“Come on! Just once!”

Lord. Do I not want to go back to that hell hole.

School starts again tomorrow.

I so can’t be bothered to go in the worst way.
School.

Home of the size 2 divas, “jocks” (You can barely say that with the way our sports teams are), numerous heavy-set Mexican girls who apparently don’t realize they shouldn’t be wearing the low riders, thongs, and crop tops, and a very limited number of hot straight guys who know my name.

Maybe I wouldn’t hate it so much if it started at 10 Am.
Maybe I wouldn’t hate it as much if I didn’t have so many stupid projects to do.

No, I’d probably still hate it even then.

I can’t believe I have to get up tomorrow around the same time I was going to bed this week. That’s insane. That’s unfair.

That’s wrong.

I’m too tired to make a fantastic blog, but I felt like writing something.

I didn’t do my math homework. Again. But I don’t even care anymore.
If my teacher asks me for it tomorrow, I’ll say something witty and move my arms spastically to make her forget that I didn’t bring it in.

Yea, that’ll work.

Quote of the day:
::Jenna and Andrew are deep in conversation as I walk up to them::
Stefi: “What are you guys talking about?”
Jenna: “Foreplay.”
Stefi: “Naturally.” ::walks away::
-- Maybe you had to be there.
Or maybe you just have to be Jenna.
But it was funny.

“What do you mean you ‘already did’? WHEN?”

I went to Nordstrom’s today because they were having a 50% off sale in their teen section. You can not pass that up people. I was like Andrew in a.. well… a clothing store. It was great. Two shirts and a skirt for 25 bucks. Yes. That is right. Twenty five dollars. I scored like a hot guy on the football team.. or.. something.

In any event, while at Fashion Square Mall I came across some random guy my age dressed as a giant candy bar handing out leaflets that read, “Buy two! Get one free!” Why do I know this? Because I felt bad and took one. I try to avoid leaflets, but I felt so terribly guilty. Like it was my fault this moron with no college education was in a stupid costume. Buy two, get one free what? I could not tell you. I just felt bad and I took one.

I always feel bad for these losers in costume. So if there’s a costume involved, I tend to not only take the leaflet they are offering [read: trying to get out as quickly as possible so that they can change out of the costume] but to graciously accept it. "Thank you so much! Thank you! Have a great day!" all the while thinking, you poor pathetic bastard. I don’t know what you have but I hope I never catch it. I don’t want to live my life dressed as.. an over grown hot dog. Or.. French fry. Princess.. maybe. But that’s different. Pretty dress. Tiara. Different. Still human form. Giant cell phone? Just wrong. Those things don’t fit in on the streets. In a parade or Disney Land ®, perhaps. But not the streets where the real people live. The owners of the stores who choose this cheap usually non-effective way of advertising should be shot.

My sister started talking about her sixth grade class today to me. Randomly, because that’s what she does best. I think right before she brought it up we were actually talking about eggs. The conversation made me start to think of my sixth grade class though. It was all normal kids and then the “special” one. Jimmy. Jimmy was “mentally challenged” as Mrs. Liston used to like to tell us whenever Jimmy left for one of his “special classes”. Mrs. Liston wasn’t the best teacher either. Formerly a kindergarten teacher, she taught my sixth grade how to count by fives, say the ABCs backwards, and write in cursive. So imagine the shell shock I had in 7th grade when we actually did stuff like.. multiplication. It’s a wonder I passed Algebra 1-2 at all.

“Now, you were supposed to have learned how to do circumference in 6th grade.”
“Most guys go through circumference in the Jewish religion when they’re like.. a week old though..?”

Yea, thanks Mrs. Liston.

Jimmy was weird though. He wasn’t like those nice little special kids. He was cruel. Jimmy had birthday parties and didn’t invite me. Scarred me for life. I was being rejected.. by a retard? What did I ever do to him? Honestly. Nothing! I was nice! If he needed to be pushed in his wheel chair, I did it. I was never asked, and sure I stayed as far away as possible from him just in case I was ever asked to actually help him out, but if someone had said “Stephanie, help the retard out!” I would have. I was just nice like that.

