LET’S TALK ABOUT MY LOVE LIFE, SHALL WE?

Spoiler alert: it’s still barren.

Dear Reader,

I’ve been reading a lot of books recently. YA novels, to be more specific. I have to read one a week but I’ve sort of become obsessed with reading again so I’m already on book six. (Many reviews to come.)

You want to know what a lot of YA novels have in common, though?

Love stories.

Young love stories.

Stories of kids falling in love so easily and so quickly that adult authors write reviews that say things like, “a first-love story so well remembered and honest that it reminds you what falling in love feels like.”

TIME said that.

Well guess who hasn’t fallen in love.

Yeah, it’s me.

I don’t think back to high school and remember the feeling of being excited when that boy was waiting outside my classroom, ready to walk me to my first class. I can’t recall being asked out on a date or having butterflies when he picked me up. I never fooled around in a basement while his parents were upstairs and I never had anyone worth sneaking out of my house for.

I know I sound really bitter, but I just wish I had those experiences. I wish I had those memories.

You want to know the story of my first kiss?

It was the summer before freshman year of college (I know) and I was in the driver’s seat of my car (I know), dropping off the only guy who ever reciprocated feelings to the same extent as I did (I could get into this in more detail but I’m exhausted by just the thought of explaining this further). He abruptly turned, sort of jumped on me, went for the kiss and missed, pulled away, went for it once more, and missed again. Then, embarassed, muttered “let’s not tell anyone about this,” and quickly left.

I had to drive back to my house while peaking through the gaps between my fingers because I was covering my face with my hands. I cringed the whole way home. I was laughing and rolling my eyes, but I legitimately face-palmed for the fifteen-minute drive home.

We didn’t talk or see each other for a few weeks after that.

Cute little innocent embarrassing story? Maybe when you’re twelve or fourteen. When you’re going on eighteen (or eighteen and a half in his case), it can sort of stunt any romantic progress and prolong your awkward period when it comes to relationships.

So now I’m vicariously living through books.

And I’m reading these books like, how are these girls finding such great guys? And how am I so far different from these girls?

I know they’re characters and they’re fictional stories (except for the one I’m reading now), but it’s weird being in college without having passed these milestones that everyone else seems to have hit ages ago.

It’s similar to when recent grads are applying to jobs but won’t get hired because they don’t have any prior experience and they’re like, okay that makes sense except how am I going to get prior experience if no one will hire me??

That’s me in the dating world right now.

Sincerely,

Sammy

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WHY AM I WRITING? (OH RIGHT, INSOMNIA)

Dear Reader,

I can’t sleep. I’ve read a book for class. I’ve come up with scenarios in my head to try and inspire some dreams. I’ve even written down a few of these late night thoughts. 

And then I thought, Sammy, why don’t you just write something for your BLOG? 

So I started writing a list. A list of things that this blog post could be about. But then I realized that this list is not producing any quality, uplifting ideas. 

Why? Probably because it’s 2:30 and I’m sad because I’m thinking too much and my brain sort of sucks. 

My list began with: write about how uncomfortable I am. Because I literally am never comfortable in my own body. Never. I always feel too big or too pasty or too clunky or clumsy (but not in the good way). And I thought, I could write about that because that’s relatable, right? 

Except that post would be depressing as shit and I’ve already cried tonight. So no thank you. 

Then I thought, ooh your birthday’s coming up! Write about that! But my first thought was I hate birthdays. And then I thought, wow I can’t believe I’ve already reached that age. And then I thought, shit wait I’m way too young to be hating my birthday. I should be looking forward to it and making plans and texting all my friends about it…

…but instead I’m just anticipating more disappointment. And realizations. And sadness. 

And then I thought, well shit Sammy, don’t write anything at all then! Because every thought I have late at night is self deprecating and they definitely don’t deserve to be recorded–mind you, published on your blog. 

But I’m in the middle of doing that right now, aren’t I?

Where are you going with this Sammy?

Freshman year I wrote a post about how everything is harder at night. Maybe it’s because my head is spinning a mile a minute about all the mistakes I’ve made today. Maybe it’s because my house is creaking and I’m still lowkey afraid of the dark (and ghosts, and serial killers, and did I lock the front door?). Maybe it’s because I’m just alone with ME and who I am as a person and I haven’t really learned how to love myself yet. 

But the night is hard. It hasn’t always been, but suddenly now it always it. 

Yet every morning after I cry myself to sleep, I wake up with the sun and things seem easier. 

