Being a teenager doesn't mean you have fun at dances.
It just means that you are prone to have more fun compared to a grandpa, or somebody of "old age". Like my mother.
My mom was talking to me, and she said that I never blog about her, yet I never fail to mention my dad. She told me I had to create a whole blog post about how wonderful and funny she is. Don't get me wrong she is wonderful and funny. So instead of just writing one post about her, I am going to spread it out between many posts. I hope you find this funny Mom, and don't ground me for telling everyone that you force me to say you're nice. I love you.
So being young, not like my mother, I went to the dance.
And it was amazing.
The day started out with us going to PPT.
Which is a place with giant foam pits and trampolines on steroids.
These foam pits are from hell.
Is that swearing?
I sure hope not.
It's like saying that Satan is from hell...
If it is swearing, please forgive me.
I have good intentions.
But seriously. I hate these things. They stick to your body and make you feel like you are slowly being devoured by them. Then you get little pieces of foam in your eyes. And you cry. A lot. Then your make up runs down your face, and you look like one of those creepy clowns at haunted houses. I would post a picture of a clown. But I am too scared to look them up on google.
After this little adventure of foam and clowns we got hot-dogs. These were not just regular hot-dogs. The were about the size of my forearm. I'm a tall girl. So thus I have a long forearm. I didn't even eat the whole thing. And I can down food. I'm pretty much an endless pit. So that was bizarre.
I was dropped off at my humble abode. And did all that girly stuff girls do to look like girls. Then I was picked up to go to my dates' humble abode. We ate dinner. Everyone thought that was the most hilarious dinner ever. Because some dummy decided not to think before they spoke and ended up saying this: "So Trevor, If you are in your underwear can people see inside your house?" For about thirty minutes the whole group tormented and teased this poor dummy. Good thing this dummy is a good sport. This lasted at least thirty minutes. It ended up with this : The "dummy" riding a horse outside Trevor's house with binoculars. I felt bad for that dummy.
We played football. YES. In my dress and tights. Well. I didn't really play football. More like I ran around with a football screaming. so....
We went to a frozen yogurt place called Orange Leaf and got some delicious dessert. Tangled was playing on the T.V.'s there and everyone except for myself was in complete awe about it. Nobody said a word. They just all stared and watched the movie.
Then we went to the dance.
Did I mention I was the second tallest person there?
And my date was the first.
We received the nickname of "Twin towers".
I love high heels.
The dance was the best thing in the history of things.
I wish you could have all been there to experience it.
Trevor and I sang our hearts out, danced our hearts out, and sang out hearts out more.
It all ended at the doorstep, a little kiss on the cheek, and a tired Sam.
I have realized that I say "I'm going to punch you in the face" too much.
And by too much I mean every other sentence.
I really am not a violent person.
So I don't really get why I say it.
I'm not really a negative person. Except for lately, I've been in a bad mood for approximately three weeks. And if you are one of my closer friends you should be able to guess why.
And man is it hard.
I must admit, I'm addicted to something.
That something is from heaven, I swear by it.
My one true love in life.
It has 23 flavors.
Doctors say to drink it.
I say to drink it.
And I'm a doctor when it comes to...
Obviously. I am no doctor of love. I mean really, look at my situation right now. I would not call that perfect. It's good don't get me wrong. But I do not, NOT want to be in this situation, if it was up to me. I would have my parents be Indian and have them arrange a marriage for me. Now doesn't that sound like fun? Maybe. To some people. Right now. It is tempting.
Back to the DP.
So I am addicted. Is that bad?
Yes. Why yes it is dear reader. This is very bad.
I, young Sammie Jean.
Daughter of Rich.
Tormentor of young children.
Am addicted to this drink.
After the Developmental Center today I ran to 7-11. And got a giant DP. mmm. Delicious. This drink was probably bigger than my head. Bigger than your head. And bigger than the Vice Principal at my school with no hair and a big head. And trust me, his head is HUGE and bald....
