So it was Christmas.
Just fyi.
I'll sum up my Christmas experience for 2011:

Not great, humbling, or bad. Shocking.
Why so shocking?

1. I realized some people are absolutely ridiculous in every way possible.
Ridiculous I tell you!
I am so darn fed up with people that are just plain lame. I'm now writing a list of people that will never be lame.
Here's my list so far:
1. Heavenly Father
2. Jesus
3. Santa.
4. The Pillsbury Doughboy
5. The guy who made Dr. Pepper
6. ______

You can fill in the blank. Because right now I have no idea who to put there.
OH! The prophet. He can be number six. 
Sorry I forgot about that...

If you think you belong on my list of unlame people. Then you will have to persuade me. Which will take a long time. 
There is just this one person. No they don't know that I'm talking about them. I promise. 
And I just want to tell them to GROW UP and be my friend again... 
That would be golden. 

2. My young women's group went to Salt Lake City to see the sights. Like we've never seen them before.... And I was very spectacle about the whole thing. First thing I did wrong was approach it with a bad attitude. EH. that was bad of me. I know I know. But in previous years when we would go to SLC it would become quite boring. 
But I didn't let people know I wasn't so thrilled about the activity. My mind was quickly changed when I realized how much fun I was having. Here are a couple of picture showing how much fun I had. Can I just say that I am a very overwhelming girl? I would say that I'm an acquired taste. 

Ps. I do not know why I called it a marriage picture instead of a wedding picture.... I may or not be a freak.

3. My father ordered the WRONG hat for dear old Bryce. It was my second pick, so I wasn't angry. And it looked pretty dope on him. HA. Totally said dope. hahaha...

4. I had SO SO SO much fun at my Dad's family party. We had to share a talent. Shocked I pulled out the most pathetic thing in the book. I whipped out my mexi stache smile. Maybe. One day I'll show you. 

5. I received an iPhone 4S. YES. 
So I totally thought I was getting a kindle. I have to admit. I snooped. I looked at my mother's Christmas list. And it said kindle on it for me! Christmas morning. Unwrapped the present. Kindle box. Opened the kindle box. Found a white iPhone.  Let's just say I screamed.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
-White chick. 



So. It's Sunday and I have church in like an hour. I should be getting ready so I can look H.O.T. but instead. I'm sitting on my bed typing this.
I know I should be in the shower right now. But I completely lack motivation. Not even a boy at church is enough motivation for me to get off my butt and walk ten feet into the bathroom.
My mother keeps on yelling up the stairs telling me to wake up and get up.
I am awake, and technically I am up, right? I'm not laying on my bed. So I win.

She just barely barely said: "Sam get in the shower!! What have you been doing?!"
"Umm nothing." Which obviously is a lie. I'm blogging. 

 I know I'll sit here for another good ten minutes until I see that the time is 9:50 and then the anxiety will kick it.

So. What should I talk about for ten minutes?

I am so thrilled.
So so thrilled.

Shoot. I better go. My mom is coming up the stairs! AHHH.

So that was yesterday.
Now it's Monday and I do have a FANTASTIC reason for not finishing my blog right after I got home from church. I was reading the very first book of the Hunger Games. AH. So great. I started it on Saturday and finished it yesterday. I didn't dare start reading the second one because I would have been up all hours of the night last night. So that's why I didn't blog. So sorry.

I have a secret.
I'll share it with you. Only you though.

Everyday when I get home, I throw my hair up, put shorts on, and a giant sweatshirt. Then. If I go and hang out that night I have to change back, redo my hair and make up, and pretend like I never looked like a hobo earlier that day.

Here are some very fantastically blurry photos of me and my brother, Max,  after we got home. Yes. We do this when we are bored. Pathetic? Maybe, but you know you do it too.

So there you have it.

We be family.


Hasta la vista baby.
-Older sister.

Want to know more about my family? Check this out. 



I know I've already posted today. But just a thought. 
People ask me why I blog.
I don't get paid. It's not for a class. And no, my parents don't force me to do it. 
I just love to. CREATE. 
Create laughter.
Create thoughts.
Create smiles.
Create warmth.

I hope that someday. You start to create.
You don't have to be Mormon, Christian, or even religious. 
Just do it. And love what you do.
Because I sure do. 



My stomach is the size of Santa's.

So. Yesterday was my little sister's birthday. She's now 13 and it's bizarre.

How bizarre.
How bizarre, how bizarre

Ooh baby
(Ooh baby)
It's making me crazy
(It's making me crazy)

Every time I look around
(Look around)
Every time I look around
(Every time I look around)
Every time I look around, it's in my face
It's in my face

Please tell me somebody else remembers this song from the 90's. I loved it when I was two-ish.