Things may never BE as simple as they seem in the morning–before you have time to over analyze it all–but they’re also never as hard as they seem at night. 

They’re just things. Things that can be dealt with in the morning. Or the afternoon. Or the early evening. 

Things that can be dealt with by myself or with the help of friends or my sister. 

Things that have no place being dealt with right now because what am I going to do about it at 3AM besides worry?

Nothing. 

3AM is not for thoughts. 3AM is for sleep.

(Actually I might tweet that lol)

And while that might be easier said than done, maybe if I repeat it enough, it’ll happen. I’ll finally sleep.

And then the morning will come and I’ll roll my eyes and laugh at this blog post because I am probably being way too dramatic for a twenty year old. 

Sincerely,

Sammy

THESE ARE THINGS NOW

Dear Reader,

A week ago I moved into my house at college that I’m sharing with seven other girls. I am in “living room 2” with another girl, there’s a girl in the “dining room,” and then the other five live upstairs.

I was basically only acquainted with three people when I signed the lease, so these first seven days involved a lot of me getting to know them. In turn, they had to learn some things about me.

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I’m not putting a picture of my real house on here, so here’s a random one from the internet that looks just as homey as mine. 🙂

Here are my realizations from week one:

Food. First of all, I know I’m not a great chef. I knew coming into this that I wasn’t going to be the roommate to cook five star meals for every dinner–but what I didn’t expect was for everyone else to do just that. My housemates are out here making fancy pastas and baking talapia and boiling corn on the cob, while I’m just sitting at the table eating my daily bowl of ramen noodles. There are even cookbooks in our kitchen. I might start perusing them as I eat my peanut butter sandwiches.

Speaking of peanut butter: I swear, some people have never seen a jar of peanut butter before in their life. Well, none that are the size of the kind I brought. I’m too lazy to check it right now, but it’s about four times the size of a normal one I guess and I’ve had a conversation with every last housemate about this fun fact.

Something else I’ve found myself doing is trying to be more subtle when I’m gross. I do a lot of gross shit, alright? Well, it’s not gross to me to let out the occasional burp or drink out of the milk jug, but I can see why that might cause someone to crinkle their noise. All that happens when I hide doing that stuff, or suppress my bad habits, is realize how many gross habits I have. It’s great.

Medical shit. We’re learning more about each other every day. We talk about our classes and our majors. We’ll mention the organizations we’re involved with and the meetings we have. We bring up our families and bring over our friends. But when is the appropriate time to mention low-key medical “quirks?”

When it becomes relevant I guess.

Every person I’ve ever lived with has found out about my POTS because I’ve had to send them a distress text asking them to bring me pretzels. So today when I came home to a full house after having a bit of an episode in our student center, I decided I should probably mention it soon. I mean, it’s not like they should be worried that I’m gonna drop dead on them or something–but if I come home and act weird or lock myself in my room or the bathroom–or if they see me with my legs in the air and my dad on speaker phone–it might be useful to let them into the loop.

TV/YouTube. I’ve also been way more self-conscience of what I’m watching (especially since I can’t find my headphones currently). You can see right into my room when you open the front door, and because my door is normally open, you might find me watching The Philip DeFranco show or a David Dobrik blog. I always forget how weird that stuff must sound to others.

Also, we all bring out our computers or other devices to watch shows when we’re cooking or whatever. I love playing the game is it Parenthood or Gilmore Girls? because hearing Lauren Graham’s voice isn’t quite enough to make the distinction. But then someone will walk into the kitchen while I’m watching Criminal Minds and cooking my eggs and there’s some rape or murder scene on my screen. Then we have a nice little chat about how disturbing we both find the show and discuss our new paranoias.

So it’s been an interesting few days. You can hear practically every noise in the house, so my daily naps have been a bit compromised (probably for the best, though). Other than that, I’m really digging this house and the people I share it with.

It’s gonna be a good year.

Sincerely,

Sammy

HAPPY VS. SATISFIED

Dear Reader,

Lately I’ve been waking up around 7 or 8 every morning, completely exhausted, but I’ll force myself to get up and go on with my day (forgoing my daily nap, I might add) until I decide it’s time to turn in–well, until Sarah decides it’s time and I follow suit. This is normally around 10pm, but I never fall asleep before midnight.

Instead, for those two hours (sometimes more like four hours) I think about life. Obviously. Because that’s what people do when the sun goes down and the world gets a little quieter and they’re forced to be alone with their thoughts.

