My life is Survivor.

I'm sitting here. Watching Survivor.

Also. I have five layers of pants on. AND. five layers of shirts on.

I was very cold last night. Obviously.

Not only was I freezing last night, I was extremely tired. (No duh it was night time)

So. I rolled off of my bed. Grabbed the closest pants and sweatshirts.

Resulting in me being happy as a clam. And having myself resemble the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. And boy am I hot.

And I'm talking like sun hot. (Unless you think a star that is the basis of the solar system is attractive..... freak)

I'm talking about like I'm a hot babe right now.

Not.

Oh well. I'm warm.

So Survivor.

It's such a good show, and guess what makes it a good show. The darn drama. So when I say my life is Survivor, I mean that my life is Drama. If you are watching Survivor you know what I'm talking about. Someone is always stabbing another person in the back. And that is just no fun at all. And that is exactly what my life is.

People hate me. People love me.

And of course, I know that is what happens, Not everyone is going to like you. But there reaches a point that is starts getting a little ridiculous. It's somewhat making me laugh how dumb people can be.

I understand. You don't like me. The feeling is mutual.

Survivor is also on an island with jungle. My room looks like a jungle. I literally cannot see the floor right now. That is why I am sitting on my bed. I'm too scared to step on my floor and get eaten alive.

My hair also looks like I was just mauled by a rare jungle animal.

Jungle animal hair + Stay Puft Marshmallow body

= "marshmallow that fell into the fire pit" look.

HOT

(I have way too much confidence if I'm calling myself hot right now.)

I'll be back-

The marshmallow in the bottom of the pit.

No lies.

Truth is.

I love art.

Popping body parts is a strange addiction of mine.

I used to be classified as an L 7 weenie. (Yeah Yeah Oscar Meyer even.)

Lavender scented things smell worse than dog poo.

My room is painted neon burn your eyes out green.

Barbies are kind of freaky.

I liked longboarding before it was cool.

Action movies are the best. Don't even get me started on Real Steel.

Graham crackers + peanut butter + Jelly = Heaven.

I want a weenier dog named Mr. Carillo.

I have real Ray-Ban glasses.

I have never gone TPing.

Writing is a love of mine.

I have never gone to the mall and walked away empty handed.

I taught myself to french braid hair.

I kind of like country music.

I didn't know I broke my ankle for nine months.

I cry when I have to get shots.

I love asians.

I can't wait to be old, so I can bake cookies and get fat.

My "Napoleon Dynamite" wolf shirt, is in my top ten clothing items.

I like who I am.

As a child, I made my sister jump off of the tenth stair.

I drove on the wrong side of the road. Twice.

A while ago, I used to drink two Dr. Peppers a day.

I'm a magnet to pain.

I'm awkward.

I sing Taylor Swift songs in the shower.

I'm going to marry Spiderman.

I can't wait to have a baby.

I hate it when people joke about abuse.

Text that say: haha, k, or :) make me want to die, or stab you.

During the winter I almost always wear sweatshirts.

Guy friends are less drama.

PDA usually makes me barf.

Hand sanitizer lets me know when I have a cut on my hand.

Orchids are my favorite flowers.

I've been peed on by a lion.

I'm allergic to dairy, eggs, peanuts, pollen, and bees.

I've never learned how to roller blade.

I broke my sisters arm, and made my sister receive stitches on her head.

Vines are climbing in through my balcony. I'm scared.

A dream of mine usually consists of someone from my ward.

If I ever had to run for my life, I would die.

If there is a song that applies to my life, it is overplayed on my itunes.

If I wasn't mormon I would have a tattoo.

Santa is my idol.

I bite my straws.

I'm dying to talk to you, but I refuse to text you first.

All my pencils fall in a black hole somewhere in my backpack.

Creeper van cause me to walk faster.

I hate getting out of bed just to pee.

I have a pillow pet.

Running up and down hotel hallways is too much fun for a 16 year old.

No, Microsoft Word, I didn't spell my last name wrong.

I have it harder than you think.

I stop typing on Facebook when it says: Friend is typing.

I would die without the Developmental Center.

At the end of a movie there is always that one guy that claps.

I've never had a brain freeze.

I'm blunt.

I hate accents.

Blogs are fun.

I love life-

Squirrel.

Something that makes you pee your pants.

Honestly. This is one of the scariest things that I have ever done. It's probably in my top two. And it would be number two. My number one happened about two months ago. But that is not something I want to be talking about right now.

Anyways.

I can't believe I did this.

It was even scarier than the time I was flashed by my grandma. Ew.

I had my heart set on never doing this.

But being a changed person, and not being a weenie and all, I said okay.

So I went to Lagoon with my family and my dear friend Quinci.

We went on all the roller coasters. My favorite? Wicked. In the first two seconds you are going straight up, and straight down. If you keep your arms up the entire time, they have a small chance of being ripped off from the pure force of awesomeness. (No, but really, it starts to hurt...)

Quinci kept on eye-balling the skycoaster, hinting that we should go on it.

I ignored her and her outrageous ideas.