I drink it all the time.
Darla? (My car)
Is full of them.
She is going to get fat unless she stops caring them around.
I envy this couple!
I know it is super stalker status to put this picture up. But I found it online and it's amazing! I want my engagement/wedding pictures by a Dr. Pepper sign. I have an amount of jealousy that is not safe for one human to have right now at this moment. Whoever these people are... I love them!
That means the vine took me away to swallow me whole. Like in Jumanji, ya know?
Lately I have been having the strangest dreams. My one last night was about me being a different person. Jonah, in fact. And I just drove around making the strangest face while staring at people. The night before I had this dream that I was on a plane and they would keep on giving me a different drink than what I ordered. One was actually about Dr. Pepper.... yum. Another dream was about my experience of riding Shamu. The giant killer whale. I love him.
So tonight I probably will have a very interesting dream. I'll keep you posted.
The dark spots under our eyes would be the correct answer.
I think high-school is going to be the death of me. *correction* AP Biology, Chemistry, Honors English 11, and Pre Calculus will be the slow excruciating death of me. I don't think I've ever been more tired. Not even when I had that atrocious illness called Mono.
Yesterday I went to the Developmental Center. Can I say how much a ADORE these people? I've been there for about a month, and I already know how amazing and inspirational they are. I will talk to them and my heart aches because of how much I love them.
David. Oh man. Even the thought of him makes me smile. He loves touch, because he is half blind, so touch him for a minute and he will never let go. I wish I could show you how he dances in his wheel chair. It's so darn cute. He puts his hands up next to his face, closes his eyes, sticks out his lips, and moves his head to the left and right.
I bet you are doing that right now. Aren't you?
So the Developmental Center was great. But I got home and did homework, and a whole lot of it. About five hours. Which is NOT including the stuff I did before I left to the DC. the consequence of the choice of being a good student ? I almost fell asleep multiple times in every single class, including lunch. Doesn't sound like a good student does it? Don't worry I am. Or. Not. Maybe I'm just good at sweet talking my teachers. Booyah.
I think this is some sort of disease that comes along with being a teenager:
Endless desire to sleep.
Being so tired. I took a nap.
Resulting in : Dark circles under my eyes (isn't sleep supposed to fix this?!), the epitome of bed head, and my eye make up covering my entire face.
This is not a good look. For anyone. Not even my Grandma.
And trust me. I have a hot grandma.
Think of Lindsay Lohan, when she is her "I'm going to get drunk and go to jail, not so hot" look. And you will find a better looking me.
Stupid sleep. Why do you do this to me?!
Is this meant to be a love-hate relationship?
I love you, but all you do is torment me with dreams about mutant babies and never-ending car trips; then you make me look like a raccoon.
And a raccoon is not very appealing to most people.
Unless that person is a raccoon, then things would just get awkward and go downhill from there...
Is there anything better than it? Other than that feeling that you get rolling down the tip of the roller coaster and you almost throw up, but instead you laugh.. ya. Nothing is better than that.
On a side note... I went on my first "big" roller coaster about a year ago. I know. Wimp? yes. I understand, I am the epitome of a baby. Things scare me easily, I get hurt by a single touch, and I am probably the most jumpy person EVER. Example: When I lock my car, I sometimes scream because it beeps.. and it scares me.
Ya. It's that bad.
I freakin love it.
90 percent of what I say is sarcasm or in other words. Crap. (sorry for the language father)
The other 10 percent it truthful. Surprisingly I'm a good person to talk to. And have advise. Unlessss you are on my nerves. Then that 90 percent of sarcasm comes into play.
Sorry if you have been a victim of my sarcasm. Some people are hurt by it, and I don't get it at all! I mean really. It isn't THAT big of a deal. Grow up. And don't be such a baby. Not a baby as in the "the beep from my car locking" baby, but the "I can't take a joke" baby. There is a big difference, let me tell you. I am one of those babies... then the other one I can't stand.