Tonight’s topic of choice (I mean, not that I have much say in where my brain wanders) is life in general and, well, the pursuit of happiness I guess.

It kind of started with me thinking about where I want to go in life. I still want to be a teacher. I still want to write novels. I’m on pretty solid paths to both of these careers, I’d like to think, but I’m not ready for that stage yet.

I’m only (almost) twenty–and actually, maybe that’s why I’m having all of these thoughts. All of these clichéd, angsty thoughts about how much I feel like I just don’t fit in anywhere and how much I continue to crave the approval of others. As much as I hate to admit it, I care way too much what people think. I want people to like me and when they don’t–which I always feel like they don’t–I curl up further into my shell where the wheel of self-deprecation is turning faster and faster. The repeating thoughts of how annoying or awkward or ugly or stupid I am just repeat like overused mantras.

And maybe that’s the root of my problems, but that’s not even the main subject of what I was psychoanalyzing tonight.

All I kept thinking to myself was, I am so unhappy.

Just repeating, over and over, I am so unhappy playing like a record in my head until I decided to abruptly rip the needle from the groove and force it to be silent. Because I had a correction: maybe I’m not unhappy, maybe I’m just not satisfied.

After all, I have plenty to be happy for! And I know that’s not exactly how it works, but if you look at my life or you walk a day in my shoes, you would find plenty to smile about. So why is it that I find myself crying the minute those days turn to night?

I must just be unsatisfied.

I still see myself as a pretty ambitious person. I haven’t necessarily given up on my big dreams from my childhood (besides, well, the lounge singer in England or the cellist in the Broadway pit). And maybe I’m just living a wildly unfulfilled life, but I’m twenty. I still have plenty of time to get to those big plans of mine.

But satisfaction isn’t happiness in the same way that unhappiness isn’t dissatisfaction. You can be satisfied with a performance and still be unhappy in the same way that you can be happy and not yet satisfied.

Ah, we’ve reached the part of the post where the rambling becomes mundane and repetitive, so I better wrap this up.

This isn’t a post about depression and this isn’t a post to say I’m going to kick myself into gear and finally try to get some fulfillment out of my life (though I probably should).

This is just me trying to get my thoughts down in order to understand where I’m at a little better. And I think we’ve all come to the conclusion that I’m just another average twenty-year-old girl who’s trying to gain some kind of control on her life, all too aware that she’s just another cliché.

Sorry for the word vomit.

Sincerely,

Sammy

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MY NEW NETFLIX LOVE

Dear Reader,

I have about two weeks before school starts, and less than one until I move in. So I should probably be preparing, right? I mean, there’s still so much to do! I have to plan out what I’m going to fit in my room, I have to pack it all up, and then I need to prepare for class of course. I should probably give that book list another look before heading back to school.

I know all of this. I know what I should be doing, and I’ve just barely started it all, but then good old Philip DeFranco recommended “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” on Netflix–and he highly recommended it. So, me being me, I decided to start watch it.

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And holy shit.

To be fair, I had pretty low expectations of the show. I hadn’t heard that much about it and the last thing I watched because Philly D said to (David Cross’s standup) wasn’t spectacular. So, I just started it because why the hell not? I’m between shows anyway so might as well.

Now here I am four episodes in and obsessed. Let me explain why.

First of all, it’s a musical. And it’s not like Glee where they’re all covers or like Scrubs or HIMYM where there’s one episode in the whole series where everyone sings a lot. No, every episode has like two original songs that are super funny in their social commentary style.

It reminds me a lot of Amy Schumer or SNL, actually. One of the first songs is all about the effort it takes to get ready for a date and it just seems like the type of song that people would share all over Facebook, tagging their friends like “@Sarah omg this is literally me last night.”

But also–and this is important–they can actually sing! And not in the way like you give a Disney star a song just because she can carry a tune. No, these people were born for shows like this because they’re funny, they’re good actors, and they’ve got amazing voices.

Also, the lead is a normal sized human. WHAT? Yeah I know, my standards for TV these days must be super low for me to be impressed with actors who can actually act and people who look like they eat like me, but honestly. When I watched Gossip Girl I wanted to skip meals and try diet pills (no joke–well, half joke–but to be fair I was in a bad place during my freshman year of college). When I watch Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and see her jumping around trying to fit into spanx and then thrashing around in a leopard-print leotard in the next cut, it’s comforting.