You could never understand what the kid was saying anyway. Maybe he DID want to invite me but the mom just didn’t know. “Shudnsjfdhsuirehn” could be.. you know, anything. Maybe she just picked names out of a hat.. or something. All I know is, because of that, he didn’t come to my pool party. And it was awesome.. Joshua Hahn.. no shirt.. blue swimming trunks. Sipping Kool-Aide.. And no Kimberly Saint-Romain to steal him away from me either on my day. Why? Because I didn’t invite the blonde bitch. Sure, later we became friends and I realized she had no intentions of “stealing” Josh (who no doubt is gayer than the day is long today) "away from me” at the tender age of 10, but back then, it was a big deal.

In class though, no matter what Jimmy said, you knew that Mrs. Liston didn’t understand him.
“Ajjkjgf jgkd jgrisjg dog.”
“THAT’S RIGHT, JIMMY!” She’d shout out because apparently, being a retard means you’re completely deaf too. “I AM SURE YOU DO!” Then she’d turn to the rest of the class, “Now who knows the real answer?” Yep. That was Liston. Politically correct.

If someone asked him a question, Jimmy would often tilt his head to the side like a dog and beckon the speaker to come closer. This is why I never asked him directly why I wasn’t invited to his parties. Ten feet away was good enough for me. Oh sure.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PUSH YOU UP THE RAMP?” A good Samaritan student would scream to him. Then go closer to his face to catch an answer. Chances are he could have been saying “I rip the ears off of bunnies and hide them in my closet.” But no one would have known because it might have sounded like “Jfshjfs djsHDL a hfsjlhdjs Ahhhhhhhhh GGGRRRRRRRREAAAAAAAA.” And then Saint Sixth Grader might answer, “AWESOME! OK I WILL PUSH YOU THEN!”

I can’t imagine the life of crime that kid could get into with a smart druggy friend. No one would give a mentally retarded kid in a wheelchair any hell for stealing something from a store. Although, circumstance would probably hinder them from stealing anything bigger than their own heads seeing as the kid in the wheelchair would have to be the one holding it. They’d get free food too I’m sure. Walking into a restaurant and when it came time for the bill you’d get the waitress going “ITS ALL BEEN TAKEN CARE OF.” Right before pointing to some blonde couple carrying bibles and wearing matching sweater vests. They’d run back to their pastor and say “We saw this.. special child and a friend today. And.. well, we didn’t have much with us, but we did what we could do.” They’d be very proud of themselves.

Damn. I should have stayed friends with him.

Quote of the day:
Stefi: “That’s the most sense you’ve never made ever.”
Jenna: “I can’t decide whether or not that makes sense…”
Stefi: “I know, me either.”
-- Jenna and me at dinner the other night after she made some obscene comment and I followed up with one that didn't make sense really either.

"Yea, well, you're Aryan."

I have nothing interesting in particular to say to you this evening, but I feel like writing. So I'll write about my exciting past.

I was the perfect child. The golden child. The only daughter of Mr. And Mrs. Howard S. Sparer. When people saw me on the street, walking with my perfect family they’d stare and marvel and say how beautiful we were, especially me. Their only child. They were enchanted by us and how well bred I was. Everywhere we went, we, well, mostly I was the center of attention. “Look! The Sparer’s! Touch them! Get a lock of that sweet child’s hair! Take a ribbon from her dress! Take anything! What an angel!” they’d scream in masses. We stopped traffic. Especially when I would dart across streets randomly to get a rise out of the crowd. When people talked to me, they’d say my best feature was, and still is, definitely my hair, which was so incredibly thick, silky, and shiny. And its true! It is! It was so shiny it would glow in the dark. Even to this day I have to wear a blindfold to bed so that I can fall asleep at night. Others liked my perfect nose, or my perfect blue eyes, or my long, long eyelashes. I always thought my best feature was my ability to accept a compliment, personally.

Although my family was absolutely perfect in every way possible, we kept quiet about it, especially at Jew School because public displays of perfect happiness only encouraged anti-Semitic kidnappers. Once people find out we were not only beautiful, but indeed absolute states of perfection – charitable, punctual, Jewish, beautiful again, well mannered, well groomed, and classy- our estate would be a Mecca for gossip magazine columnists looking for a good article, photographers for Time, and crippled children (who tend to ruin the grass and plants with the hopeless rolling of their wheelchairs). Yes, my family and I all agreed that it was best not to boast about how amazing we were.

