I WAS GOING THROUGH OLD PHOTOS THE OTHER DAY. Specifically, the ones from the trip Kevin, his mother Sue, and their friend Kim and I took to California last November.

I made one request before we left – that I would be permitted to take at least 500 photos while we were gone.

500. I was really limiting myself there, wasn’t I?

At the end of each day I’d unload my memory card and realize I’d taken hundred of photos every single day. My camera shutter just wasn’t fast enough to capture every single moment and freeze it in time like I would prefer. I took photos of everything – the drive, the buildings, the scenery, The Zoo, Universal Studios, us, billboards, street signs. I took photos of food, hotels, practically nothing was safe from the constant click of my Sony Cyber-Shot DSC-H20.

I love and treasure the photos I took.

But for some reason, I love the ones Kim and Kevin took even more. There’s just something about seeing a memory through someone elses’ eyes. It forces you to look at things from a new perspective, to pick up details you might not have noticed.

I ran across this photo on Kevin’s FaceBook late last night. It was our last full day of vacation and we were lunching at In-N-Out Burger on San Diego Bayside. The sky was blue and  you could see the masts of yachts bobbing in the harbor across the street. I know he was meaning to take a photo of the biblical reference on the bottom of his cup, but I find it amusing (and somewhat cute) that it took one of me instead. I’m a very plain photographer. I never follow the rule of thirds, everything is always centered and smiling in the pictures I take. But I love the authenticity of this one. How I didn’t know it was being taken, how I’m looking down and it only shows half of my profile.  That’s just me, wearing my swim suit underneath my clothes, with the typical hair scrunchy on my wrist. That’s me, looking down to eat the crunchiest fries first.

That’s me, an hour before we drove to the beach at Coronado Island and threw ourselves into the freezing cold ocean.

THIS IS WHAT CHRISTMAS ON THE OUTSIDE LOOKS LIKE.

Happy Holidays from Ollie and I.

THIS IS WHAT CHRISTMAS INSIDE MY HOUSE LOOKS LIKE.

And now there are plenty of wrapped (and some waiting to be wrapped) presents under this tree.

Merry Christmas everyone.

When your boyfriend writes your name in the sand.

ON FRIDAY, MY WORK HOSTED OUR ANNUAL CHRISTMAS PARTY AT SUNDANCE SKI RESORT. And although it was amazing, the entertainment was wonderful, the food was fulfilling, I can never think of Sundance without thinking of raccoons.

Raccoons and I go way back you see, clear back to when I was eight and my sisters friend had a pet coon which ran in a bush, causing a bit of a dilemma for us.

“Quick, give me your shoes!” Sam’s friend Kristy shoved her hand in my direction, but there was no way I was giving up my shoes, they were brand spanking new and I hadn’t even found out how fast I could run in them yet.

Did anyone else do that? Run up and down the street in your new kicks just to see if you were faster? Back to the point.

“I don’t wanna…” I quietly shied away from her.

“Well fine, but then you have to go in there and grab him.” Now it was a challenge, but I was totally game. After all, it’s just a pet coon. I stepped towards the bush and poked around with my hands until I felt a sharp — SNIP — and pain overcame my thumb. I pulled my gangly hand out of the bush and noticed four puncture marks where the damn thing had bit me. I ran screaming all the way home and sat there crying for an hour while my mom called around to find out if it had rabies.

Good times, I tell you. Good times.

Ever since then I’ve stayed away from the evil little varmints with one exception: the day my sisters, mom and I went to Sundance to explore the gift shop, and right outside was the funniest, pudgiest little raccoon I’ve ever seen in my life swinging on a rope and failing miserably. He had a broken leg but the sweetest disposition. Shopping isn’t my thing so I stood there watching him for a while, which was fine until he changed his focus and started coming at me. Every step I took back he took two scooches (broken leg, remember?) towards me. If I moved faster, so did he. I was wondering what I should do, could I outrun a raccoon!? right when some hag that worked in the store screamed, “Young lady! Get AWAY from that RACOON right this instant,” with her hand on her hip.

You’d think she worked for peta and I’d just been caught dog fighting.

And I don’t know what it is, usually I just submit when people yell — like the time in Zions National Park when some lady yelled at Ashley and I for feeding the squirrels, something about how they’d all starve and die in the winter and it would be all our fault since we fed them, Ashley and I just stood there and TOOK IT. But no, not today, I was not going be blamed for a silly little coon that was chasing me. So I mocked, threw out my leg and folded my arms and very sassily replied, “Who are you?! You’re not my mother.”

And since I can’t find the perfect photo I took of a raccoon at the Oklahoma Zoo that talked me out of 1/2 a bag of Gardettos, I’ll leave you with a photo of a man at Wal-Mart that brought his buddy with him.

THE AUBREYMO.COM BLOG TURNS ONE TODAY!!! This means a select few of you on the internet have stuck around for 365 days of whining, rants, blabs and roughly 3,562 pet photos. A select few of you have even read all 152 posts.

You deserve a medal.