Until.

I didn't.

So we bought the ticket. And I felt like I was going throw up.

We put on our little suit things.

Went out into the field.

They hooked up us.

And then the wire pulled us up.

So

Slllloooowwwwwlllllyyy.

After about twenty feet I was done.

I was ready to pull the rope.

I wanted to fall to my death already.

But no.

It went up about ten times twenty. aka. 200.

When we were going up, I was watching a tire directly below us. I couldn't move my eyes because each time I looked around I felt as if I was going to suffocate and have my head collapse. Who knows why.

At the top a lady says: FLYERS! 3-2-1 FLY. Then you are supposed to pull the strap. Quinci was supposed to pull it. SHE WAITED A SECOND! ugh. A second hanging at 200 feet feels longer than a chemistry class period.

As soon as she pulled it we plummeted head first towards that darn tire that I was staring at! I don't remember screaming at that part... Just holding on to Quinci, and dying. That's about it. As soon as the wire caught us, it was a blast.

Best experience ever.

On a side note, here are some things I learned this week:

1. Dr. Pepper Ten is a choice drink from heaven.

2. Scary movies = nightmare. Scary movies + cute boy = dream come true.

3. My room is messier than a head full of dreadlocks.

4. Beyonce is my girl. So is Taylor Swift.

5. Seminary teachers have the best stories.

6. Other people realize I am the epitome of an appalling singer.

7. Darla is the best car. Ever.

8. Every girl goes through a "bad boy" phase. Boo.

I'm waving goodbye-

Salmon.

Road Rage.

Taking your rage out on the road.

AKA.

The desire of wanting to plow your car into another driver's car.

I have it.

You have it.

But.

I have it worse than you.

I just hate those block-headed people who decide they can go five under the speed limit. Sad thing is, is that most of those people are elderly. I LOVE OLD PEOPLE! But. Not when they drive. Then I just want them to just go back to the retirement home. And stay there. Forever.

Sounds a little harsh, but I can not express how much I HATE stupid drivers. I mean really. Turn on your freakin' blinker. Is it really that hard? If you would have done that I wouldn't be sitting here waiting to get on the road. Dummies.

There is one word that I never say.

Which is retard.

I find it offensive and harsh.

Because I'm at the Developmental Center a lot, I get to work with people and some of them actually do have retardation.

Why is that a bad thing? When you call some one a retard. Or say that something is retarded. You are putting down people who actually are retards. so STOP.

The only time I ever say that is driving...

Behind someone numskulled.

When my road rage gets really bad you can tell by my body language. (Which does not include words that fall out of my mouth one by one..)

My face gets abnormally close the the steering wheel.

My nose scrunches up.

My eyebrows go down.

My muscles shoot out of my perfect skin.

And death rays come out of my eyes.

I wish.

So, I call the attention of the inferior drivers. Please stop. Or else next time you see a little blue/purple bug behind you, be prepared for honking, angry faces, and laser beams. It will happen. Promise.

The one telling you to speed up-

Samuria.

Peachy.

I'm doing peachy.

If you were wondering.

Not great.

Not bad.

Peachy.

"Peachy" Can be used as a replacement for the word fine.

"How are you today?" "I'm pretty peachy."

"Peachy" Can also be used sarcastically.

"You have a zit." "No, really? That's just peachy."

I commonly use the second phrase.

Speaking of zits.

I've always had pretty good skin.

Not gonna lie.

Yes, I am going to admit, I never really washed my face other than in the shower.

A couple of months ago I decided that I might want to wash my face. When I started washing my face, the acne started coming! What they heck! I thought washing your face was to prevent zits! What a joke. I only have like four. But still, that's a lot if you are used to none.

I'm going to go on a little tangent here.

AWKWARD.

I hate that word.

I hate the concept.

I hate the people.

I hate everything that has to do with it.

Yes. I, Samantha Jean, am awkward.

But not like annoying awkward.

I can say some pretty awkward things. And I'll be okay with it.

But when people are being the "dumb" awkward. Then that makes me mad.

If you tell me something, that is kind of important, and yet fail to text/call/contact me afterwards. That's awkward. Especially if we have a class together on Tuesday.

STOP THE MADNESS!

Man up and stop being awkward.

Or I'll be mad. And then you won't even get the chance to be awkward with me.

Contact me! Please.

I'm so confused.

You know why I'm so confused?

Because I'm a teenager.

I'm not proud to be a teenager, because simply put, most teenagers are idiots.

I'm 16 going on 17, I see about 2,000 different teenagers a day. And all I see is a bunch of................ teenagers.

Teenagers don't really get a ton of respect. Because of the idiot teenagers.

Don't get me wrong. Everybody can be an idiot. But there are those teenagers that are just constant, on-going idiots.

Teenagers have everything, but appreciate almost nothing.

Its something you either have been, are, or will be.

So that is why I'm confused.

Because I'm a teenager.

When I'm older, I like to think that life is going to be easier. But I know for a fact that it won't be.

Peachy.

Darn you teenagers!-

Master of the Pan Flute.