Then something happened that shook my family forever.
My perfect mother became pregnant.
Our Kennedy-esque empire was over. I would now have some small sticky rodent ruining our perfect image. They’d be eternally covered in jam, never clean, and constantly noisy. The house would smell of dirty diapers and spit up. Some toddler would waddle wistfully into my bedroom disturbing my rock and Barbie® collections, then they’d laugh or poop, or both. I didn’t know how it happened, but from overhearing the aunts and uncles speak, it probably had something to do with lousy contraception. Stupid lousy contraception! Whatever that was. I didn’t know at the time. But it was entirely its fault that our fantastic, ideal, beautiful three person family triangle, 180 degrees of perfection was ruined!

But being the perfect person I still was, though now my family was not perfect, I held my head up high and realized I had to take some responsibility as the big four year old sister. Actually, I didn’t realize. I was told. Or asked.. actually. Asked to be the perfect big sister. I accepted this new title, Big Sister, because I got a lot out of it. New toys, phone calls, stickers. The bonuses were actually pretty sweet. I understood my mother needed more for my new sibling than just the servants we kept at our house. Not that Marta the maid and Grandma were much help. They were both clever though, despite their yellowed teeth, graying hair, and implausible ability to break anything that they touched. No, my new sibling was going to need more than just them. They’d need me. The Perfect Big Sister. And as I said before, my family (but especially I am) very giving. I was going to dedicate my life to my new sibling. I swore to be the sister, attention hogger, confidant, hairdresser, second mother, and toy-stealer. I would be all those and more in exchange for just ten dollars a week and the guarantee of always getting my own bedroom. Knowing what a great deal this was, my mother accepted and got out her purse. I was in business.

And that’s the story of how I became a big sister.


Quote of the day:
Mrs. Wilkens: "Let me see your impression of me!"
Stefi: "I don't have one."
Casey: "Yes you do! You did it yesterday! It was pretty good too."
-- Mrs. Wilkens after I did impressions of Mrs. Murphy-Tick (Casey was lying by the way).

“Scared ‘em with these CRAZY ideas..like peace, and justice, and free health care!”

Again? Again? What the hell?

Yea, here I am writing again. Twice in a week. Within two days.
Fuckin’ Amazing right?

I’m overtired. I guess this makes me hate everyone, since that’s pretty much what I’ve been doing.

Other than that I am fine. I honestly can’t say I have a problem, except that I hate everyone for no reason. No reason. Seriously. There's nothing wrong, I am just.. in this mood that won't go away.

Let’s talk about things that bother me. Shall we? Awesome.

A. Aryan kids who ask German exchange students questions like “Is it true in Germany that you’re not allowed to depict Nazis?” Oh, nuts. Why? Did you want to?
B. Stupid fucking morons in general. I hate you all.
C. Shitty math teachers who render new policies just so that they can fail students.
D. Friends who purposely try to piss you off.
E. The phrase “get over yourself”. If you could refrain from using it, that’d be great kthanks. Its usually used at the wrong time and it just bugs the hell out of me.
F. Bryan. Yea, your drinking stories? WAY COOL! I WISH I COULD BE JUST LIKE YOU! Don’t you think perhaps you have a problem when even TEACHERS are making fun of you about your weekend escapades?
G. Colin Farrell. He’s the biggest jackass on the face of the planet. Ok, I don’t actually know this, but he sure as hell seems like it. I don’t like him.
H. People who only talk to me to complain to me. Hi, get a life. I am not your friend. I am not your best friend even though you think once you share your life story with me I am. If you are IMing me just to tell me about that cute boyfriend of yours who suddenly has been ignoring you the past 3 weeks [this is just an example and I’d like to stress that.] I’m gonna say “Wow its too fucking bad your boyfriend hates you now. He’s waiting for you to dump him, so go ahead and do it.” I will not talk to you about any possibilities of you two getting back together. I will not discuss how great his hair is and how you fell “in love” (as only high school girls can) with him because of it. Why? Because frankly, I do not care. If your grandma dies and you need to cry, that’s a real problem. Crying over your boyfriend of a month (if you count the three weeks they didn’t talk to you) is not a problem. Nor, just to make this clear, is it MY problem. Break up and find a new throat to shove your tongue down. Ta-da. Problem solved. NEXT.
I. High School drama. Fucking pathetic you guys. I don’t even think it was this bad on 90210. Not only that, but they were better looking while [badly] acting out the drama. We are not that cool.
J. People who can’t take a hint.
K. Stalkers.

