The Day Friend Called 911 To My House

When I was 11 I had my first slumber party. ("Sleepover par-tay" as 11 year old me liked to call it.) Sure, I slept over at Friend's house (The Friend I tortured here) and she slept over at mine but this party was bigger; better. Why? Because I had two other girls besides Friend coming over. Sure, one of them was nearly 4 years older than me and I hardly knew them but that didn't matter because the first time in my young life I was having more than one friend over at once!

I was so excited! I was planning out everything, from what scary stories we'd tell to what we'd have for breakfast. Everything had to go perfect and according to plan.

Yes. nothing would ruin this sleepover. So, on Saturday we picked up all the girls up and everything went according to plan; it wasn't until Sunday that disaster struck. (I have this theory that Sundays are evil since every bad thing that happens to me happens on a Sunday but that's a different story.) The four of us had just gotten out of the pool and I was feeling very mischievous.

 And then I came up with a "great" idea.

So we were all sitting on my bedside, typing random numbers into the phone. (ex: 172468983973292826547836547832) No one picked up, obviously. Given my short attention span I soon grew bored and decided to take a shower. I was calmly washing my hair when I heard one of my panicked guests shouting my name:

As soon as I stepped out of the shower I was bombarded with:

Guest: Sarah... something bad happened...

Me: I'm SURE it could have waited for me to finish my shower. I WAS NAKED!

Guest: It's really bad....

Me: Just tell me, God.

Guest: Friend called 911.

I then realized that it couldn't have waited. I flipped out, yelling at Friend hysterically.

Me: WHY DID YOU CALL 911?!?!?!?

Friend: I dunno.Why does it matter? They're not going to come.

Me: Yes.... they ARE, retard. You called from a LANDLINE.

Friend: So?

Me: *sigh* What..... did you say....?

Friend: wee wee.

Me: *facepalm*

I then realized I could be mad at Friend as much as I wanted after this blew over but at that moment I had approximately 5 minutes to figure out what to do. I decided that in our time of desperation I needed someone old, wise with experience... I needed the guest who was four years older than me. Certianly a 14 year old would know what to do! I frantically ran around the house looking for her, eventually finding her upstairs doing her hair. I explained our dilemma expecting some wise teenager knowledge. Instead I got:

So much for teenager-wisdom. At this point, Friend decided that 911 wasn't coming and excused herself to take a shower. Meanwhile, Guest and I tried to figure out what to do, we decided the best bet was to just tell my mom. As soon as we started heading downstairs we hear a knock on the door. And my mom answered it. Guest and I locked ourselves in my room, awaiting our impending doom. And Teenager continued on with her hair.

As soon as the firefighters left my mother screamed out my name and Guest, Teenager and I reluctantly walked over to her in the living room. She yelled at us for about 10 minutes before realizing that one of my friends, and the actual 911 caller, was missing. She made Teenager go drag Friend out of the shower and 5 minutes later they appeared; Friend, covered in soap-suds and only wrapped in a towel. Then, my mother preceeded to chew us out for 2 straight hours.

Septerday

When I was 11, my sister came up to me with some wonderful news:

But little me was wise to my older sister's tricks.

My sister did everything in her power to make me believe that septerday was a real word. She said it all the time to my mom, got my dad in on it and had her accomplice, Natalie make an Urban Dictionary entry for it. 

Just saying the word around me didn't make me believe it, I was pretty paranoid anyway and my sister was always tricking me. But what really made me believe was the Urban Dictionary entry. 

At the time I was really fuzzy on the Internet. For the longest time I thought the Internet was a place that you physically go. I also believed if you Google 'Google' you'd break the Internet. (thanks, dad...) I thoroughly believed at this time that if something's on the Internet then it must be true. So I didn't exactly know that Urban Dictionary wasn't the most reliable source... 

Sister: Hey, Sarah! Read this! Septerday is in the dictionary!

Me: What?? No way!

Sister: Yeah, go look!

From that point on I started using Septerday EVERYWHERE. Talking, essays, I even think it was my cellphone signature at some point! 

It wasn't until today when I found out the truth! My whole world came crashing down before my eyes! My whole life was a lie! I was simply buying fudge with my dad when he told me the awful truth.

Dad: Remember, that trick your sister played on you? Made up the word septerday... and had Natalie make an Urban Dictionary entry for it?

Me: SEPTERDAY ISN'T REAL!?!?!

Dad: Oh, you didn't know?