When I see her walk into a grocery store looking like this

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I feel at home. I feel like my demographic is being represented, okay? It’s important.

Also, back to the singing, freakin’ Santino Fontana is on the show. AKA Hans from Frozen. Yep, that voice is speaking every episode, which is honestly enough for me to watch. Plus he’s the good guy now–the one I’m rooting for–so I’m proud of his redemption.

Like I said, I’m only four episodes in, but I really went into this thinking it was going to be stupid. I mean, a girl quits her job and moves across the country to chase a guy she dated for a summer when she was fourteen. A show like that can’t hold up, right?

So I thought.

Anyway, I thought I’d share my new obsession because I just want it to be appreciated by others. Maybe it’s because I sort of grew up listening to Broadway (thanks Mom) but this show really speaks to me, okay? If you can make a point and be funny in an original song, you’ve won my heart.

Also the production value of this show must be crazy so I’m thinking they’re going to need a pretty big audience if it’s going to keep getting renewed.

EVERYONE WATCH IT–SEASON 1 IS ON NETFLIX!

Sincerely,

Sammy

THE SUN MAKES ME SLEEPY

Dear Reader,

I’m currently sitting in a coffee shop (surprise, surprise) across from my sister (another shocker), and–let me tell you–the coffee is not doing it’s job.

I’m blaming this more on the sun, though.

Maybe it’s because I’m a nap person–I tend to take at least (I know) one a day around noon on my living room couch, much like a cat who has their favorite spot on the windowsill so they can sleep in the sun. Or maybe it’s just because I’m a typically lethargic person.

Either way, it’s 3pm, I’ve downed my iced latte, and I’m exhausted.

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But I’m writing because I’m still trying to write everyday and I have some updates. First of all, though I have been writing daily, I haven’t posted every day like I was planning on doing. Part of this is because some of my recent posts have been pretty self-deprecating and I hate when that content starts consuming my blog, and sometimes I don’t feel comfortable sharing all of that. Sometimes it’s therapeutic and sometimes it’s really awful for my self esteem, but most of the time it’s just something that needs to keep private.

Also I kind of forgot that I said I was going to post every day in August–which is so typical of me and I hate it. But that’s part of what happened so I apologize. Mostly to myself I guess, because it’s not like I’ve offended anybody by not keeping my word.

Anyway, I feel like I’m starting to get into the swing of things this summer which, again, is very typical of me, considering I go back to school in about a week. But, of course, I’m finally writing consistently and journaling more often and watching a lot of movies that I’ve forgotten about but truly love (Easy A, She’s the Man).

Also, because I’m leaving in a week, I’ve been seeing all my doctors back to back. I felt pretty confident after nailing my eye doctor’s appointment (20/20 vision yo) but then I went to the dentist and found out I had four cavities and I cried. I even wrote a blog post about permanent damage and how I’m incapable of taking care of myself, but, again, that was pretty self-deprecating and ended on a dark note so it never saw the light of day. And then there was my main doctor which was extremely embarrassing but nothing new.

So that’s where I’m at right now. The new semester begins on the 29th and I have that gut feeling that I get when I know I’ve screwed something up, but I guess that happens when you burn bridges before you’re done crossing them.

Here’s to the new (school) year–and hopefully more blog posts.

Sincerely,

Sammy

[BOOK REVIEW] HARRY POTTER AND THE CURSED CHILD

Dear Reader,

I’ll admit it: I was a little late to the Harry Potter party. While my sister was reading these stories at 8 years old, I didn’t even read the first one all the way through until I was 16. I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way, though, because a lot of it would have been lost on me. (Also, Sarah had to wait a few years for the release of the sixth and the seventh, where I got to read all of them back to back in the last month of summer before my senior year of high school.)

So yes, I was 16 when I experienced the magic, and it was amazing. The series honestly changed my life a little bit. As someone who is also planning on writing a few books, I was so inspired by the fact that this entire world and this seven-year adventure could be created purely from imagination and told so perfectly. And then for the books to be just as lovable? It’s truly amazing.

So, if we’re being completely honest, anything JK Rowling writes about these characters that I fell in love with four years ago is, most likely, going to be amazing to me. And, spoiler alert, it was. (Oh, quick note, there aren’t real spoilers in this review, but we’ll get to that.)

