Rebel.

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 

wrong. 

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.

Joke. 

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.
-Slamajama.

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.

Story.

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. 

Or.

Not.

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.

Obviously. 

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. 

Today. 

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. 

Thanks.

Thanksgiving!
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.

EW.

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!

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!

-Sickey.

Oldest.

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.

Smartest.

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.

THEY ARE PERFECT*

And I love them.

Me

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.

Poo

Georgia Audrey.

This is how she gained the name of Poo.

Georgia.

George.

Georgie.

Georgie Pordgie.

Pordgie Poo.

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.

Bubba

Max.

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.

Well.

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.

Ignore the first face. It's ugly.

Put your ear to the computer screen.

If you listen hard enough you should be able to hear a little four year old boy singing:

Can can can can can you do the can can? I can do the can can, ohh yes I can can can can can.

Ya. I want to jab my ears in with a pen.

Thank goodness I can't find one right now.

This is my life.

Yes. This great facial grid is my life. For almost everything concerning my life.

Such things as:

New classes.

Friends.

Boys.

Stupid Girls.

Family.

Neighbors.

Santa.

Phase 1:

Fear. Or extreme distraught.

Usually this happens when I am introduced to something new or a change in my life.

I don't want to accept it.

I think that it is going to change my perfectly cute life.

I have anxiety. And may almost pee a little.

Phase 2:

Bitterness.

I usually dislike it a little too much.

I am sarcastic to hide my old grandpa bitterness.

I don't want to get hurt so I put on my "hard" external cover.

(Well as hard as a blonde teenage girl's cover can be)

I act like it doesn't matter to me. But we all really know the truth...

Phase 3:

Shock.

I may start liking this thing.

And that scares me!

I don't know whether to keep on moving on with my life or completely stop.

This is the confusion state.

And the one that I am constantly in.

I don't know how to make choices.

So this is that hardest phase for me.

Phase 4:

Acceptance.

Usually I am happy with my choice.

I am happy that this experience happened, whether it affected me positively or negatively.

I am grateful for the experience.

I learned something.

YES.

I am going through these phases right now.

But I can't tell you why. *couch cough* men.

And I can't tell you which phase I'm in. *cough cough* I really can't.

Where's a pause button when you need one?

-SAYAM.

Awkward Mondays.

Most of you know me as Sam.
I know myself as awkward.
Look at these pictures, if they aren't the epitome of awkward then butter my butt and call me a biscuit.
This is what I feel like. My life is being bombarded with books.
Not only books but TEXTbooks. AKA the Hitler of all books.

AP Bio textbook-1267 pages

ASL textbook-183 pages

ASL textbook #2-512 pages

Honors English 11 textbook-1511 pages

Precalc textbook-532 pages

Total: 4,005 pages.

That's one big Hitler.

I love reading.

Just not when it's about stuff like AP Bio.

Here is a little excerpt of my AP bio book:

"The vasoconstriction factor, which Yanagisawa named endothelin, is a peptide that contains 21 amino acids. Two disulfide bridges between cyseines stabilize the peptide structure."

Boring. I know.

Could some handsome man come save me from these textbooks?

I feel as if I am going to be eaten alive, and all I need to survive is Prince Charming

on his trusty steed, Lighting, or whatever his trust steed's name is. To come and

rescue me from being swallowed alive.

I'm ever so slowly drowning in these words of nonsense.

Speaking of men.

Is it possible to become a Mormon nun?

I'm so sick of asking myself the what ifs.

Instead. I'm going to start saying screw it.

I'm 16.

I love life.

Yes. Boys do make it more enjoyable.

But, I'm 16.

Easy as that.

Monday.

The biggest waste of 1/7 of my life. All I do on Monday is...nothing.

It's dreary and puts me in a bad mood.

I HATE YOU.

Sorry I had to be so harsh.

I love you..? No.

Now that I have ineffectively studied for four tests I'm going to try and get some beauty

sleep. Ps. Does it really make you more beautiful or do you just feel prettier because

you got better sleep? Hmm. That's a good question.

Sleep tight.

-Sawkardam.

Mean friends.

These are my friends.

Don't worry. I have more.

Or do I...?

Meet Ashley and Quinci.