I love her too much.
She wrote the phrase above ^^^ while my laptop was on my bed and I was off in dream land.
Silly Gracie. I do love you though. No worries.

She's cute. It runs in the family.

Since it was her birthday there was a lot of food, a lot of un-healthy food. And I ate all of it. That was yesterday. And I am still feeling the effects of it. 

  • I'm stuffed, resulting in me looking like Santa.
  • Not only do I look like Santa, I weigh as much as Santa.
  • I'm really tired, and drowsy.
  • I'm REALLY tired. 
  • I think I have a billion and two sicknesses/diseases. I woke up thinking I had a cold and during lunch I thought I had a fever. Seriously? I'm crazy. 
  • Hallucinations have been a regular thing today. Actually, hallucinations isn't the right word. More like stupid moments...  I was sitting there. And I thought: "What is squeezing my foot?" I looked down and realized I was wearing a sock. No comment.
  • I'm seeing fortune cookies everywhere I turn.
One more day.
Till what?
Till the Christmas break!!!!
I cannot contain my excitement. I'm so sick of school. And two weeks away from it sounds pretty darn amazing. I literally cannot spend one more day with my teachers without having the urge of punching them in the face. All they do is give out useless homework that ruin my life. I may be acting a little dramatic..

Oh ya! Remember my Facebook stalking speech?  100% baby. It was great. 

Sorry this is such a short post. But I have a headache and the ruuuuns. (Can anybody name the movie?!)
I don't really have the runs. That's gross. And I sure in heck wouldn't tell you about it. But really, I just have a headache, not the runs. I'm so sorry that I'm a little icky. But really, no runs.

In a while crocodile. 
-Older sister.



That would be my car.

Meaning: Dear, loved one.

Such a fantastic movie.
Anyways this is Darla and me.

I think we look great together.
Other than the fact that I'm twice her size.
She's the Darla to my Alfalfa.
My honk to my horn.
My brake to my gas.
My song to my radio.

Those get old super fast. FYI. 

She has this distinct odor. No. It's not gas, B.O. or Pina Colada. It's.... crayons. Yes, those things you use to color with, they get stuck under your finger nail, and the things that Russel Anderson used to shove up his nose in the first grade. 
That would be the smell of my dear car.
Every time somebody that hasn't experienced my car hops in this is what happens.

Their eyes look around the little space available. 
Take a few sniffs.
Have an awkward pause.
"Does it smell like crayons?"
I glare at them.
"Yes, it does. But I love her, and don't complain."

I've had people get sick because of the smell. And I've had some people absolutely love it. Weirdos... 

She takes diesel. 
And sounds like a truck.
So I just say that she takes steroids that make her sound manly. 
Also. Her horn is super super low. Like a semi-truck in the distance coming through the canyon low. 
Practically, she's a man named Darla.
Kind of like a boy lady bug. But less awkward. 

Do you ever feel bad for boy lady bugs?!
I sure do. A Bug's Life. One of my all time favorites! The lady bug is a boy! And boy is he a pain in the rear end. But if I was a girl with a boy's name I'd feel the same way. Oh wait...

Don't worry I love my name.

It's Sam by the way....

Fear Factor.
Finally it's back!
I used to always find myself giggling when I found a rerun that I could record. I mock those people who eat stupid things all for the love of money! 
But now they have an ALL. NEW. SEASOOOON. I hope you said that super special. Because I know I did. I also moved my head back and forth, it was extremely cute. 
I'm such a nice friend that I let Mr. Bryce come and watch it with me. 
Aren't I the nicest girl in the world?! I know, I know. You can praise me if you reallllly want. 
Actually It came with a price.
The price? 

Can I just say I got the better end of the deal.

Over and out.


Sunday Stalker.

The day you go to church. Or at least, supposed to...
The day you end up doing your homework.
The last day of the week, or the first day of the week.
Is usually ruined by the thought of Monday.
The day to watch football.
No not the dessert. Silly.
The day that Sam gets to wear high heels.

Can I say that I OWN at high heels. I can walk the walk. Let me tell ya.
I'm 5' 9.5". Yes I wear 5" heels. No I don't care that you hate when I wear heels. I love it.
Don't complain about how I'm taller than you. No duh I am. I love wearing them. And Sunday is truly the only day that I can.

This would be me in heels. 
You can't see the heels. But I am in them.
Oh and my family and I have this thing where when ever we see a camera we have our thumbs pop out. I wrote poop instead of pop. No, thumbs don't poop out Sam! Gosh.

Now this is really what it feels like.
I could do anything in heels!
Run, jump, hurdle. I've got it covered! 

Yes. Those are little heels for me. 