Should I stop at K? Do I have anymore? I don’t know. I’m very ready for this year to be over.

So yea. Got that off of my chest in a very Andrew like manner.

Nothing exciting happened today. I’ve just been absolutely dead tired. My mom said I could stay home tomorrow, but I’m not. Shocker. I’ve got a test tomorrow, so I may as well take it. Get it over with. I have Spring break after that anyway.

Speaking of school;

I try to defend our public school system whenever a Jewish adult gasps when I say I do indeed go to a public school, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to anymore knowing that Ms. Debbie Noonan, a teacher in New Jersey (naturally), let her students engage in sexual act ivies whilst at her desk. She claims, however, that she didn’t know it was going on despite at one point, hearing the kids giggle and getting up to ask what in the world was going on. I say its pure laziness.

The story goes as follows: During a game of the always promising Truth or Dare, a big busted (what, you didn’t think she’d be flat chested did you?) fourteen your old girl performed oral sex on a male and allowed at least two other boys to kiss and fondle her giant breasts. Nine students were involved in a sucking, fingering, fondling, blowing, and probing session. The story did not report whether or not there was more than one big titted girl involved.

Of course it would just have to happen in New Jersey too. Oh well, at least it didn’t happen here. Although, I’d have to say, it’d make American History a little more interesting if it went on in our classrooms. All we ever get is the occasional fire in the bathrooms or locker. Not fair.

Quote of the day:
Stefi: “How many times have you filmed yourself with Ashley?”
Dick: “No, how many times have I filmed her that she knows about?”
Ashley: “Oh! That’s just like my dad!”
Stefi and Dick: “… What?”
-- Ashley before she explained how her dad secretly taped her step-mom.

“You have a wicked tongue.”

This must be odd for you. You've come here once again to my corner of the web to see, what’s this? The date.. has.. changed.. and what’s more is.. its recent? Has the world gone mad? And these sentences chock full of diction and syntax aren’t like the others before it, telling you that this must be.. no.. no it couldn’t be.. a new post? How exciting for all of You. I wish I could feel as You do right at this very moment. No joke.

The events that unfolded in these past two weeks have been insignificant in the big scheme of things.

I bought a new pair of pants.

I’m such a girl.

Last Friday, Andrew, Stephaniebrown, Jenna, and I made dinner for my family. That was exciting. You know that scene in The Big Chill when everyone is dancing around the kitchen while making food?
Yea.
Just like that.
Only we dance better I think.

9 out of 10 of the people who read this blog did not get that movie reference.


Mr. NC was Friday night too.
Totally rigged. Matt should have won with his smashing rendition of Ur a Babe 2 Me. Britney Style. Very awesome.

Andrew Antilla won however with his soccer balls. That’s no euphemism either. He actually used kicking a soccer ball as his talent. The only one even mildly amused was Rachel Cruz who I could hear hyperventilating from the 5th row.

Soccer balls. Jesus.

Tuesday was yet another exciting episode of The Young Democrat Club.
I enticed Casey Ford to come along, so we now have a new member to make fun of Katie Davids with. Casey is gearing up for officer nominations though.

We want to make him our new president so that we can actually DO things in the club other than talk about what kind of t-shirts we want.

We STILL haven’t ordered them.

In any event, Katie told us to split up into groups (we had never done this before and personally I think she was just showing off in front of our new member) and talk about what we can do to gain new members.

Jokingly I said Casey was going to wear a sandwich board and walk around the school.
But they took it seriously and now someone actually has to do it.

Oh, I’m also supposed to put it on my blog.
So here it is. We meet Tuesdays after school in Maley’s room and we don’t do anything. However, if you’re like me, you can come just to take a gander at Mr. Rommig.
Mmm Rommig. Yum.

As for elections, we’re planning ahead this time, as nobody wants Mrs. Lowe to take an officer stance. As terrible as that sounds… and we’re calling it the Plan (with a capital P). The deal is that we get placeholders to run in every position, just in case Katie decides to run for anything. That way, no matter what, Katie won’t win because the other person will get all of the votes. It’s a nasty thing to do, but she’s not good at being president! She gives everyone HER duties. She doesn’t do anything but repeat herself a million times over.

As you can see from the evidence, this isn’t so much of a Democrat Club as it is the We Hate Katie Club.