And I keep seeing things around the internet regarding why people didn’t like the play or why people are “outraged” that it’s not another book or whatever. And all of those people are surely entitled to their opinions, but I do not think it’s overrated. I do not think it’s too little too late or a desperate grasp on something that’s over now.

loved it. I cried so much, sometimes just because of nostalgic reasons and sometimes because I was touched by the story. I laughed out loud–mostly at what Ron said because I forgot how damn much I love Ron. I read it in one night–maybe like three and a half hours which is so quick for me–simply because I couldn’t put it down. I thought it was amazing and now I want to read and watch the whole series again.

So, like I said, there are no spoilers in this review because I hate the thought of ruining someone’s first time reading something, but I’ve decided to do something new. The purpose of my book reviews from now on will be whether or not I recommend it, whether or not I liked/loved it, and what a person should look for when reading it–what type of person this would suit.

But I always feel like I have to leave out so much and I hate that, so I’m starting a new thing where I’ll post a separate review, on the same day, but it will be password protected so no one will get spoilers if they don’t want. The password today is “ireadit” and the purpose I’m trying to create for this is to start a conversation. My favorite part of reading is talking to others about it–and I think that’s why I love Harry Potter so much. Never have I ever read a book so popular among my peers, my friends, my family. And, so often, the conversations I have after reading a book make it mean that much more to me. It helps me make sense of all of it and decide my own personal opinion.

So, if you’ve finished this and want to go to that post, I really want to hear your thoughts! Comment you opinions or your questions or your grievances with the book. And, if you finish this book in three weeks, the beautiful thing about the internet is that the post–the conversation–will still be there, ready for you to add your input.

Well, here goes the trial period. Hope to see you over there.

Sincerely,

Sammy

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EVERYTHING I DO IS UNFINISHED

Dear Reader,

One of my twitter drafts reads “I am terrible at life for the same reason I am terrible at beer pong: no follow through.” I’m not quite sure why I haven’t actually tweeted it but I guess that’s another prime example of me not finishing what I’ve started.

I’m hoping this is something that people can relate to, but more than that, I hope this is something that people could help me fix, because it’s honestly awful.

If you’ve been following me for a while, I’m sure you’ve noticed random projects here and there that I have just let die. I love making bucket lists. I love making resolutions. I love waking up on Sunday mornings and planning out a productive week. But every time the project is abandoned or simply not completed by the time the summer, the year, or the week ends.

I just can’t–or don’t–follow through. And it’s been a recurring theme since I was little. My brother used to make bets with me that I wouldn’t finish things like the books I started or the neighborhood newspaper I was trying to get going. I still have a vivid memory of having to pay him 50 cents because I bet him that I would finish my meal at a restaurant. Of all things it was the salad that did me in. (Sidenote: I know 50 cents is nothing but it was the principle of the thing that makes this memory such a standout in my mind.)

The reason why I’m writing about this today is because I started writing a new book last night. To be fair, the beginning is always so fun because you get to create all these different characters and you can spend tons of time going over names and possible symbolism (see yesterday’s post), but I’m worried that this is just going to derail me from other projects I have that I should be spending my time on.

My friend just shared her book with me–her finished, developed, edited book–and that alone is so impressive. It kind of inspired me this past week to revisit the book I started writing my senior year of high school (that I haven’t worked on since April 2015) and I’ve been really enjoying it. The main reason why it was abandoned in the first place was because of all the damn research I had to do for it. One of the characters was pregnant and another had Cystic Fibrosis so I was writing pages on pages of notes about symptoms and concerns and what it must feel like to be a teenage mom-in-waiting and a young girl who’s life consists of hospital visits. Then by the time the research was basically complete, I had abandoned yet another project.

But the thing about me isn’t only that I never complete what I start, but I always come back to it too. I’ve come back to half-written songs, half-written stories, half-edited videos, half-developed ideas, and I’ve gotten to work again. Still, probably about 80% of everything I start goes unfinished.

So I don’t know. Maybe this is just foreshadowing. Maybe in a week and a half I’ll miss a post for this blog-everyday-of-August thing and I’ll link back to this and say SEE?!? Or maybe someone will comment and say something insightful and change me life. (Don’t worry, I’m not actually expecting that–I would never put that much pressure on anyone.)

I don’t know. But at least now this blog post is finished.

Sincerely,

Sammy

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WHAT’S IN A NAME

Dear Reader,

I think about names a lot. I have lists of names for my future children as well as potential characters in books I’m writing. Of course, sometimes you meet someone and they ruin or just completely use up a good name for you (God damn it Liam).

