Archives For shoplifting

shoplift 3

I just shoplifted a few items from Ulta, an overpriced makeup superstore.

Note: I’m not condoning shoplifting, or in fact, instructing any of you to do so.

As a matter of fact, this is a work of fiction.

If you get caught, and pull this article up on your phone to show security officers how you were led astray, they will laugh at you.

However. I KNOW some of you snapperheads are going to read this and become inspired to shoplift.

So, some basic rules.

1. Don’t ever shoplift from a liquor store, pawn shop, or anywhere the owner is strapped. You want an IPhone, not a bullet in your neck.

2. Don’t steal from people. Don’t steal from small mom and pop stores. There is honor among thieves! Go after the big retail chains. They pay slave wages, factor shoplifting into their overpriced inventory and are run by scumbags who deserve it.

3. Stay calm. Be upbeat and friendly if spoken to. Dress like a mediocre middle class white person, even if you’re not.

4. Have some of your friends, the ones who look like they drank too much tequila and woke up in a public bathroom, walk around acting suspicious. They will divert attention from you, dressed as a respectable suburban drone.

5. Don’t get cocky because you weren’t popped in Target. They have a crazy good camera system. They see EVERYTHING. They’re just not bothering your small-potatoes ass until it’s a felony. Then it’s hello, jail time.

6. Don’t cran your neck looking for cameras like an amateur. Pretend to reach for stuff on top shelves.

7. Never run unless you have been caught. If someone with a walkie talkie and pants up to his nipples accosts you are, RUN LIKE HELL

8. Wear shoes that are easy to run in (see # 4)

9. Stick a toddler in your cart and give him stuff to hold. Those little shits grab stuff all the time. Just hand it back and scold your kid. Don’t feel bad using your kid to steal. That little financial drain is the reason you have to shoplift anyway.

I had the money to buy what I wanted. As a matter of fact, I bought some things as well. That’s actually one of the techniques to avoid getting caught. Make a purchase.

So why did I steal?

Because. Like a whole lot of other things I shouldn’t do, I get a high from it. It appeals to the rebellious punk buried alive inside me. It’s my “fuck you” to the man. (yes, I just said that, deal with it).

But ever since I had a kid, I rarely shoplift. I don’t want to have to call Little Dude from county lock up to come bail me out.


I learned to shoplift from an expert. When I was in junior high my absolute best friend (well, my only friend) was Jayce, the other white girl in my school. Her older sister, Kelly, five years our senior, was the sister I never had – and my mentor in the art of the five finger discount.

Kelly and Jayce were the two sweetest girls on the planet. Kelly in particular had an angelic quality about her that made everyone adore her. Shoplifting expertise was so incongruous with her outward demeanor, no one ever suspected her.

She was also a heroin junkie, constantly bouncing in and out of methadone programs and rehabs. But that personality of hers – she was just so NICE. Even my mother loved her. More than me.

Jayce grew breasts one night the summer between elementary school and junior high. So began her foray into the world of bad girl-dom.

I was a good girl, a nerd, an A plus student. Running with Jayce and Kelly allowed me to take a trip to the dark side, the side with cigarettes and drinking and Jayce’s stories of the boys who felt her up in her backyard at night.

Every so often I would cut school and take the ferry from Staten Island into Manhattan with Kelly and Jayce. Crowded anonymous Manhattan was the perfect setting in which to learn shoplifting techniques.

Kelly taught me how to locate the “blind spot” in a department store, where security cameras can’t see you. To use the receipt from a purchase to go back into the store and walk out with the same item, unpaid.

She taught me how to go up to the jewelry counter at a department store, and confidently ask to see watches – and then pocket one practically right under the salesperson’s nose.

That was one of my favorite moves. I have to punch myself in the face to stop myself from pulling that one in a crowded Nordstrom’s at Christmas time.


Kelly was a loving daughter, a devoted sister and a total delinquent. Her parents owned a little beach house on the Jersey shore, which Kelly used to break into routinely and rob. And leave notes apologizing.

I spent three years in junior high under Kellys’ expert tutelage. I was an avid shoplifter all through college. I hate to write that I’ve never been caught, because even though it’s the truth, I feel as though it will jinx me.

Jayce turned into a full-blown bad girl in high school. I was still trying to color inside the lines at that point and we never spoke after the ninth grade but we nodded hello to one another every morning, when I passed her outside the high school. All school year long she stood outside with the other degenerates before class, smoking cigarettes and weed.

One day, in my junior year of high school, the phone rang. It was Jayce. She hadn’t called my house in years. I knew why she was calling, before she even said it.

Kelly had died. She drowned in the bathtub early one morning, while high on heroin.

My heart broke into a million pieces. My mom wept bitterly. I reconnected with Jayce then, briefly, but intensely. My mother and I spent all three days sitting with her family at Kelly’s wake.

