Drugs.

I'm super scared of needles.
So they gave me laughing gas so that they could fill my cavities. Which I have a ton of. I brush my teeth don't worry. I just tend to snack a lot. 
I'm super sensitive to the laughing gas.  And so this is what you get.
My mother thought I was faking it.
I wasn't.
Actually I don't remember about 90% of this.

Excuse my smile.
-Druggy

Pansy.

Just went tanning for the first time.
Scary? yes.

I don't like small spaces.
It's not like I'm super claustrophobic. But I feel like my fear of small spaces is getting worse as time goes by.
It's just so scary being stuck in a small spot! ahhhh.

In the last two days I've felt a little claustrophobic.

First time was yesterday at my uncle's house.

He has a brand new house. But that brand new house has a flaw. One of the bathroom doors is defective. Little did I know, but you can't lock it or you have major consequences.
So here I am trying to help Bubba wash his hands and flush the toilet. I decided to close and lock the door so that he wouldn't be peeing in front of the whole family. That's a given right? Close the door while you pee. So I tried to help the little guy out. We washed his hands and took the following picture:

We were happy. Life was great.
We're in a bathroom. He just peed. I was just a helpful sister. We love each other. So we took a picture.

I walk towards the door.
See the door in the picture.
I reach for the apparently locked door.
Wouldn't open.
Tried to unlock it.
Guess what.
It wouldn't open.
Frantically I turned the nob about a billion times per second.

Locked. 
"Ummm. We're locked in the bathroom..." I quietly yelled.
I hear an uproar of tall people laughs. Resulting in me banging my head against the door in angst. The bathroom is quite small, yet the walls are extremely tall.
We sat there for about ten minutes while my uncles tried to figure out how to get us out.
Then our picture looked like this.

Here we are. Sitting on our bums on the cold tile.
We were sad.
Bubba kind of has a "I'm eating my lip look".
I think it's safe to say I have a better puppy dog face. Even though he is super cute and if he could correctly pull off a puppy dog face he could rule the world.

A door minus a door handle and about ten minutes later we were free.
So that was small freaky space numba 1.

Numba 2?
The tanning salon.
Need I say I was only tanning for 6 minutes. I was still scared.
NO. I don't need you to lecture me on how bad it is for your skin. I know. That's why I did a special one without the harmful UV rays. Trust me. I thought way ahead.
Anyways. This isn't about my skin cancer filled future.
This is about that small little tanning bed I had to get into.
Laid down and pulled the little thing over me.
I felt like I was a astronaut or something.
Something from a movie where I was going to travel into space, or the unknown. I was scared. And those blue lights did not help. At all.
I was freaking out in there. Counting down the seconds.
And no. That automatic voice saying: "You are now about to have the best tanning experience of you life." Did not provide any sort of comfort.

Yes. I got a tiny color. But I'm at the verge of albino white that I don't think it really helps that much.

So pretty much. I'm becoming a bigger and bigger pansy as time goes by.
Somebody help me.
How do I not become a larger pansy then I am already!?

HELP!-
Pansy.

Sunday Stalker.

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

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

This would be me in heels. 

You can't see the heels. But I am in them.

Oh and my family and I have this thing where when ever we see a camera we have our thumbs pop out. I wrote poop instead of pop. No, thumbs don't poop out Sam! Gosh.

Now this is really what it feels like.

I could do anything in heels!

Run, jump, hurdle. I've got it covered! 

Yes. Those are little heels for me. 

I just love them so darn much. 

In fact, they are going on my Christmas list. I'm going to post it soon enough. Don't fret.

I want some sparkly ones.

Ones that blind you with their sparkles. Yup. Those ones.

Sometimes they hurt your feet. 

But sometimes friends hurt your feelings. You learn to forgive. 

My feet have actually become immune to pain resulting from high heels.

Rap I just came up with:

You know those heels?

The ones so high.

Ya they so hot.

They so fly.

BAM.

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

So in Honors English we had to write a speech. She gave us the opportunity to talk about WHATEVER we wanted. Complete freedom in my hands? Booyah. 

Side note:

Last year we had to write a speech. I wrote mine about verbal abuse, and can I just say it rocked?! I was docked a point because of how I was dressed. My teacher was super conservative and I guess a lepord print tight pencil skirt did not please her... But other than that. It was awesome!

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

On Friday during class, some kids gave their speeches. 

Wow. 

99 percent of them were serious. Ask me if I am nervous to be the black sheep with the non-serious speech. Yes, well kinda not really. I guess I was expecting it. 

Some girl talked about love.

Another about cancer.

Then comes Sam.

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

Sheesh.

I have to present it to the class on Tuesday. 

What a joke.

You may be wondering why randomly I jump from high heels to Facebook stalking. 

Because. I think I have one.

I'm not threatened. Just concerned for my life. Wait. Say what?

Within a week, if I don't post again you will know what happened to me.

Call the cops. Tell them I've been kidnapped by a Facebook stalker. 

And tell everyone that my life has been ruined by Facebook.

Then sue Facebook.

Then Facebook will try to find me so they aren't sued for so much mula.

Then when they find me. 

I'll post again. Don't worry.

I'm going to put alarms around my house.

And I'll wear heels so I can kick them and puncture their calves. Gross...

If I don't return, avenge my death!

-Girl on the go.

Spit.

My day.

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

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


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

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

Sam #4:

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

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

This dude is probably 20. And not bad looking. At all. He started talking to me, about my car and school. I do get the feeling that he is hitting on me. Not to be conceited, but he was. After a couple of minutes and a goodbye I walk towards the door. "Have a good night!" He hollers and I turn my head towards him for two seconds. 

Two seconds later I was getting to know the door a lot better. I didn't look up. I just kinda booked it out to my car. It hurt. And I broke a blood vessel on my hand if you want proof. 

So now. I'm sitting here. Laughing about how dumb I am. Thank goodness I'm not THAT easily embarrassed. Thank goodness I don't care about what other men think about me. Thank goodness I'm Sam.

So Sam #4 made some Orange Juice. And boy do I love orange juice. Except my family downs it in about three hours. And I'm sick of it. Solution? 

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

Adios-
Ham

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.