You already know me, so I don't need the introduction about how great and wonderful I am that I usually get when being introduced. Totally kidding. Usually, when people introduce me this is how it goes down:

This is Sam. She's Rich's daughter.

....

Sad.

Then people look at me, thoughts about me being blonde and tall

go through their head then they leave.

HELLO?

I'm a fun time! Get to know me!

Anyways.

Meet Ashley and Quinci.

Somehow I weaseled my way right into their friendship and I sure hope they don't mind.

I love them, and hopefully the feeling is mutual.

Sometimes I think they just befriended me for comic relief. Most people do.

No. They are the best. And I don't know what I would do without them.

They keep me sane.

Or make me more insane.

Who knows.

So there is a system. The Triangle.

And it's a triangle of mean.

It's at a slight angle. And guess who is on top?

Right now. I am. And I usually am on top.

Then it goes Quinci. Sometimes she claims the top spot. But only sometimes.

Finally Ashley is on the bottom of the triangle, and she will never get to the top. Ever.

Why am I on the top?

I'm the meanest! I don't get it. Just because I'm sarcastic, witty, and tend to mock

does NOT mean I deserve the top spot. I just like to be outgoing, okay?

I think my niceness and love of people should even out the meanness, and I should be numba 2.

How am I nice? Um. When we drive in Darla and stop at a stop light

I'm nice enough to roll down the windows, turn up the music, and sing on the top of my lungs so that the people next to us can hear my lovely singing.

Isn't that so kind of me?!

(Ps. About two years ago my NICE grandma told me I suck at singing. Ouch.)

Sometimes if I feel extra nice I talk to them and compliment their good looks.

Oh boy. I deserve an award or something.

Quinci. She is just like me, except to for the car thing.

She is super sarcastic.

And sometimes she does this thing when a couple people are having a conversation she stands like two feet away, folds her arms, and stares. Now that I think about it,

Ashley does that also. I love it.

That's a little mean right?

Sometimes she gains the top spot, but usually I take it back in less than five minutes.

Ashley. She is just nice. Well when you compare her to Quinci and myself she is.

When you compare her to a normal person

she seems like the bully you never had.

Ps. Ashley. You know I'm kidding. (Proof that I deserve the top of the triangle.)

The meanest thing she does?

Punches people.

Don't get me wrong. Punching is not good. But would you rather have a playful punch once in a while or a person who is going to be sarcastic towards every little word you say?

My point exactly.

You should befriend them.

They need more friends.

Thank you for being the girls that I..

Cuddle with.

Cry with.

Eat junk food with.

Have sonic runs with.

Talk about periods and such with. (If that makes you uncomfortable, grow up. PERIODS.)

Hate people with.

Am nuns with.

Holds hands with.

Cheer at football games with. (My personal favorite.)

Drive with.

Sing with.

Love boys with.

Make fun of people with.

Talk to my mother with.

Dance with.

Laugh with.

So thanks. (:

Ps.

Don't ever watch a Walk to Remember with us.

It will result in Ashley and me sobbing like babies and Quinci laughing because she can't cry.

Love you!

-The top of the Triangle.

Hot mess.

Migraines. Love them. For all of you lucky souls that have never experienced them, curse you! All of seventh grade I had them. I missed almost all of third and fourth..What is that word. Half of a semester? I'm literally sitting here, trying to figure this out. Oh wow. I'm embarrassed. I could have just stopped typing, and made you thought that I knew what it is called. But I'm going to be true to you and your mom. TERM! finally.

Anyways...

I missed a lot of school because of these constant migraines. Migraines are pretty much headaches on steroids. They are the most dreadful feeling in the entire world. And makes you want to puke.

This morning.

Whaa Whaa Whaa. My alarm goes off, causing me to wake up from a truly fantastic dream. (Yes, my alarm does sound like that.) My alarm clock is at the foot of my bed, resulting in me leaping on top of it and bitterly pressing the snooze button. BAM. It hit me. After gaining conciseness, my body decided to remind me that I had a migraine. Instead of the sandman who whisks me away to dreamland I get good ole' Migraineman, aka. Satan who makes my veins swell and my head to pound. I roll off of my bed and into the shower. At this point there was no turning back. The shower was on, and I was in it. I had to quickly take a shower, but I felt like everything was in motion. And when I would reach for the shampoo I was actually grabbing that little ball thing. You know that thing with the fabric all bunched up and ahh.. never mind. Well anyways. I grabbed that thing. It was like I was old and on drugs. So I got out of the shower. Got dressed went to downstairs to my parents room. Complained to my mom. Laid down on her bed and was out in a matter of seconds. I woke up, my mom was gone and it was noon. Hallelujah my migraine was gone. I went to school looking like a freakin babe. Let me tell ya.