Me: NO!!!!!!!!

I was shocked and mad, I called up my sister up in an angry fit. I was screaming in the fudge store. All my dreams were crushed.

But you know what, readers? Let's make septerday a word! Use it everywhere! Call webster! Put it in stories! Let's make a new word!

This Is Why I Don't Talk To People

Chicks don't like me. I don't know why, I get along with guys better. I mean who wants to sit around and gossip about clothes or boys? (I don't even know what girls talk about, but I'm guessing clothes and boys.) Maybe, it's because I change the subject frequently to random subjects, like cupcakes...? (Yes, cupcakes. Once my mind went completely blank and I just brought up cupcakes. That's actually what this blog post is about.) Yep, here's a real conversation (based on, anyway) where I tried to be sociable but it make me look like a cupcake-crazed freak.

Oh, well. Who needs people when you have cupcakes?

I DON'T WANT TO BE ON THE NEWS!!!

When I was eight my dad, sister and I went on a cross-country trip in the winter. At New Mexico we decided to camp in the desert. There were a lot of mountains surrounding the campsite. (I'm not sure if they were REALLY mountains or just really big hills. That's what living in Florida does to you. I'll just call them mountains, it's MY blog after all) So, anyway it was my little eight year old dream to climb (really hike) the mountain, it was my sister's too.

One day all three of us woke up early, got dressed in our hiking clothes and got all set to go hiking. (Not on the trail of course because that's really boring and much too easy.) It was exciting and fun but then we neared the top of the mountain. The mountain thinned out and became rockier, you had to half climb/half hike to get up there. My dad and I sat down on the rocks as my ballsy sister, always in need to explore, decided to climb up the rocks. Eight year old me was awed, I think my sister just liked rocks though.

I, being too young and my dad being too lazy just decided we'd wait on the rocks. So about 10 minutes after my sister left my imagination got ahold of me. I was CERTAIN my sister had fallen and died on her journey. What else could be taking her so long? She was obviously dead. So I started crying and quickly became hysterical. Because I felt I lost my only sister? No, because I didn't want to be on the news.

I think my dad at first thought it was sweet how worried I was about my sister, until he heard me blubbering about the news. Even then, he tried to comfort me... in his own 'special' way...

Imagine how my sister felt when she came back to her little sister crying about the news.

When I Was Eight I Defeated A Child-Murderer!

I was always a suspicious kid. Once when I was 8 (8 was when I was the craziest, if you couldn't tell.) I had my Friend over at my grandma's house. So we were in the back yard playing when the next door neighbor was innocently mowing his lawn and waved at us. I totally and completely freaked out.

"HE JUST WAVED A KNIFE AT US!!!!" I screamed at my Friend, grabbed her wrist and ran behind a tree. We then made plans how to escape this child-murderer. 

"What are we going to do?" My Friend asked, wide eyed and frantic.

"We have to get him! He can't get away with being a child-murderer!" I said taking an imaginary stand. The Neighbor continued mowing his lawn peacefully and saw us gazing at him like he was, well, a child-murderer. So he smiled and waved again.

"OH MY GOD!!! NOW HE WAVED A GUN!!!" I whispered-screamed. *Note: At the time I did actually believe he was a child-murderer.* 

"AHHHHHHHHH!!" 

We made a dash for my grandma's house. The Neighbor, turns out, mows other peoples' lawns as well. So as he moved on to the next house, I felt like the the whole neighborhood's mortality rested on my young, little shoulders. And I decided to be a hero. 

"We need to save the neighborhood!" I told my Friend. Making the neighborhood's mortality rest on her even younger shoulders. 

"How are we going to do that?" She asked me, on the verge of crying.

"I'm not sure, but we'll need weapons!" That statement made my pacifist, six year old Friend start bawling. Of course that didn't gain any sympathy from little me. I just told her to stop being a baby and left to find weapons.

My dad found out and yelled at me for deserting my crying friend. I told her that we wouldn't go hunting for child-murderers anymore and could just go outside and play. Of course I didn't MEAN any of that. 

Going outside I took my 'weapon' out with me: a frozen, Aquafina water bottle.

I made her play a game that involved throwing the frozen water bottle up an oak tree right by the Neighbor's house. With each throw we threw closer and closer to their house. On my next throw I decided that then would be the perfect time to defeat the child-murderer. So I threw the water bottle as hard as I could and it hit the window. Thankfully, it didn't break it. Just made a really loud thunk. 