Back at school, we resumed only our nod ‘hello’ in the morning. The last time I saw her was the day of my high school graduation.

I heard through the grapevine that Jayce got married and had kids almost right out of high school. I never spoke to her again.

I haven’t even thought of her or her sister in years.

But this morning, when I put on my stolen lipstick, I though of Kelly, Fagin to my Artful Dodger. And I wrote this story in her memory.

Did you ever shoplift? What other delinquent activities did you engage in?
Can I call you if I need bail money?
Talk to me. I’m listening.

Follow me on Instagram. I take pictures in superhero underwear because I crave validation.


Tara, the fabulous blogger over at Love From Tara nominated me for the Sunshine Blogger Award.

Wait – Tara – do you mean me? Samara, who posts about strip clubs? Blow Jobs?  Heroin?

Okay! Just checking.

Well, I’ll gladly accept it, since 2013 was officially the year “God Fucked Me in the Ass Without Lube.”

Before I begin, a New Year’s note to anyone who honors me by reading this blog:

Dear WordPress family:

Thank you all for the love. Little Dude and I are here, rocking out to New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. He loves so very many of you.

Last night, I saw Patti Smith perform. She preached to us, Patti punk-rock-priestess style, that even in this harsh economic time, no one need suffer from intellectual poverty.  She had the audience in a frenzy, commanding that we all strive


I fiercely wish this for all of you in 2014.

Ahh, my award. These awards are awesome.  I somehow got passed on the “I Gave a BlowJob Outside The Holland Tunnel” blog award. Also missed the “Do You Think An Elephant Can Use a Fluffy Cat as a Tampon” blog award.

The rules for these awards are so damn complicated. First, nominate 85 bloggers.  Coordinate your reproductive cycles so that you are all menstruating simultaneously. Line up 11 infants on mattresses, dress as the devil and practice El Colacho – baby jumping.

WordPress Baby Jump Award

WordPress Baby Jump Blog Award

The Sunshine Award Rules:

  1. Post a picture of the Sunshine Award
  2. Post 11 random facts about yourself
  3. Answer the 11 questions from the blogger who nominated you
  4. Nominate 11 bloggers.
  5. Write 11 questions for them to answer
  6. Let the nominated blogger(s) know you have nominated them

11 random facts? Pull up a chair, home slice. This is my 15 minutes and I’m gonna work it like a whore in navy yard.

This is Your Big Chance to find out all about “The Weirdness That is Samara.  Don’t miss it!

1. I was the only girl in a family with five brothers, all of them older than me. During the 1970’s, there was so much sperm flung around our apartment it was like living in the Monkey House at the Bronx Zoo.

2. I am a really good shoplifter. I don’t do it anymore, because I wouldn’t want to get caught and have them call my 10-year-old kid to come get me.  I’d give some pointers, but I don’t want to go and get Freshly Pressed or anything.

3. I love to bake. If I love love love you, I’ll bake for you. I have baked theme cakes for everything from SpongeBob to dildos. Including a SpongeBob dildo cake.

From Samara's Bakeshop

Parenting at its best

4. I get intense girl crushes. I have one simultaneously on bloggers Jen and Tonic and Jennie Saia.  I love that they have the same name. In my Walter Mitty day dream, we’re doing a science fair project that involves snakes covered in Vaseline.  When I breathily mutter “oh, Jennie” at them,  it could be either one of them. Damn convenient.

5. I had a pet chicken when I was in high school. I named him Dr. Feddy. He was a chick that accidentally hatched in the  biology lab.  I used to let him run around in the bathtub for exercise. When he started all that cock-a-doodle-dooing at dawn, my mom brought him to a farm to live.

I just realized my mom was a lying hooker.

is he gonna eat him, or fuck him?

Just your everyday normal dude with his pet chicken

6. I love using completely outdated rap expressions. They especially annoy Little Dude.

“Boo, you better break yourself, cause that is some chickenhead move! Finish your homework so we can go to Gamestop and get flossy, dude! No diggity!

Translation: Honey, please stop trying to set the house on fire.  It’s ill advised. If you finish your homework, we’ll go to Gamestop and buy you the inane video games that prompt you to arson to begin with. I promise.

Flossy –   The lesser known and unloved cousin of “jiggy.” Used to express one’s burning desire to be Flashy and Showy, while simultaneously reminding white folks about the importance of routine dental care.

7. I have terrible motion sickness. Growing up, the Lying Hooker kept a pail in our station wagon for me to hurl in when I got car sick. To this day, I can’t go on rides. Once, when I was a kid, some family took me on “Rent A Poor Kid Day” to a theme park, and I threw up 17 times.