In that club, I am president.

But.. ah, you should all come to the meeting. That’s Tuesdays… after school in Mrs. Maley’s room.

Democrat Club.

As a bonus to all of you, I leave you with this conversation I had with Mr. David Lorenzi this afternoon:

Lorenzi: i think starbucks should market BALLS TO THE WALL EXPEZZZO
Lorenzi: thats my drink
Lorenzi: its nothing but cafene
Lorenzi: then you die from an OD
Lorenzi: all the old people who want to die will order them
Stefi: lol
Lorenzi: and death cults will form outside starbucks
Lorenzi: then they will make $$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Stefi: they'd make a ton
Stefi: stock through the roof
Stefi: there'll be a starbucks on every corner after that!
Stefi: two on a corner maybe even
Lorenzi: yea but some idiot beverly hills mom will give one to her 6 year old daughter and her head will explode then they get sued and go bankrupt
Stefi: it'll be the end of starbucks.
Lorenzi: OHHHHH THE HHHHHHHUUUUUUMANITY!
Stefi: Seriously
Stefi: we'll all be forced to go to The Coffee Bean
Stefi: or.. a generic coffee house in the middle of a giant chain book store
Lorenzi: or even worse
Lorenzi: well start drinking tea like the rest of the world!
Stefi: omg no
Stefi: don't talk like that
Lorenzi: im sorry
Stefi: omg, what if we start having to make our own coffee again?
Stefi: in.. coffee machines?
Lorenzi: PREPOSTEROUS!
Stefi: I don't want to live in that world.
Stefi: If the word comes to that.. I want to die.
Lorenzi: hence my drink and the cycle starts again
Lorenzi: tis the future
Stefi: its a great concept

Quote of the day:
“You know what? Can women get pregnant from having sex with a dog?”
-- The question of the week as posed by me to Jenna Stokes.

“Do you like to blow shit up?”

I skipped school on Friday.
Woops. I forgot to go..

And it was so nice.

I spent the day with my mother. We went out to breaky and shopped for a prom dress.

I’ll mention right now that I love my prom dress more than life itself. I do. I really truly do. I love it so much. I’d marry it if I lived in San Francisco.

I love it so damn much.

Anyway, Saturday I spent with Andrew and we had a merry time.
We saw Starsky and Hutch then hung out at my house the rest of the afternoon.

Playing on the PS2..
Or, correction I made cookies and Andrew and my sister played on the PS2.
Yea, I don’t do the whole.. gamer thing.
Andrew though is surprisingly good at both SSX and Britney’s Dance Groove.

Oh, and we also quoted Renee Zellwegger a lot. Fun times.

Then, during dinner, this freak from Thunderbird high school rings the doorbell asking, or more like pleading, with Andrew and me to buy some stupid magazines for a soccer fundraiser. The kid was hitting on me until I said I didn’t have any money.. then Andrew chimed in that HE did and the guy started hitting on him instead.
Twenty minutes, ninety sexual innuendos, and 35 dollars later- Andrew bought a year of GQ.
Then we were invited back to the kid’s house for pizza.. but ah, needless to say, we declined.

Later that evening we invited Stephaniebrown, so the three of us sat around watching music videos, making Andrew dance to Hey Ya, and eating my cookies, which I might add, were damn good. All in all, it was a very pleasant day.

Today went out to lunch with my mother and visited with Jenna who is finally back from her trip to DC. Its nice to have you home, Miss Stokes.

Anyway, I was thinking randomly last night, as it was around 3 AM after Stephaniebrown had left, about Martha Stewart. Also about Canada and how their citizens are really weird, but that’s a thought for yet another time. Anyhow, so Martha. Yea, that’s sad. I never liked her to be honest. I think she’s a skank and a phony. No honestly, I do. I bet she was a huge slut in high school. I bet she’s done a lot of guys in her lifetime and I have no doubt in my mind that she’s not absolutely 100% guilty, but in any event, while doing a little research on Ms. Stewart, I found this little diddy;

“In 1967 she began a successful second career as a stockbroker, her father-in law's profession. Andrew Stewart founded a publishing house and served as chief executive of several others. When recession hit Wall Street in 1973, Martha Stewart left the brokerage. She and her husband moved to Westport, Connecticut, where they undertook the ambitious restoration of the 1805 farmhouse seen in her television programs. She still lives there.”