The Neighbor's wife obviously heard it and opened the window, looked at us and the water bottle lying on the ground and got very, very mad. I'm pretty sure she yelled something but I didn't hear it; I just grabbed my Friend, pulled her in the house, ran into my grandma's guest bedroom and locked the door. Waiting for our impending doom. We watched from the window as the Neighbor's Wife marched up to the house and told on us.

Five minutes later my dad, extremely embarrassed and angry, knocked (very hard) on the door and told me to come out. Then, we got yelled at and our punishment was to go over and apologize to the child-murderer. So my Friend and I walked over to the Neighbor's house and knocked on the door I realized I couldn't do it. I couldn't apologize to a MURDERER. So I just ran away and my friend followed. 

"Did you apologize?" My dad immediately asked.

"No..... I'll just write an apology letter instead."

_________________________________________________

Turns out the Neighbor wasn't a murderer; I was just insane.

I Was A Demon Child

Around ages 7-9 I was the most conceited, selfish, rude, bossy, psychotic child you would've ever met. I was a violent, attention-grabbing, Barbie-hanging little girl. (But that's a different story for a different day.)

One story, though, that really speaks to me, happened when I was 8 years old. I was over at my best friend's (only friend, really) house. (At this time in my life I was very dramatic. My dream was to be an actress/model/singer/detective/writer so I would often force my Friend to engage in pretend games involving these.)

I decided we would play a game (model/singing) that involved us dressing up in 'model' clothes, perform our original songs in front of our 'fans'. (I had an imaginary audience in my head that was always video-taping me and thought I was awesome, who I called my fans.) It took place in her ultra-conservative mother's bedroom. While one of us was changing into our 'model' clothes in the nearby bathroom, the other would perform. 

So my melodramatic self was happily changing into my feathered boa, preparing for my song 'Have You Realized' as my Friend was introducing her next song. 

My Friend: Ok, and I have another song to sing you. It's called "Have You Realized"...

Well, 8-year-old me would not have that. I stormed out of the bathroom and jumped on top of her, like a demented cat, onto the bed. Here's what I probably looked like:

"OH MY GOD, THAT'S. MY. SONG. YOUCAN'TSTEALMYSONG!!! GET YOUR OWN SONG!!!!" I yelled as I hit her repeatedly.

"What are you doing??" My Friend asked, terrified.

"MY FANS ARE GOING TO THINK I STOLE MY SONG FROM YOU!!!!!!" I then made her cry. I would cry too if my two-years-older-than-me-best-friend randomly jumped me, pulls my hair, hit and bit me. Plus, she was like, 6 and I totally took her down. 

"OH  MY GOODNESS! THERE ARE NO FANS!!! STOP IT! YOU'RE SCARING ME!!"

"DON'T YOU INSULT MY FANS!!!" 

This went on for about 15 minutes. Until I sat up, looked at my Friend and said, "We should stop it. Your mom might hear us and then I'll get in trouble." to which my friend happily replied "Okay". And we calmly walked out of the room as if nothing happened. 

Why Do Odd Things Always Happen To Me? (The Three Duck Boys)

A few years a go my dad decided to surprise my sister and I by taking us to a hotel. (I always love going to hotels so I can get candy and turn into a mess-making psycho.) Well, anyway, the three of us had just walked into the hotel when my sister and I decided to go on a journey. A journey that involved walking aimlessly around a hotel looking for a Coke vending machine. We had just bid farewell to our father, walking past the hotel's game room when three teenage guys came running by like retarded ducks in a single file line. (To the game room I suppose)

I just about died laughing and the next thing I knew my sister and I were hiding behind a wall from the Duck Boys. We were arguing whether or not to stay hiding or try to make it to the hotel room. I peeked out from behind the wall, they were searching EVERYWHERE and were gaining in on our hiding spot. I told her we should try for the hotel room. 

So, as soon as we bolted from behind the wall, one of the Duck Boys saw us and they all chased us into the back staircase. While, frantically trying to get to our floor I heard one of them say, "I'm going to get youuuu, girls." In the most stalkerish voice possible. I shrieked and my sister just laughed. I imagined this was following us:

Instead of this:

We reached the top of the stairs and burst through the door. The Duck Boys followed, they were IMPOSSIBLE to lose! We fumbled our way through the unfamiliar hallway and found our room. We ran into our room, rested against the door, huffing and puffing and my sister says after a few minutes, "Want to go get our Cokes now?"