I just love them so darn much. 
In fact, they are going on my Christmas list. I'm going to post it soon enough. Don't fret.
I want some sparkly ones.
Ones that blind you with their sparkles. Yup. Those ones.

Sometimes they hurt your feet. 
But sometimes friends hurt your feelings. You learn to forgive. 
My feet have actually become immune to pain resulting from high heels.

Rap I just came up with:
You know those heels?
The ones so high.
Ya they so hot.
They so fly.


I wish I could rap.  Actually. I can rap two songs. And if Taylor Swift had some rap songs, I could probably rap those ones too.

So in Honors English we had to write a speech. She gave us the opportunity to talk about WHATEVER we wanted. Complete freedom in my hands? Booyah. 
Side note:
Last year we had to write a speech. I wrote mine about verbal abuse, and can I just say it rocked?! I was docked a point because of how I was dressed. My teacher was super conservative and I guess a lepord print tight pencil skirt did not please her... But other than that. It was awesome!

So I was tempted to just use mine from last year. Kind of a heavy topic and super personal for me. But heck, it was a great speech. So being a good student and all I didn't do what my evil side wanted to do. I ended up writing a whole speech on Facebook stalking. 

On Friday during class, some kids gave their speeches. 
99 percent of them were serious. Ask me if I am nervous to be the black sheep with the non-serious speech. Yes, well kinda not really. I guess I was expecting it. 
Some girl talked about love.
Another about cancer.
Then comes Sam.

"Hi. Um. My speech is about Facebook Stalking."


I have to present it to the class on Tuesday. 
What a joke.

You may be wondering why randomly I jump from high heels to Facebook stalking. 
Because. I think I have one.
I'm not threatened. Just concerned for my life. Wait. Say what?

Within a week, if I don't post again you will know what happened to me.
Call the cops. Tell them I've been kidnapped by a Facebook stalker. 
And tell everyone that my life has been ruined by Facebook.
Then sue Facebook.
Then Facebook will try to find me so they aren't sued for so much mula.
Then when they find me. 
I'll post again. Don't worry.

I'm going to put alarms around my house.
And I'll wear heels so I can kick them and puncture their calves. Gross...

If I don't return, avenge my death!
-Girl on the go.



My day.

Sam #1:
I wake up. That instantly throws my day into a pit of despair. But Sam, you wake up every morning! Way to state the obvious. I just somehow pull my body out of this lonely pit at around noon. So waking up ruins my morning. Sometimes I wish that I could just stay put in my warm, brightly colored bed with Shamu. Don't worry, I'm not being a scandalous lady. Shamu is a whale. A fake one... Usually I fall asleep in the shower. Yes, It is possible, I do it almost every single morning. Just put your head against the wall, and BAM, you have now mastered the talent of fake narcolepsy. After rushing to get to school I either have AP Biology or Chemistry. Really? Both science classes, both hard, both stupid. Dun dun dunnn. The pit of despair is now filled with spiders or some sort of creepy thing, maybe clowns, or vice principals.... After that I have a ton of boring classes. So Sam #1 resides in my body until noonish. Tip: Stay away from Sam #1. She will rip your head off or completely ignore you. Hopefully it is the second one, for your sake.

Sam #2:
I'm floating on cloud nine. My last class for BOTH days are super easy. Resulting in a pretty happy Sam. I often ponder during Sam #2 time. I usually don't have a lot on my mind to ponder about though, so I sit back and dream about Dr. Pepper rivers streaming through hills made out of Ben and Jerry's Ice cream. Sounds pretty darn wonderful doesn't it? 

Sam #3: 
This Sam is a blast. Just saying. I often transform into Sam #3 right after school. I usually find myself singing very very loudly. Just imagine your fat grandmother siting on top of a goat, and the sounds coming from the goat's mouth is better than what I sound like. But I don't care! I feel unstoppable! Usually this is when stupid things come out of my mouth, unfortunately.I spelled unfortunately correct the very first time without a dictionary or spell check. Winner? I think YES! One thing you should know about me. I don't have a filter. If I think about it, I will say it. No matter what it is. I just vomit out everything that is inside my brain. Ew. Sometimes my brain vomit humors people. And sometimes people get extremely offended. And sometimes I deserve a good punch in the face for what I say. I'm trying to start thinking before I speak. It doesn't work for me.

Go to the store and buy eggnog Creamies. You will thank me later.

Sam #4:
Sam #4 comes out at night. I think about what has happened throughout the day, resulting in a very fickle Sam. Sometimes I cry, but mostly I laugh. I laugh at all the ridiculous things that happened to me. I'll tell you what I'm laughing about right now.

