Lovely Dancing #1

Greatest night ever?
Obviously it was Preference.


Obviously. 

You know. I've noticed I say that a ton. Like a ton a ton. 

Which is two thousand pounds plus the other ton so that equals to around exactly forty thousand pounds minus thirty six thousand nine hundred and eighty pounds plus an extra eighty pounds. 

For those of you who didn't follow, the previous equation equaled out to be four thousand. 

And that is only if I did the math correctly. 

BUT.

I'm blonde.

SO.

Probably not.

So anyways if I say obviously a ton a ton then well I say it about four thousand times. And no.

That's not in a year. I'll be realistic. It probably in a week.

MAYBE even a day.

MAYBE.

Anyways.....

Preference was just great. 

JUST GREAT.

Here are some pictures from a very eventful evening. 

Here's our heads.

Are you ready for the full body?

Eh? Eh?

Well. Too bad.

There's my dress.

Formal but not Prom dressy.

As you know I like simple and tight...

Well. Pretty much that's what it is.

NOW are you ready for the whole thing?

BAM.

Oh gosh.

I love this picture.

LOOK AT OUR SHOES!

Here's a close up:

Look at us!

Totally match.

I call this picture the epitome of our relationship.

He stands there amazed by himself while I stand off on the side thinking that he is full of it.

Because. Well. He is.

Sometimes. I think he is adorable.

And sometimes. He doesn't want to talk to me.

PS. This picture was his idea.

"Let's do this." As he puts his hand up to block me from his view.

Rude?

 

If you haven't noticed. I tend to stick my thumbs out.

THUMBS UP FOR DA COOL KIDS!

I've realized I can never take anything seriously.

Like slow dancing.

We only sincerely My little sister totally told me how to spell sincerely. She's eight...  slow danced once. All the other times I would make him twirl me and prance around.

Yes. I do act like I'm five.

And no. I don't want to slowly dance while gazing into his eyes. 

I mean, heck. It's nice and all, but my kind of slow dancing makes memories! Fun memories. 

Here's our lovely group.

We were on the top. Because well. We tried being in the front and we just towered over everyone.

I'm usually around 5' 9" right?

He is 6' 2". 

He had to stand up straight in order for me not to be taller than him.

We were just the super tall couple.

NO.

I did not mind.

And here is the photo I know you have all been waiting for.

Awe.

Precious.

I know. I know.

So.

There are the pictures.

And I'll talk about the evening in part 2.

Trust me.

There's a lot of things that happened.

Teaser: I'm just grateful I wore tights. Or I would have scarred a few kids.... oops.

Dance like there's no tomorrow!

-Girl in the red shoes.

Gross Post.

Finals are over.

Finals are over.

Finals are over.

Finals are over.

Finals are over.

FINALS ARE OVER.

MY LIFE IS BACK.

My life is back.

My life is back.

My life is back.

My life is back.

My life is back.

No.

No it's not.

My life is only going to be back for a good week.

I bet in the next week I'll have a test even though I have new classes.

My school borderline crazy. CrAZy. I hate it when girls type like that. 

BUT.

I'm not going to worry about that. Because.

This weekend is Preference!

For those of you that don't know. Preference is a fancy girls choice dance. And I'm soooo psyched. I have my dress. It's black, and as a usual Sam dress, tight. I'm probably going to wear tights. Because I have a slight obsession with them. I'm going to be wearing red high heels. AND. Bryce. Is going to wear the same thing! Well. No. Not a dress with high heels and tights. But he is going to wear all black with red vans.

We are going to look. NICE.

So it's kind of like a tradition to wear your dress or suit or whatever from the dance to church. So we are going to be sitting there looking like nerds, matching in class. Hot nerds. Of course.

Speaking of looking nice.

My room. DOES NOT look so nice.

  

 Don't worry this isn't really my room. First off because. I don't have Ghost Rider curtains. And secondly because Well. I'm gross but not that gross.
But really. This is how bad it feels like. Except change the Coke bottles with Dr. Pepper. And throw in a whole lot of clothes and papers.
I should be cleaning it right now. Actually I should have cleaned it like two weeks ago.  But honestly. I'm way too lazy.

I'm enjoying my life while I have it. I don't have time to waste on a clean room. Sheesh

IF YOU ARE A MALE. STOP READING RIGHT NOW.

If you are still a male, and are still reading. Trust me. You'll wish you would have stopped.

Just stop right now.

I WARNED YOU!

Dear women:
I hate periods.
HATE THEM.
No no. I don't hate periods. They'll let me have babies later in life.
But I hate their dearest companion.
Cramps.
Cramps make me cry sometimes.
I feel like I'm being kicked and squeezed at the same times, in the ovaries. Like really. this is not good.

Well there's my moment of grossness.
I'm so sorry I had to go there.

Love you! Or do I?...
-Female.

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.

I hope I didn't swear.

The coming of home.

aka.

Homecoming.

Home = School.

Coming = Dance.

Being a teenager and all. I had a blast.

That came out wrong.

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.

Progressive

Power

Tumbling.

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...

Right?

If it is swearing, please forgive me.

I have good intentions.

Sorry mother.

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.

(Pictures soon to follow.)

Don't do anything I wouldn't do-

Twin Tower #1.