Sarcasm is what I live for.
It is what I breath. listen...
And so on.
mmm. Better than air.
So. If I have ever told you I hate you.. It was sarcasm. Like in my previous post, which you can find HERE, I said I hate vegans. That, obviously was sarcasm. Unless I really do hate you, which I don't. So don't fret bud.
I dream about sarcasm.
Yup. Little sarcasm sheep jumping over a little fence made out of sarcasm.
Unless you count blogging. But not that many people read this... So technically I'm doing nothing.
So. Obviously. I'm kicking butt and taking names at doing nothing.
Do you think you are doing less than me? Doubt it.
So while doing nothing, I did nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
I don't really have anything interesting to write about.
I guess I could write about the time where I almost slipped and broke my neck, while my "friends" were around the corner and had no idea. So afterwords I stood there awkwardly with people staring at me. Good thing I'm not embarrassed easily.
Or I could talk about how my math teacher has the exact same last name as me. And we are both from Scotland.
I could maybe even talk about how much I hate this dreaded math homework.
But instead. I'll write about. I'm not sure actually... Whatever rolls out of the tips of my fingers, I guess.
Sometimes. I sit and dream. I dream about being old, with curly grandma hair, and
wrinkles that are deeper than the Grand Canyon. And I'll have a cute little
husband that is more fragile than me. And my grandchildren will love
me, because I smother them in big juicy kisses with my ruby red
lipstick. And I'll give them cookies and different assorted
treats. And I'll love crocheting and I'll make a hat
for each one of my cats, and I'll name my cats
Lou, Jasper, Dale, Wallis, Oliver, and Bob.
Please note that all those cats were
boys. Because, boy cats are
so much greater than
girls. I will be a
great old lady.
But none of that really matters right now.
my life, I
into a person,
and this person is
what I will be like for
the rest of my life. I will
always be this Samantha Jean
That I am creating right now, So
I have decided that I should make this
Sam great, and not think about being old.
But instead, think about tomorrow, and what
I'm going to do to make tomorrow amazing. And
my future amazing. Because so much depends on one
little action, and that little action could happen tomorrow.
But you won't know, until you make that decision. So I know
what I am going to do tomorrow. Well, not really, but I know that I
am not going to do anything that I'll regret. Which also includes not doing
something, or trying something, or talking to somebody. So every chance I
get at making something amazing, I will take it. And hopefully I won't screw it up.
Don't worry. I'm not that intellectual when I type.
And that is why I'm a vegan. Because if I gained ANY weight at ALL in the next few weeks, you would be able to tell in my dress. You may be saying.
Wow Sam. That's a super tight dress. and immodest.
My answer? No. It's just form fitting.
But I can't say much more because, there is a slight chance that my date could read this. And I don't want to tell him about the dress. So. Sorry.
So. Being vegan and all I ate a bean burger.
My dad, a while back decided he wanted to try being a vegan. And that lasted all of a week. (My dad smokes some mean ribs) So during that monumental week, my father bought all sort of vegan things. Burgers, chicken patties, quinoa, and other random things from Costco. (Aren't most wonderfully random food items from Costco?)
This bean burger, was surprisingly good. Well, as good as a bean burger can get. Let's just say that I put a stack of pickles about a mile high on top of it. It helped.
For the last couple of days, all I have eaten are veggies and fruits. Being a major carnivore, this is the hardest thing I have done, ever. (maybe..) Oh! I also adore sugar. So that is no fun. Especially since lately I have been craving one of those oreo pizzas from Pizza Pie Cafe. So in 12 days, if you want to. You can buy me one.
If you want to.
For the last hour I have been listening to thissong. And I'm in love. Not the friendship love. Not the lusty love. No. This is the love that is unconditional and has no limits. It's the last thing I think about before I go to sleep and the first thing I think about when I wake up. I would sacrifice anything for this song. I would prefer this song to a shopping trip to IKEA. That is how much I love it.