Coming home from the Utah State Developmental Center I see that Darla is about to die of thirst. In panic I search for money anywhere possible. Pockets, seats, bras. A bra is made to hold things. Thus, my phone being constantly in my bra. Be disgusted. I don't care. It's a fantastic spot for things. After ten minutes of rummaging through my car I find 12 dollars. I park Darla in front of a little pump thingy. What are they called? Blonde moment anyone? I see that the cashier is sweeping and I assume that it is closed. So ever so slyly I poke my head in. The cashier looks up, and smiles at me. 

This dude is probably 20. And not bad looking. At all. He started talking to me, about my car and school. I do get the feeling that he is hitting on me. Not to be conceited, but he was. After a couple of minutes and a goodbye I walk towards the door. "Have a good night!" He hollers and I turn my head towards him for two seconds. 
Two seconds later I was getting to know the door a lot better. I didn't look up. I just kinda booked it out to my car. It hurt. And I broke a blood vessel on my hand if you want proof. 

So now. I'm sitting here. Laughing about how dumb I am. Thank goodness I'm not THAT easily embarrassed. Thank goodness I don't care about what other men think about me. Thank goodness I'm Sam.
So Sam #4 made some Orange Juice. And boy do I love orange juice. Except my family downs it in about three hours. And I'm sick of it. Solution? 

If your eyesight is not choice, the tape has: Sam's oj. Written on it. Booyah.
Smartest thing I've ever done.
Dang. I should have spit in it too.
Just for the extra security.
I guess you could say Sam #4 is the inspired Sam.
Orange juice with tape and spit?! Brilliant.



Just a kiss.

I am so sorry.
I feel like I have deserted you. and for a matter of fact. I know I have.
I wish I had some amazing excuse why it has almost been a week since my last post. But I'm going to be honest. And say I don't. Because... I don't. Make sense?
Oh goodness.

Boys are weird. Really weird. Thus they are attracted to weird people. So that gives you, me. An exceptionally weird girl that weird boys are attracted to. Please don't think I'm saying that I am the hottest girl alive and if they are male, they are obsessed with me. Because I'm not, at all. I'm just saying, some interesting people tend to like yours truly.

I may seem semi normal.

And boys fall for that.
Just like you did.
You are thinking:
Give Sam a camera and she will be like every other human being and take a fantastically awkward picture of them smiling. 
This is exactly what happens to little people of the male gender. Oh. Sam seems like a pretty normal girl. No.
Surprise! This is what you really get.

You really get some pretty interesting pictures. Slightly embarrassing. Yes. But I'm chill. I know I can't say chill. I'm trying to be cool. Please forgive my absurdity.
If we put this into the context of boys liking me. They finally have a moment of realization. Sam scares me.
Boys oh boys. What am I going to do with you?

Sometimes. Silly boys have this epiphany and do nothing about it. They ignore it, exactly how I ignore my math teacher's constant blabing about parabolas. They choose to be eh-okay with my... originality. Poor boys. 

Strangest things that have ever happened to me ever concerning the humans with a lot of testosterone:

1. Get this. We are sitting there. I asked him what he wanted to do. With an ever so slow head turn our eyes met, brown. My favorite. And as my dear dear dear friend would call it, poop color. Though I completely disagree. Feeling awkwardly comfortable, I waited for a reply. His glance kept on bouncing back between my eyes and my lips and I could just feel his nerves. Nothing was said. He started to say something that no boy should ever say. An "ever so smooth" look upon his face came extremely close to mine. "I want to do this" regretfully fell out of his mouth.  His head moved in. I want to do this, I want to do this.  Replayed inside my head over and over within milliseconds. Moments away from his "first" kiss. (A girl had kissed him, but he never made the first move.) Laughter came out of my mouth. I was laughing hysterically while he sat there ever so quietly. Did I feel bad? Yes. Was it funny? HECK YES.

2. Thursday. Yes. Thursday. A week day. I know. Okay. Our school had this charity thing and on Thursday it was Kids in the Cold. Pretty much we stood outside waving signs around until we got an X amount of money for the charity. It was about 11 pm. Austin and I were driving around after the little "freeze our butts off" charity work.  Somehow we started talking about my balcony that is connected to my room. He kept on saying how he thinks he would be able to climb the vines up it. It's winter darling. They are dead. Still being a boy and all, his confidence was through the roof. (Did I mention he is a sophomore. And about two inches shorter than me?) He also assumed that as soon as he got to my balcony I would plant one right on his kisser. I'm not sure why he thought this. When we got there I had to go inside to pee. I drink a whole lot of water. I'm constantly peeing...not gonna lie. He was standing under my balcony contemplating how to master the vines. So I thought he would be okay for a minute outside alone. *A minute later* I walk out. Bam. Austin's gone. Worried. I called his phone. Before he picked up I heard a little noise. I looked up onto my roof and saw him. Please keep in mind my roof is one of the steepest that I have ever seen. Resulting in my house being a loner without lights during Christmas. Lame. He somehow climbed onto my roof. Half monkey? Probably. From the roof he got to my balcony. I had to let him through my room to get out of my house. At midnight. On a weeknight. No. He never received a kiss.

