corner, put my head beneath my knees and try not to cry from laughing so hard. I don’t think I’ll ever see anything funnier in my life. “I spent a lot of money on these, treasure them,” he whispers to me as I snatch the bag away from him. Now everytime we see M&M’s we laugh like idiots.

On the way back to our room we saw a fifty-ish year old man making fun of the “card flippers”. You know the type. The type that lean across you and try to hand your man a card with a photo-shopped girl and a 1-800 phone number at the top that says, “call me, will arrive in less than 20 minutes”. One of the card flippers went a bit too far when he said, “Hey! You need a woman!” to Kevin, who replied, “I’ve already got one, thanks.”

We were almost to the doors of our hotel when we hear him yell above the dingy crowd, “Why have only one? You need TWO women in your bed tonight!!”

Oh Vegas. How you never cease to amuse me.

YES. THIS IS HAPPENING. I’M BLOGGING ABOUT A VACATION I TOOK THREE MONTHS AGO. Procrastination doesn’t quite cover it. More like procrastination with a side of selfishness because I’d been saving these memories for me and reviewing them in my mind when rainy days hit. It’s not that I didn’t want to tell the stories to you, it’s that I was too lazy to upload 1,000 photos to Flickr and then this blog, and I felt if I tried to describe things with words I would taint the memory. But I’ve decided to kick myself in the pants and just post. So if the next few posts seem photo-heavy, long-winded and mushy, I ask for your forgiveness in advance.  Thank you.

Back in November Kevin’s mom Susan invited us to drive to San Diego, California with her to visit her friend named Kim (more on Kim later). We were more than happy to go with her. However, it seems like you can’t plan a vacation without at least 2,453 things go wrong and when it rains it pours. I had an English paper due right when we were supposed to leave (A seven page paper with citations that I still hadn’t written. Remember when I used to be a college student? Fun times), and two math tests along with chapter homework to turn in immediately when we got back. I was a bit stressed, and Kevin’s continual “your day is going to get much better, trust me” reminders weren’t really helping. I was in a no-good-so-sad-pity-me mood where I wanted to sit and sulk all day.

So imagine my surprise when Melissa, the secretary at my work, comes walking up to me asking my name. I grunted a “hmmm” at her without really looking. “These are for you” she said and placed an armful of flowers on my desk. It was HUGE. The biggest floral arrangement I’ve seen – let alone received – in my life. I questioned it for a moment before she told me, “you are the only Aubrey here, right?” then she laughed and walked away.

And I laughed. And blushed. And blast him, he was right. My day had gotten better against my will.

And I was perfectly okay with that.

What was funny was the reaction the flowers got for the three days they lived on my desk. With this stunt, Kevin became the most loved, popular boyfriend of any employee at my company. We have a large female population there so naturally this was hot gossip material.

And envy material.

Yes. There was lots of envy.

I had girls clear from Marketing coming to me to see my flowers. We all tried to choose a favorite part of the arrangement.

These were my favorites.

Or was it these?

No it was definitely these.

But wait, there’s a white and pink one.

I give up. It’s ALL pretty.

But my favorite part? The fact that he cared. He cared enough about my stressful day that he decided to get me flowers. And not just that, he had them hand delivered to my desk. My desk in front of all my coworkers so everyone could see that I was loved and I was cared for.

And yes.

I still have the vase and the pink ribbon.