Not really. I do love this song. But I would NEVER sacrifice IKEA. Not even for a cute little baby kangaroo. Yes. A kangaroo. It has been my dream to own one. They are so darn cute. Even though they can kill somebody.... They can kill my enemies right?!
Kidding. I don't have any enemies.
Except that one girl. But I don't hate her.
And I wouldn't classify her as my enemy.
Except she hates me.
And classifies me as her enemy.
ps. Why do you hate me?
This blog is just rambling on. Like usual.
So I'll let you go.
GO VEGANS! (kidding, I hate you)
Don't let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya-
School yes. The place where children starve through three long class periods just to have the light at the end of the tunnel be a lousy 40 minute lunch. And then if you think you are finally finished you find yourself with one more class period.
This is not fun. Let me tell you.
Lexi. Aka. My best Asian friend, is supposed to be sitting next to me. But as usual she is being an overachiever, and kissing up to the teacher. Sorta. So she stole my headband about three months ago. (Probably longer but my sense of time is quite bad.) And she wore it today. She looks cute in it, don't fret. I guess that's what best friends are for. Wearing each others headbands. So from now on Lexi isn't going to be referred as my best friend, but instead, the girl who wears my headbands. So I looked up Lexi on a baby name website and this is what I found out. Lexi means defending men.
Irony. Isn't it awesome?
I'll explain to you this little piece of irony. Lexi. Is obsessed with men. Short, tall, tan, albino, smart, fickle, anything. She loves them all. Don't deny it Lex. We sometimes use the phrase "obsessed" when it comes to her and boys. So she sure does defend men, and all their wonderful attributes.
She's cute. And that's why she's my best friend. If she wasn't cute, we probably wouldn't be friends. (I'm totally kidding). If she wasn't cute, she would still be MY Lexi.
To tell you the truth, I hope she becomes a nun.
Are there asian nuns?
I want her to become a nun, so that she can never get married and leave me for some hunky human of the male gender. She is mine.
I've told her everything about my life. And I feel bad. Nobody wants the full weight of my somewhat messy life in their hands. But for some reason she has accepted it, and I think that is just insane. But somebody has to be insane to be my friend... right? Right.
So thanks Lex. For listening to me cry. Eating chips with me. Cheering on boys at football games. Drinking out of sippy-cups. Cuddling with me during the storm. Hating people that I hate. Playing on the tramp. Watching Fear Factor. Stretching every cent out of about 100 quarters. Peeing with me. Going off of sugar. Planning our lives. (Matching babies!) Driving with me. Listening to me sing. Stalking my blog. Buying a flower for Darla. And for much much more.
The person to comment and get it right I'll give you two bucks (if you live close), and I'll write a whole paragraph about you. (No promises it will be nice...Just kidding. I'm a nice person, even if you aren't..)
So there you go.
This weekend has been one that I will remember forever. Not to rub it in your face or anything, but, mine was better than yours. Unless your dead goldfish came back to life last weekend, but if not, mine was definitely better.
Friday. Seriously, anything could happen on Friday and it would still be a good day.
I could have a zit, break my big toe, and have a overly obese man sneeze on me, and Friday would still be a good day.
According to Rebecca Black, Friday is the day after Thursday, the day before Saturday, which comes before Sunday. We also have to wake up at seven, eat cereal, run downstairs, almost miss the bus, and ride in a convertible with a 14 year old driver.
Now doesn't that sound like fun?!