Oh the things boys do for a single kiss!

I went to Trafalga with my dearest friend. Bryce. Trafalga is a a mini golf place with games, laser tag, and hand sanitizer. My personal favorite. Second round of mini golf we decided to bet. We didn't know what the stakes were, but we didn't want to lose. Unless you were Bryce. He made it painfully obvious that he wasn't going to let me lose. Did I sit there and laugh at him while he "bumped" my golf ball closer to the hole? Yes. I did. Stop being so nice! I'm a tough girl. I can lose. But I was grateful that he cared so much. Did I win? No. Did he say I won? Yes. Who is right? me. Definitely me. We did those little arcade games. Those silly ones that rip you off. The one he was obsessed with? Push a button that drops a ball into some holes with the allotted amount of tickets above him. Jackpot was in his sight. And he was a tiger ready to reach his goal. He would push the button and watch the ball drop, his eyes glowing with the color filled lights coming from the game. He resembled a little kid at a candy store. Or a pervert at Victoria's Secret. I prefer the first one. But it was great. Four dollars later we landed 206 tickets. Booyah. Can I also say that we played laser tag and he was saying how wonderful he was at it before hand. Did I beat him? You can bet your little button I did! He will never live it down.

See. Bryce is at the phase where he thinks I am somewhat normal. As soon as his moment of realization kicks in he will run for hills. I'm going to start taking bets on it.

Na na na na. Hey Hey Hey. Goodbye.

Ps. I bet you sang that goodbye didn't you.



Today. I had a test in Pre-Calc.
Unfortunately, my dear smart father is out of town. So I couldn't study. And I was scared. I thought I understood it, until I looked at the key for our review and all my answers were 
Shock hit my body just like a car on car collision. Hard. I was worried for my dear life and grade! I ran into my parent's room and whined and complained about how hard my life is going to be if I don't do well on this test. My mom. Being the angel that she is, told me I could skip third period. AKA Pre-Calc. And then study with my dad tonight on Skype.

Do I love my mother?
Why yes. Yes I do.

I don't usually ditch. 
Or "sluff". Sluff is what us darn Utahans call it.
Actually I don't even think this should count as a sluff. Because well, my mom excused it. But let's say I do sluff. This is what my experience usually is.

Sure. I'll act cool. But we all really know the truth.
I think I'm a rebel and all but I'm not. 
I wouldn't say that I have a tendency to live on the edge or disregard authority. And I'm not usually in that much trouble.

Ps. In the picture it may look like my butt is oddly shaped. But really, that's just my phone. I promise.

I can't really do bad things. I must be an angel from heaven or something.
I try. Well, not necessarily try. And it is clearly impossible for me to do anything wrong.

Take one.

Several ways I'm the opposite of a rebel

1. I have too many fears. Good heavens. First let's start out with my biggest and most gut wrenching fear. 
Needles. Once when I was little I was so scared of getting a shot that I actually pretended to enjoy it. That moment will be scratched into my brain for life and eternity. The whole, I'm going to pretend like it doesn't scare me, does not work for me. It made it worse! When I had mono I had to have an IV and my blood drawn many times. I'll post about it later in life. And it was worse than the actual mono. By a lot. The thing about needles that kills me is that it is a little tiny piece of metal going into your body! It could get stuck and then somehow break off. Oh sheesh I'm getting sick. Just imagine. I also have a very irrational fear of bananas. Honestly, I think I'm scared of them because my mother used to make me eat them. When I was little with intestinal problems. I know, gross. Come on! I was like four! The repulsive smell and appalling color just send me to the edge and back. 
I have to stop talking about it. Or I'll barf. Basically. I'm a coward. I know. 

2. I'm not a male. Not to be sexist or anything. But there aren't that many females, if any, that are hardcore. Just going to throw that one out there. 

3. I just went and bought make-up. Do rebels wear make up? Or do they just use dirt and the earth?

4. Lord of the Rings scares me.  Yes. I have only seen it once. And no. I didn't like it. I know. I get it all the time: "YOU WHAT?! How you could you not like the best movie ever made for man kind?!" First off. School of Rock is the best movie ever. And if you try to argue with me, I will win. I'm sorry I don't want to waste my time watching a movie about dark underworlds with creatures that look like what belongs in a diaper fighting some Dumbledore looking man. It's just dumb. And it scares the living heck out of me. 