So that is what I looked like today. Babe status right there. Good thing I don't really care about boys and such. Or else I would be extremely embarrassed. Ps. look at my feet, they are probably whiter than a dentist's teeth.

You should all be jealous of what I looked like today. I mean honestly.

Headband/head wrap thing.

Not sure what to call it. Some people actually think it is a bandage. It's pink! Silly. It just covers up my hair, in order to make it look like less of a mess. But really you know the truth of what is going down under the headband... Chaos. If I took that off, and took out my ponytail all hell would brake loose. I don't just have bed hair, I have bed head. Yes, there is a difference.

Lucky Shirt.

Good things happen when I wear this shirt. I still just have to figure out what that is...

anyways. It's a freakin unreal shirt. I mean look at it! You want to be me.

Jeggings.

Fake jeans. Jeans + Leggings = Jeggings or Leans.... Synthetic tubes in which I force my legs into in order to have the illusion of a ridiculously pair of tight jeans. But in reality, these have become loose, so they lower their status to regular skinny jeans.

Toms.

These rare toms have a hole in the right toe. (I don't know if they are really rare, I doubt they are, but I have never seen another person with them) An extraordinarily comfortable pair of canvas slippers that offer little to none arch support. They are also high end Kung-Fu slippers. They are favorites among people who want to be "hipsters" and yet still kick butt with their awesome Kung-Fu skills.

So yes.

Pretty much I was the epitome of a hot mess.

Cya L8TR

-Sam "Saggie Jeans"

Don't tease me when I'm in my corner.

The last post was quite depressing.

So I've decided to go outside my little comfort box

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1 1

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(That is my little box of comfort)

(yes. It did take me forever to make that. I'm blonde. Remember?)

And write a serious post without being sarcastic and mean in anyway.

What a joke.

Sarcasm.

My "mask".

In Honors English we were talking about masks. *Light Bulb* Mine is sarcasm. Masks cover up who you really are and give you this overwhelming confidence to do things you usually wouldn't.

We discussed people like the KKK and their masks not only being real ones, but also symbolic. Do you think half of those people would commit the crimes that they were committing if their personal identity wasn't covered up? I think not. Please do not think that I am comparing my sarcasm to the KKK. They are nothing alike! My sarcasm is a mask to me in the way of which I can treat people. Pretty awful huh? I'm not really a mean person per say, but most people do have to create this... acquired taste in order to get along with me and actually be my friend. I tend to use sarcasm a lot. And if you can't handle that, then leave me alone and you are one serious child and need to learn how to loosen up.

If you are my friend on Facebook, you will soon find that my profile pictures coordinate with my blog posts. Woohoo.

I love my friends. (Not saying that in a sarcastic manner at all. Pinky Promise.)

Ps. Spell check is telling me that I spelled pinky wrong. Dear spell check people, are you idiots?!

Pss. Looked up pinky on google. It isn't even a real word! A pinky finger is really called the "little finger". How dumb is that? I little finger promise. I'm going to start saying that, and if you will join me in my strike against pinky fingers say aye!

Aye!

Alright now that we are all on the same page.

I really really like my friends.

I don't want to sound like I'm "emotionally attached" to them. (Yes it is put in quotation marks for a reason).

But I am. I don't know what I would do without them.

I would probably change my name to Darka Springkiller.

Hide in corners at school, rock back and forth.

And sing songs to myself. Oh and those little ants too.

Then people would make fun of me and I would have the ants eat them like in the awful movie, Indiana Jones # 4.

Just talking to my friends brighten my whole day. I am so grateful to have such amazing friends that tell me that everything is going to be eh okay. Now, I understand I do need to have reality slapped in my face once in a while, and they are perfectly good at that also. Trust me.

If you are named Darka Springkiller and need a friend, you can have one of mine, preferably Quinci.