Anyways.. Friday, I went to school. Like every other weekday, I walked from one class to another with a bag on my back weighing more than an overweight cat, see people in the hall and pretend to be happy to see them (kidding), and resist the urge to punch my teachers in the face. Don't get me wrong, the social aspect of school is fantastic. But other than that, and my honors English class, school is just a place for parents to get rid of us for approximately eight hours. After school on Friday, I think I took a nap, I never know when I take naps or not. All I know is that I take naps on a regular basis. And they are awesome. After a nap that I may or may not have taken, I had the best night ever. Myself, and five other friends, went up to the canyon and watched a scary movie on this tiny 9x5 portable DVD player. I almost peed my pants about a billion times. I'm a weenie when it comes to scary things. Okay? I can't really go into specifics but it sure was a darn good time. We had a campfire, and decided we didn't need it. So we put it out. But randomly during the movie, it would start up again. And my "date" (I'm not sure if I would call it a date, but it was just like a date, and he was the one I would hold onto during the scary parts, aka the whole movie.) was the only one brave enough to go outside by themselves and put it out. So here's a shout out to you! Way to be brave.
Ps. It's so hot in my room, and I'm too lazy to go turn on the fan. AND. My phone just died. boo.
Saturday. I was asked to homecoming. That was fun. And totally NOT predictable AT ALL....haha...
He filled up probably like 50-100 little water balloons (with air) and put a piece of paper in all of them. So I popped the first one thinking that it was a clue, puzzle, or his name. But SURPRISE there was nothing on the first one. Laughing to myself, I popped the next one. Surprise again. There was nothing on the paper. There was a reoccurring theme.
I don't think I've been more frustrated in my life. So.
I looked in my closet, and there was THREE big balloons, with a note in one of them. And whoop-dee-doo, it was in there. I spent almost an hour popping little balloons, when all I had to do is look in the closet. Oh the irony. Don't people mostly hide in the closet, but it is the last place most people look? Ugh.
I got him back though, don't worry.
Then I went to a pool party and threatened a girl I was going to punch her in the face. But I was "kidding". Of course. I would never punch anyone.....
Lets skip Sunday. Other than church, naps, and my father making jelly nothing happened.
(Yes, my father does do the "motherly" things in my family, like... baking bread, canning tomatoes, gardening, and making jelly. But don't worry, he likes my mother. Obviously, how else would I be here? Ew.)
Monday. I spent my ENTIRE day responding to my homecoming askee. And it was so worth it.
I got 238 Easter eggs. Yes, 238. 238 people! Filled them up with candy and little phrases such as:
Try again. Hi. Eagle Powers. Go BYU!! (he LOVES LOVES LOVES U of U) Your mom. Tip-toe through the tulips. Booyah. Mr. Carillo. (my personal favorite) Leprechauns love pancakes. I only believe in science. I caught you a tasty bass.
And many many others.
And none of the eggs said yes or no.
So he looked through 238 eggs, and found... NOTHING! woohoo! It's what he did to me, but worse! Eat that. The answer was on a creepy little stuffed bunny in his freezer.
It was soooo hard to find a stuffed bunny. They had stuffed porcupines, and alligators, but nofreakin bunny? Crazy people who create stuffed animals.
This is for me. Not for you. Not for your Grandma. Not for your cute little puppy named Spot.
Me. Samantha Jean.
The girl with blonde hair, stands at 5'9", thinks about one to many things within one minute, and is slowly conquered by one zit at a time.
You may be asking: What is for you Sam?
And boy do I have an answer for you.
You know those salty little things resembling rain drops that come out of your glistening eyes?
Sometimes these tears come rushing out of your eyes, other times they come out softly and quietly. Strangely enough. I think both are just as harsh and hurtful.
Don't get me wrong. Tears aren't always bad. (Except for the fact that it ruins your carefully applied mascara) Tears can sometimes be after a good cat yawn. Or after you and your friends laugh till you almost pee in your brand new Rock Revival designer jeans. Sometimes, you even cry because you are overwhelmed with happiness.
But none of those "happy" tears are similar to my tears.
My tears are the sad ones, that nobody wants.
Being sad sucks. And that is the only way to put it.
Don't freak out. My whole life isn't just tears and sadness. I'm a happy person that would be over joyed to smile. And I smile. Because I love to smile, ya know, without the braces and all.