5. I still sleep with a stuffed animal. Shamu. Every night since I was five. I'm not ashamed!

6. I have a blog. I'm sorry if I just offended you. But it's true. A blog is a place to store your brain vomit and have the illusion that people somewhere out in the world actually care enough to read about your pathetic little teenage life. Sometimes people blog about being a vegan and all the adventures they go through while on their "veganquest". It's kind of wimpy. I have a blog. Obviously. I love it. But no rebel would have a real blog. Unless it just went like this.

Today, #$*( this %%&)*)$ and then !#*#$ while she $#@# so I said #***.

Get those words out of your mind!

7. My name. Samantha. Meaning: Heard by God. 
Booyah. I would think that one that resembled a rebel would be named something that meant feared or of a similar sort. Now you may be saying. But Sam, when they are babies they can't be rebel! Oh contraire! I think that a truly bad a person would be feared throughout all aspects of their life. Even birth.

My point.
I'm not a bad person. Or a cool person. I'm Sam.

And.... I'm out.


I'm sorry Mitch.

Be warned.
Waterproof eyeliner is the most awful thing to ever grace this planet. It hurts when you try to take it off. I swear I just tore out half of my eyelashes.

My emotions. Oh gosh. Crazy. Ask me how much I hate being a girl right now. 
A lot. 

There is one good thing about being a part of the female gender. Can anyone guess what that is? 
Yup. Males. Or. A male. 

What can I say? I'm a regular human being. I like men. They are hot.

Once. In second grade. There was the handsome little boy named Mitch Murray. I'm pretty sure that was his name, and hopefully still is his name... He was adorable. He was tall and a male. And well, at second grade that was all I really cared about. The tall factor would come and go based on my personal thoughts of that day. It was the second day of my infatuation for this hunk of a second grader. During recess we would take turns chasing each other. My totally intimidating all girl "gang" would take on his totally dreamy all boy "gang". I really do think one of the boys was in a gang! He wore chains on his jeans. It was heaven, and I was in love. One day, I was chasing around Mr. Murray, but this day was slightly chilly. So he was wearing a multi-colored, semi-puffy jacket. And boy oh boy was he handsome. A thoughtless action and ripped hood later, I realized we were never meant to be together. I had ripped his ever so flattering clothing item, and he ripped my heart. 
I was forever crushed.  

Now I'm 16 though.  And, unfortunately for me, yet fortunately for you, I won't be running around ripping jackets. 

Yes. I do have an infatuation. 
No it's not Mitch Murray.

I'm finding myself singing Taylor Swift. 
This is not good folks.

When we sit in the car, sometimes I look over to try and catch a few glances at his flawless skin. Undoubtedly, he sees my sneaky ways, but then he looks at me. And I giggle a little bit, because, he has fallen into my trap. My trap of clearly seducing him. Not really. I swear. I'm like the least seductive person to live. Once, we kissed, I looked up into his eyes and I died a little inside. There is no other blue that could be better than what is inside those eyes.  And I'm usually a sucker for brown eyes, not blue. So this is saying something. 

He knows I'm giddy about him. 
Now. It's up to that young boy.
He could either decide to ignore me. 

Hopefully he chooses the later.    
This is my dance. 
My. I'm completely infatuated with this kid dance. 
Yes. I am missing a sock. 
And no. I don't care.
Right now. I don't really care about anything. Thank you very much.

Y'all come back now.
-Giddy girl.


Crazy Scarf Lady.

This is me.
And I'm set and ready for the winter!

Funny thing is. There is no snow on the ground! None. 
It's the end of November and there is no snow in sight. I don't know if I should be rejoicing or not. Fall is my favorite time of the year. You get to wear (about five times I typed in swear instead of wear. Yes, I guess you could swear too) big sweatshirts that are two sizes too big. You get to cuddle with men, because you are so "cold". You get all the good holidays! Including my favorite, Halloween! I am so ecstatic that fall has lasted such a long time. But I'm done and ready for winter. The reason I'm ready for snow? Because if it does not come soon then the winter season will end in July. 

I think about two years ago it snowed in June. I mean heck. I live in Utah. We are known for our fantastic snow. But snow does not belong in June. And if we get snow in July this year, I will not be a happy camper.