I wish I looked this good on Rent a Poor Kid Day

8. I am convinced that it is utterly against nature and biology for a man to be monogamous. Men are hunters. Those that can actually stay faithful are kings among men. But it truly goes against their nature.

When I got married, I told The Ex, just don’t come home with your penile instrument oozing Chlamydia and we’re good. Don’t get sloppy and let me find out.  Don’t get all warm and fuzzy on NyQuil when you’re sick and feel you have to bare your soul to me. What I don’t know, won’t hurt me.

What will hurt me will be if you spend money on the bitch. And that will hurt you, too, cause then I will cut off your dick.

9. I broke the record for longest labor at my hospital before giving birth to Little Dude. I was in labor for 36 hours. He just didn’t want to come out.

Men really seem to dig it up inside my uterus.

10. I love math.

11. I LOSE IT when I get stuck in voice prompt purgatory.   It is actually the Tenth Circle of Dante’s Hell from which there is no exit. I HAVE NO PATIENCE FOR THIS NONSENSE.

“Please listen carefully to our menu options as they have changed” is a WHORE. They’re all changing their menu options daily and I can’t even find a clean bra.  Who is responsible for this? I will personally give that person a project girl beat-down. When trapped in the Tenth Circle I start drooling and chant REPRESENTATIVE, REPRESENTATIVE, REPRESENTATIVE.


1. What is the first thing you do as soon as you wake up in the morning?

Make espresso. Twice. I have a 10 year old with ADHD.
He vaults out of bed like someone shoved a spring loaded tampon up his ass.
He talks until my ears bleed. The best way to protect myself from this verbal onslaught is a Passover wine/ Oxycodone cocktail, but then I have trouble navigating the drop off  loop at his school. And we walk, so you can imagine my confusion.

2. What is your greatest fear?
Poverty.  I grew up in a shitty housing project.  Cinderblock and chain-link fenced in terraces give me full blown panic attacks.

Fuck you, we had an elephant.

Fuck you, we had an elephant. Thanks, Le Clown.

4. What is your favorite song at the moment?

I’ve been pre-gaming for weeks because I went to see Patti Smith last night. So it’s all Patti Smith songs.  She’s the High Priestess of Rock and Roll.  if you don’t know her, google her right now. This Instant. I mean. it. Stop reading right now and listen to her immediately.  There is nothing on this blog as important as her music.

5. What is your favorite childhood memory?

One time, my brothers and I were up on our shitty chain linked in balcony, throwing water balloons at people going to church on Easter. It was hilarious! And this one woman started screaming at us, “you’re all going to Hell!” Then, my mom came home and beat the shit out of us and…

I don’t think that’s what you had in mind.

Wait, this one has a heroic twist to it. My brother and I were playing at the top of a muddy, rainy hill behind the school. All of a sudden, we spotted the neighborhood Bad Man coming towards us. He’d been to jail for killing somebody – two somebodies, in fact. And he was trudging up the hill, towards us.

My brother stood in front of me and yelled, “Don’t you come near us!” Very brave.  When the Bad Man got to the top of the hill, my brother kicked this guy in his head HARD, and he slid all the way down the hill. And we took off running. But when we looked back, he’d gotten up and was just walking back up, with that same plodding pace, like the true sociopath he was.

Somehow, I don’t think this is what you were looking for, either. But this is what I got.

6. Facebook or Twitter?


7. What did the last text message you received say?

“Sex with a cougar does z not good! Fuck auto correct!”

My best friend’s brother is getting a divorce. He’s hot.  He’s coming to visit, and I offered to umm, make him feel a little better about his divorce. He’s 4 years younger than me. My friend was trying to say, “sex with a cougar does a boy good.” Who invented autocorrect anyway? It’s the same idiot who keeps changing the motherfucking menu options.

8. What bugs you the most?

9. What do you consider to be the most important appliance in your house?
My TMJ retainer. My dentist is freaking out because I grind my teeth to nubs. I’m supposed to wear it every night. I never do. But it cost a lot of money, so I’m going to say it’s important.



10. If you could have one song that would play whenever you entered a room, what would it be?
That’s a really bizarre question. Do I get entrance applause also?

11. What’s your favorite movie quote?
I am a bona fide movie addict, so that’s really hard. Tonight, I’ll give you this gem from from Pulp Fiction:

Mia Wallace, played by Uma Thurman, asks Vincent Vega, John Travolta,

“In conversation, do you listen, or wait to talk?”

The only reason to get married is to do this as your first dance

The only reason to get married is to do this as your first dance

I’m only nominating 2 blogs. For their questions, they have to answer the same 11 ones I did.

Busted Flip Flops and Janie Doh are both smart, funny lady bloggers. I love smart, funny chicks.  Give these ladies a read!

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Tell me all about your weirdness. Talk to me. I’m listening.