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

Darla.

That would be my car.

Meaning: Dear, loved one.
Importance: LITTLE RASCALS!

Such a fantastic movie.
Anyways this is Darla and me.

I think we look great together.

Other than the fact that I'm twice her size.

She's the Darla to my Alfalfa.

My honk to my horn.

My brake to my gas.

My song to my radio.

Those get old super fast. FYI. 

She has this distinct odor. No. It's not gas, B.O. or Pina Colada. It's.... crayons. Yes, those things you use to color with, they get stuck under your finger nail, and the things that Russel Anderson used to shove up his nose in the first grade. 

That would be the smell of my dear car.

Every time somebody that hasn't experienced my car hops in this is what happens.

Their eyes look around the little space available. 

Take a few sniffs.

Have an awkward pause.

Then.

"Does it smell like crayons?"

I glare at them.

"Yes, it does. But I love her, and don't complain."

I've had people get sick because of the smell. And I've had some people absolutely love it. Weirdos... 

She takes diesel. 

And sounds like a truck.

So I just say that she takes steroids that make her sound manly. 

Also. Her horn is super super low. Like a semi-truck in the distance coming through the canyon low. 

Practically, she's a man named Darla.

Kind of like a boy lady bug. But less awkward. 

Do you ever feel bad for boy lady bugs?!

I sure do. A Bug's Life. One of my all time favorites! The lady bug is a boy! And boy is he a pain in the rear end. But if I was a girl with a boy's name I'd feel the same way. Oh wait...

Don't worry I love my name.

It's Sam by the way....

Fear Factor.

Finally it's back!

I used to always find myself giggling when I found a rerun that I could record. I mock those people who eat stupid things all for the love of money! 

But now they have an ALL. NEW. SEASOOOON. I hope you said that super special. Because I know I did. I also moved my head back and forth, it was extremely cute. 

I'm such a nice friend that I let Mr. Bryce come and watch it with me. 

Aren't I the nicest girl in the world?! I know, I know. You can praise me if you reallllly want. 

Actually It came with a price.

The price? 

Can I just say I got the better end of the deal.

Over and out.

-Alfalfa

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

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.

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.

Peachy.

I'm doing peachy.

If you were wondering.

Not great.

Not bad.

Peachy.

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

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

"Peachy" Can also be used sarcastically.

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

I commonly use the second phrase.

Speaking of zits.

I've always had pretty good skin.

Not gonna lie.

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

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

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

AWKWARD.

I hate that word.

I hate the concept.

I hate the people.

I hate everything that has to do with it.

Yes. I, Samantha Jean, am awkward.

But not like annoying awkward.

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

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

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

STOP THE MADNESS!

Man up and stop being awkward.

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

Contact me! Please.

I'm so confused.

You know why I'm so confused?

Because I'm a teenager.

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

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

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

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

Teenagers have everything, but appreciate almost nothing.

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

So that is why I'm confused.

Because I'm a teenager.

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

Peachy.

Darn you teenagers!-

Master of the Pan Flute.

Explanation:

This blog is purely for my happiness.

And that is about it.

No. Scratch that. That is it.

I don't blog for anything BUT my happiness.

I'm blunt. And maybe a little too blunt.

And this blog is strictly for me to be myself and be blunt.

I talk about what happens in my daily life, while I'm a teen.

Sadly, you are only a teen for seven years, and I only have about three and a half years left.

So follow me as I discover what it truly means to be a teen.

ps. Check out this website.