Look at the picture above. Does it look like I'm ready for winter? Because this young girl is! 
I've always loved scarves. Not only winter scarves, but regular fashion ones. Are they really called fashion scarves? Because if so, I feel like a snobby rich girl. Hello, come on into my room and admire all my fashion scarves! I hope you read that in your head with a British accent. Because I sure did. (And I suck at accents, probably because I absolutely hate them.) (Ps. I'm not racist, even though some people think so. But please don't think I'm racist because I hate accents. I just think they are ugly.) (Pss. Accents are great! I am just not a fan of them.... Oh sheesh. I'll just stop talking.) Anyways. I have a lot of scarves!  In the picture I'm not even wearing all my scarves. When I grow up I'm not going to be the crazy cat lady with no husband and 374 cats. I'm going to be... DUN DUN DUN DUNNN crazy scarf lady! I'll be in my 70's with over 598 scarves, and I'll be set for life! Woohoo! Accessories are my thing. Scarves, earrings, and rings. Those are my big three. I love love love them.  OH MY. Earrings has two R's! ahh. Ear rings! Got it. Like a ring for you ear. Please don't forget I'm blond. 

Speaking of blond moments. 
My mom and I were talking about platypuses. Of all the things to talk about with your mom Sam? Yes. I know. Platypuses. Weird. So I thought that baby platypuses would be really ugly. So I googled it. Looked at the pictures and said: "Wait, so do they turn blue when they grow up?"

My mothers reaction? 
She looked at me. And she laughed. Hard.

Excuse me! That Disney cartoon... Phineas and Ferb showcases platypuses as blue! I thought Disney was supposed to be truthful and good! But no. They are liars! Disney really? Liars go to heck(ll). I didn't really write heck but then my mother got mad. So I had to change it to heck.... I don't want to see you there! Ohh. Poor Disney. I'll pray for you.

FYI. Platypuses are not blue.

Ugh. Well. Now that I have told you about how dumb I am. I'll let you go. 

Ps. I am just in the mood for a thing of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Everything but the... is my favorite flavor. So if you want to come bring me some. I'll love you forever. Yes. The name of the flavor is Everything but the...

I'll be bock. (Arnold Schwarzenegger voice)
-Scarf Lady.

Ya. I had to look up how to spell Schwarzenegger. 
Cut me some slack. It's a hard last name. 


I know I'm like four days late. But I've been sick. Give me a break.

You have to understand something about my family. We're weird.
A couple of years ago our Thanksgiving dinner consisted of everyone's favorite food.
What are a few things we had? Pudding. Egg rolls. Chips and salsa. Oranges. Horchata (my contribution). Dr. Pepper. Peanut butter and Jelly sandwiches. Swedish fish. Ribs. And much more.
Exciting huh?
Another year we had Thai food. SO good.
So this year, we took it back to 1621 and had a good ole' pilgrim and native american feast.
We went over to my Aunt and Uncle's house and ate our heart's out.
My favorite foods?

My mother's yams. Holy. They are from heaven.

And, my G-Ma's Rolls.
Actually, it was my grandpa that made them. But my grandma likes to take the credit. Strangely enough I approve of her selfish actions. Probably because I know that's how it's going to go down when I'm old and married. (If I do get married and I'm not a nun.)
Also. My dad's side of the family has this small obsession with bums. So I thought this photograph was very appropriate. Not only am I showcasing the rolls. I am also showing off bums. You're welcome.

I love my family.
And I like to express that in a way of cuddling.
Christen, my cousin is like an older sister to me. Unfortunately for me, she does not like to cuddle.

You don't understand how long it took me to get here.
I'm a lover. She's a fighter. Slowly I am changing that though.

Enough about Thanksgiving.

As you know. I was very sick yesterday.
It was gross how sick I was.
Miraculously I feel a ton better today. Did I tell you that both my parents were sick yesterday too? Crazy.
So I wasn't able to go to church today, because I'm kind enough to think of other people, and their healthy bodies. I'm like a saint or something.

I absolutely hate being sick. Is there anybody that actually enjoys it?
I feel like I'm always sick though. There is something wrong with me, all the stinking time.
Being sick stops me from leaving the house. And I'm a pretty social person. I hate being cooped up at the house. Thank goodness for friends. They are what kept me sane yesterday. One of my favorite kids in the entire world, Bryce, texted me, I swear all day. His constant nagging about me going to bed and getting sleep so I could be healthy, made me giggle and kept me entertained. Obviously, I needed sleep, and I got some! I just liked talking to him better than trying to sleep while feeling nauseous. 

Texting a boy that you are completely infatuated with VS. lying in bed staring at your ceiling thinking about vomiting. Which one would you pick? 

Ya. I thought so. 

Another dear friend Nathan. Brought me cookies. Ohhh Nathan. Regrettably I ate one. They were pumpkin chocolate chip cookies! Hello? My favorite kind. He now calls himself the cookie monster. Am I surprised? No, no I am not.

Shoot. I feel kind of sick all of the sudden.
Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Hopefully it's nothing.
But knowing me, I'll go down stairs, and complain to my mother. And exaggerate about how I'm going to die... But I'm not going to die. Don't worry.

Death is NOT knocking on my door.
-Drama queen.