And then with your own kids, naming them isn’t necessarily going to be up solely to you. So even though I’ve always seen myself with a daughter named Danny and a son named Lewis, I’m sure I’ll have to consult my husband with these choices. Besides, I’m not even sure what last names my kids will have, and that certainly makes a different.

Still, I love names. I love thinking about names and origin stories of names and coming up with names for things. My first car was named Carlos (I thought it was a funny pun) and my car now is Veronica. I also entirely plan on having a dog named Benevolio one day (we’ll call him Bene). Even my first cello was named Jo.

Even more interesting I find is the names we assign to ourselves and our friends. My name, for example, is Samantha, but only two people regularly call me that. Still, this fits them more than it fits me and I can’t imagine them calling me anything different. The same goes for those who call me Sam vs. Sammy. What people call others, I find, says much more about them than we realize.

(Another anecdote: we had a worker at our coffee place on campus who wasn’t particularly popular with the others. One girl in particular thought he was obnoxious so instead of calling him Ryan, she always referred to him as Brian. It was just subtle enough, but still speaks words for how she sees him.)

This is a subject I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about, probably because I notice when people call me Samantha vs. Sammy vs. Sam (vs. other fun nicknames like Damn Sam or Sammy the Snake or Sammy the Slacker–thanks Mrs. Fry).

Last names are also great because you can so often tell so much from them. My last name is clearly German and the story that goes along with it is one of my favorites (basically that it was super German but was changed when my Grandpa was living in the US during World War II because yikes).

I also love being called a Neiswander (pronounced Nice-wander) and the connotation we’ve attributed to it. I’ve thought a lot about whether or not I’ll keep it when I’m married (we’ll just have to see how cool my future husband’s last name is) and I’ve been thinking of getting a wander tattoo so I can at least keep part of it. Because, let’s be honest, Neiswander probably won’t be the best to hyphenate with and I surely won’t pass it down as a middle name.

Final thought: Does anyone else love the name Theodosia? I don’t know if it’s because of the song from Hamilton or the meaning behind the name, but I absolutely love that name and would gladly name my future adopted daughter Theodosia (maybe even call her Teddy), but every time I mention this to people I get shat on. Can anyone relate?

I don’t know. Maybe I can find a way to fit it in as my future daughter’s middle name.

Sincerely,

Sammy

WRITING EVERY DAY, EVEN IF IT SUCKS

Dear Reader,

Happy August! Happy Monday!

Sarah and I just had the joint realization about Garfield’s hatred of Monday’s: so he obviously hates them, but why? He doesn’t have a job. He doesn’t go to school. He’s a cat and should have no particular preference or even awareness for the days of the weeks. But he does and he hates Mondays.

But maybe this is because Jon (his owner, I spelled that right, right?) does! So Mondays signify the end of the weekend and mean that Jon will be absent for much more of Garfield’s life for the next few days and obviously that’s sad and lonely and Garfield just really loves Jon! Isn’t that beautiful?
(Sidenote: I haven’t read Garfield comics in years so I don’t know how well this theory holds up. Does Jon have a job? Taking care of Garfield seems like a full-time job to me.)

Here’s another funny thing that happened this week: Sarah came downstairs in short shorts and I said “oh my God can you please put on longer pants?!” and she said “they’re called shorts for a reason Sam!”

Touche.

A lot happens in our home between Sarah and I that make me laugh but probably aren’t funny enough to document but also I still don’t want to forget them, so I’ll just write them someplace so when she tries to decline living with me in a few years I can pull out the list and say “but look at how much fun we have!! We’re so good together!”

One of these things is the other day I was in her room only wearing a bra and I sighed and said “I think I’m skinny fat” and she said “Sam, you’re beautiful,” and I yelled, “well I didn’t say I was ugly!

Honestly you’ve just got to be able to make yourself laugh and if you find someone who gets you enough to help you out and ensure that you laugh at least, I’d say, 75 times a day, then you’re pretty golden.

So what is the point of this entry? Just a hello, I guess. A quick check to see if any people out there are still reading this blog. An announcement that I will be back starting now and trying to post more often (maybe I’ll do a BEDA–blog every day of August–I think that’s the acronym). We shall see.

If you’ve made it this far please recommend something for me to watch on Netflix because I am quickly flying through every Netflix-made series, comedy special, and throwback movie on that site. So any suggestion would be highly appreciated. (I, myself, recommend Stranger Things, Ali Wong: Baby Cobra, and The Fundamentals of Caring).

Sincerely,

Sammy

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