"Oh. Whoa. Weird."


Hell yea its my birthday today!

I'm Stefi Sparer.
I'm awesome.
I love Justin Timberlake!

StephanieBrown and a Miss BriannaWhite took me to Zinc Bistro tonight for a fabulous pre-birthday dinner where the waiters hated us for being under 35 and wanting a spoon in which to eat our soufflé with, and the patrons hated us because... well I don't know why they hated us, but I assume it was for all the same reasons.

I had a great time. Good food. Good pictures. Good fun.

Bad waiters (if you’re young and they assume you don’t have money).

Also, what’s up with the massive amount of teens now going to our Kierland? I’m really upset by this. I went there specifically to avoid everyone that I knew or anyone that was even remotely close to my age who could potentially annoy me. Yet, there they are in their Abercrombie, sipping their Starbucks, and cooing over something from Lucky. We go there for a reason. Stay away fiends [please]!

Everything is weird without Jenna. She is missed. I think I’m going to buy her an activity kit so she has something to do while she’s sitting in her room. Coloring books are fun.

Justin pinched my ass again today. Mind you he does this to every girl multiple times a day, but I’d like to at least be able to brace myself before he strikes. That was random, but I felt it needed to be said.

Mrs. Henzelberg’s last day is Friday. This makes me sad, but its good for her considering she’s in a ton of pain and swollen to about the size of an elephant. I hope when I’m pregnant I don’t swell up like that. I’d be so depressed. I decided when I’m pregnant I want to look like Catherine Zeta Jones. She was so hot while she was pregnant. I still can’t believe she married Michael Douglass though. He’s weird in a Christopher Walken kind of way. Except Christopher Walken is cool weird. Michael Douglass is creepy old guy weird.

I have no idea if anything I’m writing is making sense as I am so very tired. I should go to bed. Why am I still up? I took a bunch of pictures today at dinner and all of them featured my dark, dark under eye circles. I look like I’m about to keel over and die. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I just did. Every day when I walk into second hour Spanish, Mrs. McClaren goes “You look terrible! Just.. awful!” I always feel like crap from lack of sleep, but I didn’t realize that I looked so g0d damn awful as well. G0d, I should go to bed earlier. Jesus Christ. I’m off.

Wish me a happy birthday today. Sorry the blog didn’t make sense.

Quote of the day:
“Guys jerked off. Oh, that didn’t sound the way it was supposed to.”
-- Mrs. Murphy-Tick talking about boys during the Dust Bowl.

“We like it when you leave the heals on.”

That was Prom?

It felt more like Prom at Homecoming, so can someone please tell me what the hell I just experienced?

Since I was a wee child, I always thought that prom would be some beautiful, magical experience that included a nice hotel ballroom, a rented room at that same hotel afterwards, maybe some sex, girls in big poofy dresses, and at least one guy in a powder blue tux.

I guess two out of five isn’t terrible.

Our prom sadly, wasn’t so classy.

It was at the zoo.
Yea, The Phoenix Zoo.

It could have been pretty. It could have been nice… if it wasn’t in a make shift tent, that had it been a windy night (and thank the good lord it wasn’t) would have blown away in about seven seconds. Unfortunately for us, they were double booked! And so the girl scouts, yes, those loveable girl scouts with their cookies, had the room so that they could spend the night at the zoo. How very lucky for them. While they told ghost stories and shared a samoa, I got dirt all over my prom dress [gown].

But its ok, I managed to have a great time despite our setting and the terrible DJ. Granted, the DJ was not Stugo’s fault. He was a last minute replacement for our other sucky DJ who canceled the day of Prom and then offered this guy to us.

Let me back up.

My Saturday began at 7:30 AM for a hair appointment with Eva, I believe a Russian. My hairdresser was out of town, and she suggested this woman. I trusted her. She had this awesome accent.

“Ah, zee hair is znot kerling? Vwhy es ze hair znot kerling?”

She did a great job too as seen here: Ben’s there too, but that’s yet another quality picture taken by Taylor of the back of someone’s head.