But instead I’ll give you this, a “best of” list for AubreyMo. Let’s start right out at the very start:

1) The Beginning

How I Wrangled The Christmas Spirit – The awesome first blog post, where I talked about how a Christmas tree fell off my car. Let’s just say this year I’m glad I went with a fake tree. Isn’t it enough that the lights already shocked me?

2) The Top Rated

Finding the Truth – We’ll talk about this one later.

How to Write an Apology Letter… – This is a post my dear friend Kamie wrote on my blog a while back. I need to post on her site as well…if I can ever think of something awesome to write.

Winds of Change – Um. Me. Running in a field like a freak with my dog. No different than any other day I guess.

3) Posts where I mention creeps, and I’m not talking about me.

Finding the Truth – By far the most popular one, this is where some punk kid ran up and asked if I knew where to find the truth. It also includes the Pants of Awesomeness. I guess I can finally post a photo of them now.

You Wanna Go? – This thug is serious about his money. Don’t mess.

Mid-Hall Melodies – The time at college a guy with a guitar chased me down the hall and sang me a song about getting stoned. You know those memories you’ll never forget? I’m sure some day I’ll be 80 and reminiscing on this one.

4) Embarrassing posts (in which I may or may not include the word ‘Twilight’)

Vanity Vain – My hair starts out bad and I document making it worse. Yes, there were Cruella De Vil references.

Twilight, You Are My Life Now – Twilight…

Becoming Bella – I look like Bella, and apparently I pissed off someone who doesn’t. I could delete the comments but knowing that I hurt their immature feelings makes me laugh. NO, YOU GROW UP COMMENTER.

As I said before, I know exactly who they are.

New Moon Official Trailer – This concludes the Twilight obsession. Remind me to tell you about the time Kevin went to see New Moon with us. It was a hoot.

Ms. Chipmunk Cheeks – Remember this photo?

It’s right after I got out of oral surgery and was fat faced for a week. It has to be the most embarrassing photo I’ve ever posted of me, other than this:

or this:

But the photo with the most views isn’t even of me, so we’re good.

This concludes the flashback of my life. Let’s just forget the whole thing happened, shall we?

THIS POST WILL BE A RANT, IF YOU WILL. A rant because I hate dealing with car problems, what with all the awesome mechanical skills I have you can imagine that troubleshooting is a joy.

So.

My car started making this odd noise a few days (if I put weeks here, would you judge?) ago, and I ignored it just like I do winter – if I don’t wear a coat then winter isn’t really here. Finally today the noise got to me and I went to my favorite spot so I could check things out without anyone bothering me. Turns out my car was extremely low on both oil and power steering fluid. Thankfully my dad bought me power steering fluid a few months ago because he knew I’d need it, and I had a few spare quarts of oil so I popped the trunk and dug out my stash.

So there I am, parked next to this field minding my own business, with my head holding up the hood since the hydraulics won’t work, trying to unscrew this cap that is literally frozen on, when a guy in a maroon car started heading over my way. Please don’t be coming over here. . .but he kept coming. No seriously dude. . .leave me alone. And he pulled closer and parked. He gets out, stares at me for a minute and then right when I start thinking he’s going to offer his services he plops down on the back of his trunk, whips out a cigarette and watches me work like fixing my car is a freaking concert and he’s got front row seats.

I’m just standing there shivering and trying not to get my clothes dirty while silently FUMING that this guy had the gall to come that close and not offer help. Not that I wanted or needed it, but I didn’t want or need an audience either. And I knew I shouldn’t park in my favorite spot, but I didn’t want the whole office seeing me under the car with a big sign on my forehead stating “Aubrey is a retard”.

As if they don’t know that already.

In summary: Don’t watch me do things, it makes me angry. Thank goodness for the local Big Lots, who’s generous supply of cheap stuff increased my mood tremendously.

THIS IS OLIVER.

And he is not an Iams dog.

Matter of fact, he is a you’ll-eat-whatever-dog-food-I-give-you-and-like-it kind of dog.

He doesn’t mind.

Ollie cracks me up. He stole my stuffed animal and packs it around the house. He steals my socks and hides them in his cage, but this isn’t a bad thing — it means that all the missing socks in my house now have a home and I don’t have to round them up myself. Kind of useful really. Ollie jumps at the word “go” and knows the name Rosco (his brother). He can sit, lay down, crawl and shake. And according to Grams, he can also scare off visiting teachers and the occasional mailman. He has many names, Oliver Twist being the official one, Ollie for short, and then Chaweenie, Jaws, Mutley, Hoover, Pumpa, Dog, Hey You and GET OUT OF THAT GARBAGE.

There are times when I’ve had a long day (for example yesterday, going to work and then back to college for the first time in two weeks) when all I want to do when I get home is crash on the couch and not bother to turn the lights on, when just ignoring everything for even twenty minutes sounds divine. I’ll drag my feet up those steps to Grams’ and knock on the door to pick up Ollie, and he will come bounding out the door and jump on me, and the energy level and excitement from that little dog is enough to keep me going for the night. It’s nice to have something so happy to come home to.