I'm about to barf so I'm going to type very very fast.
You should see my fingers they are moving at about a million miles an hour.
Actually you can't even see them they are moving so fast.

So here's the situation.
I woke up around nineish. Felt sick. Ran into my bathroom and vomited.
This has happened seven times!

I am repulsed by myself.
Oh. I just heard my little brother take a hard hit down the stairs. BUT I can't do anything because any fast movement could result in gross things that are unspeakable.

Right now my body feels jut like it was hit by a truck.
Seriously, typing this is hurting my forearms. Is that normal?
No. It isn't.
And I'm shaking. This is not fun.

Not only do I feel like poo. I look like it too.
My hair is in a bun on top of my head.
I have no make up on.
And let's just say my clothing is not choice.
I love it!
I wish I could dress like this everyday and not care! But I do care. But not that much. Because if I did care more than I normally do I wouldn't be wearing jeans and a sweatshirt everyday. But hey! Jeans and sweatshirts are the most comfortable way to go.

I like my body and my face.
And I am not one of those girls that need compliments to make themselves feel better. I know I am not perfect. Heck. I have three zits the size of my dad's head on my face. I sometimes feel too fat. And I have man hands. But, I have embraced all of these odd things. They make me who I am. And I would never trade that for anything.

I know this is a small post. And I apologize for that. But I don't want vomit all over my keyboard. Do you?

Wish me luck!



I am the oldest of my siblings.

Sometimes. I love it.
Sometimes. I hate it.
But most of the time, I love it.

There are benefits to being the eldest:

Obviously, you are the wisest.
The most responsible.
Best looking.
You are are over all the best child in the family. And your parents wish that all the other kids could be just like you. The other kids despise you, yet respect you at the same time.

I wish.
Isn't that what the movies portray?
Yes. Yes it is young one.

Let me tell you. I am far from this. I am not so wise. I sometimes do stupid teenage things that only stupid teenagers do. So thus, I am not always the most responsible kid ever. I get good grades, but I could get better. I know I am the best looking in my family so I'm not going to argue that one... (Actually all my siblings are gorgeous and I'm kind of jealous like all the time.) My parents do love me, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I get a look in their eye that says: "Samantha Jean, I want to strangle you right about now."
Don't worry. They would never actually do it.
I hope.

My family is great.

The 'Rents
Rich and Diana are there names.
My Dad is one of the smartest guys I know.
And I know a lot of smart guys.
He may say that he isn't THAT smart, but listen to me. I'm the one with the blog.
He probably will hate me saying this but.
He was the valedictorian and the student body president at his high school.
Now that right there is an overachiever.
He works as a computer nerd for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints .

My mom is super artistic.
One time I counted all the colors that are painted on the walls of our house.
There are 14.
We have one wall that is strictly paintings and art and such.
All of this is my moms doing.
She is an artist! She won't admit it, but she is.
She graduated with a bachelors in Graphic art.
That right there is pretty darn cool.

Together they are the old ones that govern our house.
I should probably give them more respect. Actually, I know I should.
But I can't be perfect, or can I...?
They are "supa chill" as my friends would call it. But they are strict when they need to be.
And I love them.

You know me.
Pshh. You were actually expecting me to write more about myself?
Silly reader.
I'm not that conceited.

Puberty girl
You may think this is an inappropriate name.
I'll explain.
This is Grace Louise.
Or Gracie.
She is 12. Everyday until she was born I prayed for a little sister.
And boy did I get one.
She is awesome. And one of the prettiest girls I know.
Her eyes are far apart, you know, model like.
Her eyelashes reach from here to the stars.
And she has a hot skinny body.
Since she is 12, she is hitting this awkward and unwelcome conversation topic called... puberty.
We have all been through it! Get over it.
I now realize why my parents gave me the "I want to strangle you" death glare while I was hitting puberty.

Georgia Audrey.
This is how she gained the name of Poo.
Georgie Pordgie.
Pordgie Poo.

I feel bad for the girl. I mean really, who wants their name to be Poo?
She is the girl of the family.
She loves glitter, dresses, and tea.
(Not tea, but I just thought that went along with the whole dress thing.)
She's 8. And great!
(That rhymed.)
Her personality is very loud. Just like every other 8 year old.

He just goes by Bubba.
Think about it.
When he is in high school and playing football you can hear it.
"OHH number 23 takes a hard hit from Bubba!"
Bubba is just awesome.
He loves running around and destroying everything in his path.
He is four, although he resembles a six year old.
One of the biggest kids I know.
He adores men things. Even though sometimes you can catch him playing with barbies.

There ya go. That's my family.
Pray for me.
But really, Pray for my parents.
-The best child.

*They are perfect in my eyes. I just hope they read this and give me twenty bucks.