Ran around all day long basically due to last minute Bar Mitzvah preparations. Got my make up done and such then headed home for a quick change before Andrew showed up.

He looked dashing in his white Tux jacket. Like a Filipino James Bond of sorts. I felt honored to be his date.

We made our way to synagogue where Andrew actually tried to follow along with the service. My family was happy to have him and they all made a big deal of how great we looked, snapping about a thousand pictures of us.

Dinner at Sassi wasn’t exactly dinner as we didn’t have time, but the hors d'oeuvres were good. And yea, I had to look that up because I had no idea how to spell it.

We spent the car ride to Prom talking mostly about germs. I have no idea why. Driver probably thought I was totally insane. Then we ended up talking about Quote of the Days. I can’t imagine what we sounded like. I felt like I needed to include our driver too on the conversation though, so after offering him hand sanitizer (which he accepted) I made some small chit chat with him. Drivers are people too.

When we arrived at the (ugh.) zoo, a sparkling Mr. Bush greeted Andrew and I, complimenting us on how absolutely fabulous we looked. He interviewed me as Joan Rivers and made me twirl for him. I think that was probably my favorite part of the evening. Sigh. It made me feel like a star.

As soon as we got there we met up with Jenna, Crystal, and Jake. But doom soon fell upon us as Jenna was whisked away by her mother. Never to be seen again. It definitely broke up the evening.

You know what else broke up the evening? The fact that there wasn’t any music.

Melissa Pilley came dressed (as Andrew stole from me, since I had been saying this) Tara Reid to the Prom. So that was cute. Apparently, her dress went home sick, so she just wore a string. Granted, she absolutely has the body for it, but, honestly… I’m just surprised she was able to pull off the fauxhawk.

The dance ended with.. My Own Worst Enemy?
I had an eighth grade graduation dance flash back. Shocked and appalled I must say.

It got me to thinking though.. SR 71 really hasn’t done anything since that have they?

We ventured off to the hotel after Prom. I had more fun car dancing to Britney Spears with Andrew, Crystal, and Jake than dancing to what I believe may have been an Usher song at the prom. I got to the hotel and immediately took all the shampoos and two towels. Its what I do.

The four of us spent a majority of our time at the pool, which I didn’t mind since it was pretty outside. However, around 2 AM we decided we were starving and went to Denny’s where we had to wait an hour for our food because their cook just decided to leave. Tired, hungry, and shedding glitter every time I turned my head, I was not in the mood to wait for my food and I had a minor tiff with a waitress who came over asking “Everything ok over here?”

I hate that. Why do they even ask? Her eye make up was bad anyway. I felt terrible for her. I’m sure she was a single mom working two jobs, but that didn’t excuse the orange and pink mess she slathered onto her eyelids.

My mom, who originally told me I didn’t have a curfew, called me up around 4 AM asking me why I wasn’t home.

Mind you, I had just spoken to her not an hour before to tell her where I was and what I was doing and she never once told me to be home.

“I’ve just gotten back to the hotel… Do you want me home?”
“I wanted you home an hour ago!” She said into the phone.
“You never told me that…” I said not really wanting to upset her further, but not wanting to be in trouble for something I didn’t do.
There was silence on the other end as she realized she had never actually given me a curfew or said anything about wanting me home, and I didn’t want to throw it back in her face or anything, but I do recall her saying “I don’t care as long as you keep calling me to tell me what’s going on.” I didn’t go into that though.
“Just be home soon.” She said into the phone.

We said our twenty minutes of goodbyes as Jenna likes to call it and Crystal was nice enough to take me home. I was too full of energy to go to sleep though and ended up pouring myself onto our living room couch around quarter to six that morning. Sure, I’m dead tired now, but it was totally worth it.

All in all, Prom didn’t totally suck. Just the setting of the dance, but I managed to have fun.


Pictures soon. And not all of mine are close ups of people’s backs and profiles. Yay.

Quote of the day:
“All I feel are random body parts!”
-- Janice when everyone started grinding with her just to scare the purity out of her.

"Am I sitting at your table?"

