Houston, We Have A Problem. I Thought Your Name Was Johnny.

So here's the problem. Y'know that big long story I was talking about? Well, I wrote it, because I keep a blog going on Facebook as well as this one (that's right. Envy my ninja powers), and it turned out to be REALLY boring. Like, textbook boring. I didn't even make any critical observations! I stared at my screen in horror and clicked "Publish" anyway because I was tired and it took me forever to write.

The Final Decision: I'll just recount the funny, generally awesome parts. Or maybe I'll end up recounting the whole thing but trying to make it exciting with lots of exaggerations and probably some pirates.

Here's the story. I went to State for swimming as an alternate. State is like the big-shot, big-time, best-of-the-best-of-the-best. This is why I went as an alternate. Not quite even sure why I was chosen. But hell, I'm not complaining.

So we left on Thursday, in the morning on a charter bus, without even going to school. I got a four day weekend. Ha. Haha. HAHAHA.
Gloating over.
Two of my favorite funny things happened at Italian restaurants. I don't know what it is with those people, but for some reason good things happen around twenty teenage girls and their coaches. One of our coaches is the diving coach, and he's likes to torture us girls. So EVERY restaurant we went to, he'd roll up his straw and throw it at me, then pretend it wasn't him.
"DARRELL!"
"Whaaaat?"
Then, on the way home, I threw a bag of mixed nuts at him and he threw it back, and I threw it BACK...then I'm pretty sure our coach told him to stop because he's a party pooper and he wanted to watch Indiana Jones even though it was much bloodier and disgusting-er than I remember.

ANYWAY. Back to the Italians.
The first night, we went to this tiny place called Franchesco's. Now, this place truly was tiny. It was independently owned, and about the size of my living room. We had the wrong number, so we couldn't call ahead, and these poor people had one cook and one waitress and were NOT prepared for us. The cook had to call in her husband, the owner (who, for some bizarre reason, is NOT named Franchesco), and he had to bring in all his kids and everybody. It took two hours to finally get our food (poor waitress...). This other girl and I got served last. Sooooo...
Waiter/Owner: Who got the last two plates of Fettuccine Alfredo?
Me and That Other Girl: *Raises hands*
Waiter/Owner: THEN YOU GET A FLYING MONKEY.
He gave us each an actual flying monkey. Like, one of those stuffed ones that you stretch out and let go and when it hits something it screams? It was pretty fantastic. Kyle and Kyle (the assistant coaches...yes, those are their names) shot them at each other.

Next.
The Awesome Italian Guy.
We went to Macaroni Grill, and after we'd been served and everything, we looked up and saw this waiter guy, and he LOOKED Italian with his curly dark hair, and he just started singing in Italian. Just randomly, in the middle of the restaurant. He had this GORGEOUS tenor voice, and I think my feet melted into a puddle under the table. When he finished, all of us girls applauded wildly and he said,
"Best audience I ever had."
Uh-huh. Uh-huh.
He sang twice more for us. I wanted a picture with him, but he left. Then I got very depressed and went into my corner to cry but my dessert came and I had to eat it or the Apocalypse would come.
I'm going to go back someday and take him home with me and keep him forever.
Shh, don't tell my boyfriend.

FLYING MONKEY WAR!!!

Love
Love
Love
Samm

Song Quote Of Note: "I get to kiss you, baby, just because I can."
Title: Everything.
Artist: Michael Buble.
^^^P.S. There's actually an accent over his name somewhere...and I usually don't do mushy-gushy song quotes, but this song is just the sweetest song ever! It gives me cavities to listen to it (sweet, cavities, get it? HahahahahahahaaSHUT UP, I'M TIRED)...And Monsieur Buble has the most gorgeous voice...Anyway, it's just adorable, and I kinda wanna take him home too, so he can provide background music with Italian restaurant guy while Mozart and I are hangin.'