*Kidding*

So thank you friends. For dealing with my silly little sarcasm mask. And just me being Sam, and such.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

-Darka Springkiller

PS. SO excited for Christmas! I've been listening to Christmas music for the last two weeks!

Dear, you.

Dear insert name here.

Please open up your ear.

And listen to me.

And consider my plea.

Don't do it again.

Don't hurt anymore women.

They don't deserve the pain,

Of having you explain

their imperfections and flaws

while you give them the much needed applause.

You toil with their emotions,

while you go through the motions

of a deserved love

and yet when they are down, you just shove and shove and shove.

Dear insert name here

while with you my self esteem seemed to slowly disappear.

You are a fine actor,

and please consider this small factor

before you go breaking another heart

you don't know what you start.

You said you are sorry

but it was bull, like a safari

going through a petting zoo

I didn't know what to do.

When you told me you loved me

but told me I wasn't good enough for thee.

Change this, change that

Sometimes too thin, sometimes too fat.

Dear insert name here,

Do you know what you did?

Or no, because you are just a kid?

You turned me blue,

and I could think of a lot of words to describe you.

I believe in forgiveness,

as long as you assess,

your actions

and put away those distractions,

those ones you blamed me for.

And open up a new door,

one of happiness and kind speech.

Where your life is a beach

And you can sit there in the sand,

and realize what you have done to me, Sam.

Dear insert name here,

Do you know what abuse means?

It's far more worse that it seems.

Not just sexual and physical,

those are far too typical.

Verbal abuse every heard of that?

How about emotional, or should we have a small chat?

They suck.

And each little word, they struck

a little chord inside my brain

telling me I'm not sane.

I needed you,

nothing new.

But you knew that, didn't you,

every little move was of mine was in your view

One little thing wrong

and I had to sing a sad song.

I was blamed

while you became inflamed.

And I was scared to take one step,

So I sat there and wept.

Dear insert name here.

I'm done with the fear.

I've found another,

And instead of you, I have become the conductor

of my life.

Please handle your own strife

Don't get me involved,

And learn how to resolve

with out hurting me.

And this is my last word to thee.

Insert name here,

I hope that you didn't mishear.

Wrinkles and sagging much?

I'm old.

Like grandma old.

Aged.

Outdated.

Not new.

No longer funny.

I'm so old it is more expensive to buy the candles for the cake, compared to the cake itself.

I went to the Jr. High today.

Am I a giant?

I felt like I was in Japan, that's how tall I felt.

These kids are only a couple of years younger than me, and yet if they had bald spots I would be able to shine them with no problem. (Thank goodness they don't though)

I'm only 5' 9.5"

I don't think that is all that tall.

These little kids were probably as big as my thigh. They are tiny. It kind of makes me sick. Our future is in the hands of these kids. How are they supposed to be the chosen generation when they can't even look over the pulpit at church? Let's pray that puberty blesses them with good looks and height.

They just hold their binders in their delicate little arms and run around dodging kids that had already hit their growth spurts. Why do they run?! What are they running from exactly? Maybe girls still have cooties. Or they are scared that their future chest hair will come up from behind and attack. Please don't think I'm being sexist. Some girls look like little scrawny monkeys too. But usually they are of the boy gender.

Little boys are .... strange.

Maybe. I'll wake up and have wrinkles all over my face.

I will soon be looking up botox on google...

No no no. Don't worry. I won't. I just feel freakishly old. It kind of makes me sick. I don't want to grow up. I like my age. I like my life. I don't want to go and be a poor college student. Ah. Crazy how fast you grow up.

I felt like a grandma in this place. I felt like I was about to keel over right there and then.

Ya. I felt old.

So it was just Halloween right? I love Halloween! Best holiday ever. You get to dress up, steal candy from people willingly, and you get to cozy up to a good looking male during all the frightening events. Candy+whatever clothes you want+cute boys= Peachy holiday.

Except there is one thing that is slightly disappointing when it comes to this overwhelming holiday. Girls dress up like...um...Vegas street walkers.... and get away with it!

Aside from those "choice" girls, Halloween is just fantastic.

I used to hate it.

Compare these pictures.

There is a difference.

I grew up.

To all a good night-

Grandma Sam.