Yea, my birthday's in a week.
What of it?

Quote of the day:
Stefi: "Why did I get stuck being the A Cup in the family?"
Mommy: "Because I filled out the application wrong."
-- Its all I have people. I'm grasping at straws.

"I think I got raped?"

To update:
Maley never talked to me, but she gave me several nasty looks.
So far.

Anyway, the play went well.. as um, I’m sure you’ve.. ah, skimmed.. at least.. in Andrew’s blog. Everyone was fab and I'm sad its over.

Outside at Denny's for the cast party, some weirdo guy came up to Thomas, Andrew, Robyn, and me outside. He was creepy, smoking, and had long icky grey hair.

"I gotta.. I gotta joke for you kids. I gotta joke for you kids to tell your husbands."
or something that sounded like that. I couldn't actually understand him as, A. I was petrified and B. I think he was high/ or drunk and slurring his words.
“Oh.. oh cool. ok.” We all answered in the same terrified voices.
“So.. so.. so.. ok..” the man started and that’s about all I listened to as I was too busy wondering if he was going to pull out a gun, rope, or knife on us. He then continued on about lord knows what and we all laughed at the appropriate time, not counting the time Thomas and I turned to each other to laugh a desperate eye screaming “WE MIGHT DIE SOON SAVE YOURSELF” laugh.

As soon as the joke was over, we all started to slowly walk away, or at least attempt to, but weirdo creepy guy said “W.. wait. I, I , I , gotta ‘nother one.”
“But, I have to go to the bathroom.” Robyn ran away, leaving the three of us standing there like a bunch of idiots instead of moving.
“I have to go too.” I said, scampering after Robyn.
“HEYYYYY!” I heard Thomas call after us, but hey, they’re tough boys. They could.. take care of themselves.

Robyn, as it turns out, actually DID have to go to the bathroom so I stood waiting for her to get out of the stall and watched her walk out without washing her hands.
“That’s ok,” I said to her, “not everyone has to wash their hands.”
I don’t think she heard me.

We felt bad and went outside to find the boys.. but they weren’t there. We didn’t see them in the restaurant either and we both feared the worst. So, taking all of the safety precautions we learned from the Scream movies, starring Neve Cambell, we went outside to look for them.

Naturally, we ran into weirdo creepy guy again, ran back to the safety of the restaurant, and found the boys sitting in the waiting area. Whew. All safe and sound.

See, I knew there was an ending to that story somewhere.

Today wasn’t so bad. I honestly thought it’d be a lot worse.
Maley ignored me.
I didn’t do my math homework and we didn’t have a test in American history. All in all, not bad.

Went to Starbucks with Jenna, SB, Crystal, and Thomas after school. Oh and Precious, Crystal’s puppy. Quite an interesting time mocking the starbuck patrons surrounding us, being racist (just SB), snorting Splenda (SB again), and general merriment.

I’m glad I didn’t get raped.

Also, my hair looked good today.

Quote of the day:
Stephaniebrown: “Small dogs aren't real dogs, just like black people aren't real people.”
Thomas: “You do realize there was a black guy sitting behind you?”
-- this is what snorting Splenda does to you.

“It spider cracked!”


(I wrote this yesterday but it wouldn't let me post, so here it is tonight.)


I don’t pay attention in math class anymore.
I wish they’d just let me drop the class.

Apparently though, math class is needed to graduate. So dumb.

I hate that class. I can’t stand the teacher, and I have a sneakin’ suspicion that if she hadn’t become a teacher she would have become an evil doctor; solely for the purpose of giving shots to babies for no good reason, or made a career out of performing clitorectomies on poor African school girls. It happens. I read about it. And even though she told me she liked my shoes today, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s a bitch.

The teacher, Gene Wilder as I like to call her, because that’s who she looks like, definitely has her favorites (ironically, the morons who never shut up or work) and she’s just rude. She also says “acrosst” instead of across and it just bugs the hell out of me. The first time I heard it I thought she was joking. I looked around to see if anyone else seemed to notice this, but they were all stoned or high on diet pills; so they hadn’t noticed anything at all.

