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.