Yea, that’s right. When the tough got going- so did Martha and she skiddadled right the hell out of there to create a giant K-Mart enterprise.

I told you, what a skank.


Martha at age 14. Innocent? Not quite. Slut? Absolutely.

Furthermore, her punishment should be that she must play the role of sex bitch for all of the prison prags and then redecorate their cells or something. Or at least show them how they can turn their forks into beautifully articulated carving knives of destruction. Perfect as a gift for your prag or to use when protecting yourself against others… or maybe.. maybe she could cook for all of them.. or force them to learn how to cook! She’d teach them how to make the perfect crème de la Avocat et Œufs à la Mousse deCrabe Emincé de Volaille sauce Roquefort - Haricots Verts or something like that.. and the perfect tossed salad with endives and crisp green lettuce straight from her garden in Connecticut. A very special recipe that she’ll use for a dinner party she’ll be throwing for twelve of her very special close friends from court.
Although.. apparently a tossed salad in prison is entirely different from a tossed salad in the outside world.
Yea..

Quote of the day:
Stefi: “I named mine Mary-Kate and Ashley.”
Andrew: “Why?”
Stefi: “Because one’s smaller than the other.”
-- Me to Andrew about my breasts.

“Good lord. Its like Russia out here!”

Jesus Christ. How could I not possibly be dead right now? I look dead. You should see me. Its crazy. Honestly. I’ve had about.. I don’t know, 5 hours of sleep in the past 24 hours or something. I think. I don’t know. Its 2:30 AM and I should be asleep but I am on this caffeine buzz right now. I knew if I drank coffee it would kick in eventually. I knew it was bound to happen. Why did I drink coffee? Because I had to write a big ass research paper that I’d been somewhat putting off. I had it started, but I was still pretty lazy about it… So here I am, 2:30 AM. I’ve been done for about an hour or so now, but I can’t for the life of me calm down.

Um, so Wednesday I auditioned, which is crazy since I don’t do that sort of thing like, well, ever. Wednesday pretty much sucked beyond reasonable belief though. Yea. It did.

Anyway, I can’t sing seriously. I sing about as well as Katie Davids can probably sing.. actually I’ve never heard her sing… so.. as well as Britney Spears drunk.. and for that reason I had no need to get called for call backs and Mr. Bush probably felt bad so now I have a role that I can happily guarantee you is a non-singing role in the play. Or, at least I pray to g0d.

I don’t want to sing in front of anyone. Auditions were bad enough.
In fact, auditions added to my bad day.
Wednesday really sucked.
I must be tired, I think I keep repeating that.. what was I talking about?
Oh yea, I don’t sing. Yea, I think I finished that.
Yes.

Anyway, today was a bit better. I found out I was actually in the play during fourth hour math class when Jessica Scholfield came over and high-fived me several times with this giant grin on her face while saying “congratulations”. To be honest, I thought she was saying congratulations as a joke because we had a sub. I don’t know if this makes sense or not. I’m so tired. I ended up saying “Why do you keep repeating that?” and she answered “Because we both have a role in the play. We don’t have to go for call backs.” That and the joy of having a sub in the class I hate the most made my morning.

I wore a skirt today to school. Remind me not to do it again. It was insane. I had some major skirt issues. It would catch on my messenger bag and ride up. Fantastic. Half the day I was walking around with my skirt around my neck.


Nothing has been going on since the last time I wrote… Jenna is gone and its weird. She’s in Washington, DC. She is missed. The play went very well, I finished my essay, nearly died in a near collision, and I believe I’m going prom dress shopping tomorrow instead of going to school. My mom just doesn't know it yet.


Any hot single STRAIGHT (or gay if you’re willing to make out with me) guys looking for a prom date? Go ahead and e-mail me.

That wasn’t too desperate was it?

Too tired to care.
Hope this made at least a little sense to someone out there. Maybe you should go get high or drunk or .. stay awake for 24 hours then read it again. I’m sure it’ll sound better then.


Quote of the .. week like thing. And I don’t care if this is Andrew’s too:
Andrew: "He, plays the piano too? Holy crap, is there anything Mr. Bush doesn't do?"
Stefi: "Women."
-- Me stating the obvious.


Wow, this entire blog entry was written like Jake talks during lunch.