Sew me softly.

Sometimes. I wear my shirt inside out.
Sometimes people notice. Other times, people don't.

"Hey Sam. Your shirt is inside out.

I can see your seam."

I think to myself:

I wish you could.

A shirt can be made out of beautiful fabric. 

But until it is sewn together, it is nothing but cloth.

It only has potential. 

I wish we could wear ourselves inside out.

So you could see the things that keep me together.

Or that can tear me apart.

All we really are, are pieces of cloth strung together hanging onto the hanger

for dear life.

Hoping somebody accepts us.

Some of us sell ourselves short, making us cheaper. 

So we persuade people by our cheapness and how easy we are to get. 

Even though we are one of the most 

beautiful pieces of clothing.

Even though the hands that made us, made us with care.

We just want to be bought. 

We just want to be worn. 

Felt love.

But the wearer doesn't really love you.

The wearer loves how cheap you were. How easily bought. 

No struggle to scavenge for money. 

The cloth we once were.

Full of color and brilliance. 

Is not appreciated. 

The time taken to sew each piece together is forgotten.

Sometimes. Never even noticed.  

If your wearer wore you inside out what would people see?

Better question is, what wouldn't they see?

They couldn't judge you because of your stretch marks or birth marks.

No longer are your scratched out names painted in ink shown.

The anger resulting in scars are no longer on display.

Just you. And your seams. 

The things that make you who you are.

Whether bad or good.

Whether uplifting or disappointing.

It is you. 

You can't cover yourself up by being the most elaborate shirt, if the shirt won't stay together.

 Customers may think you are beautiful in the beginning. 

But they soon realize what makes you, you.

Bad stitches. 

Luckily in both situations there is a chance.

A chance to be the most highly glorified shirt.

You can realize your worth. 

Go to a different store.

Be bought by people who care.

The fashionista. 

The model.

The designer.

Or you can make yourself better.

Go to a seamstress. 

Receive a good seam. 

Have beauty inside and out. 

We are all the same. 

Hanging on to the cold hanger. Waiting for a warm body to appreciate us.

But.

Somebody already does.

That little girl on the other side of the glass.

Window shopping.

She sees your beauty.

Wait for her.

In a few years she will be able to drive her scarlet bug to your store

and wear you the way you deserve to be worn.

She's there. 

You're just to busy making note of other's designs and patterns to notice her.

Start looking out the window. 

Realize that girl is waiting for you.

Saving up her money.

Wait for her.

Don't go on sale. 

Don't fool people.

She's worth it.

She wants to love you.

But she can't unless you are still there when she can drive.

Imagine the excitement you would feel.

Seeing her scarlet bug pull up in front of your window.

No longer waiting.

But it was worth the wait.

The hard work for the seams was worth it.

The simplicity of going on sale denied.

Patience.

And hard work.

That's all we need as a shirt with good seams.
Because good seams are worth it.

-The girl falling apart.

Ps.

If your name starts with B

Ends with rit

And another t.

Then you my dear. My twin. My harry potter fanatic. Need to drop that AP Bio.

XOXOXO

Moving.

My family has taken a new step.

A "skip" has been added to our step you may say. 

It will change our lives forever.

I, Samantha Jean, am moving my 

messy self, along with my messy personality,

and my messy clothes/make-up/papers/bed/life; 

downstairs into the newly finished basement.

To corrupt the currently clean basement 

into a hole of disastrous Samminess. 

Actually.

My mother would 

rip off my face and verbally assault me if I did such actions expressed in the previous paragraph.

I hope you got the reference from The Bachelor.

As a side note: I know a couple of you are waiting for the Preference #2.

Just wait. I'll write it. And if I don't, you can join in my mother with the ripping and assaulting. 

Anyways....

So we moved into my house about 6ish years ago.

And we haven't had a need for a basement, because everyone has their own room. And people don't like us so they never stay at our house. I'm kidding mother. People do like us. It's just, we are an acquired taste, our family is. We are a little.... out there. I've told you. My mother loves color and pain and stuff. And after our basement has been added we now have, let me count. 17. Yes. 17 different colors on our walls. And most of these are whole rooms. So that is why we don't need an extra guest room. Because our colorful house intimidates them.  So we haven't needed the room. But now my parents decided a year, A YEAR! before I go to college that we need a basement. Sheesh. Oh well. I'm grateful.

So I got to decide what color I wanted to paint my new room.

I've concidered all the previous colors my rooms have been.

• Lime Green and Neon Orange.
• Orange and Brown.
• Neon burn your eyes out Green.

So. 

I've noticed a pattern. Most of them are bright, and loud. 

So I went with the last color people expected. 

Grey.

I know!

So anyways. It's grey, and I'm getting a ton of antique/vintage stuff. And I'm super psyched. 

Yesterday I was supposed to move things from my room on the top floor into my new room in the basement. 

Here is what I accomplished. 

Yup.
And those are the most important things.
And for those of you who are wondering what a Personal Progress is, well, then click personal progress.
And Yes.
I am Mormon.


Now that we got the covered.
I just wanted to let you know how perfectly wonderful life is right now.
But I'm tired.
So I'm going to go to bed.

Night!
-Mover.

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.

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.

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"

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.

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.