The students are awful too. I can’t stand the girl who sits next to me. She’s from some crazy Bosnian country that I’m sure we bombed at some point and speaks English in a very heavy accent. This would be fine and all if she wasn’t so incredibly annoying and loud.

Bosnian chick: HVOW AHH… DO YOU DO NOOMBRA 27?
Gene Wilder: Just multiply acrosst.
Bosnian Chick: VWHAT? VWHAT? OH! VYES. OK. NO? VWHAT? I DO NOT VUNDERSTAND? HERE. :the chick gets up and starts toward Gene in the middle of her teaching.:
Gene Wilder: No. Sit down. Ask me later.
:chick continues up to Gene:
Gene Wilder: I SAID LATER. LATER.
Bosnian Chick: NOW? VYES?
Bitch: NO. LATER.

Then Bosnian Chick will repeat everything that Gene says and speak out every step she takes when solving a problem. Its fun.

I usually feel bad for these people as I would hate to be living in a country where I couldn’t speak the language, and when I did no one could understand me under a thick accent. Here in Arizona, or Little Mexico as its becoming, I make it my duty to seek out foreigners. Its not like its hard. I find its important to guard these people to give them advice and direction they don’t need and scare them by being overly nice; therefore fulfilling my role as White Jewish American Princess.

The play is tomorrow. I’m sort of in it for about 8 seconds (if you blink, you miss it) so I kind of feel obligated to say something like, “come! It’ll be fun!”.

Plus, you’ll get to see Maley, who apparently hates me? She doesn’t even know my name, but I’ve heard from a few people that Maley said “I can’t stand that girl” after I left the last democrat meeting. So I wrote her a little letter and delivered it to her personally this afternoon. It goes a little sumin’ like this;

Dear Mrs. Maley,

You don’t know me, but I’m in your North Canyon Democrat Club. In fact, I’m an appointed officer. You’ve never taken the time to get to know me however, so you probably don’t know this. Despite this fact, you have managed to pre-judge me and belittle me in front of my peers.

Several people have told me that you’ve said, “I can’t stand that girl,” referring to me behind my back. I’m deeply distressed and crestfallen mainly because such comments should never come from a teacher; someone whom I should be able to trust as being fair and unbiased at all times. I found your actions completely fulsome. I would love to think that there is some mistake, but that would seem highly improbable since so many of my friends quoted you verbatim. I am absolutely appalled at your classless and juvenile actions. You are a teacher, not a student. You are not their friend. You are supposed to be a leader. I hope you are as ashamed and disgusted at your actions as I am. Since you have discredited me in front of my peers at Democrat Club, I hope that you would retract your unfortunate comment in front of my friends at the next meeting. It would place this regrettable incident behind us and allow us to continue our work in the Democrat Club.

You are a teacher, a role model to those who attend North Canyon High School and you are speaking to your students as if they are your peers, which they are not. How could you talk discouragingly about a student, one whom you hardly know I might add, to the very same people they socialize with? At the last meeting, I recall you didn’t even know my name. Furthermore, how could you do that to me and think that I wouldn’t find out? My friends stick up for me, but many have told me that they didn’t know how to react when they heard this comment from your mouth.

If you have a problem with me, you should take it up with me in private as you yourself have told me before. If you have an issue with me, you may approach me directly at any time, which is preferable to talking about me behind my back to my friends. Such events undermine the very spirit of our club and its goals.

I’ll see you next Tuesday.

Sincerely,

Stephanie Sparer
Campus Activity Director
It was a lot worse before hand. I was pretty nasty. This is the revised version.

Sadly, when talking to some people about this incident, I found out I was not the only one Maley talks about. Other students have been victims too. I think that’s terrible, so this letter isn’t just for me, its for them too. They’re afraid to say anything because they all have her as a teacher and their grades are in her hands, as their chances of graduating with an IB diploma. I don’t blame them, if I had that to risk I wouldn’t have said anything either- I’d just have my lawyer uncle do it.

Quote of the day:
“I’m racist. Who am I? I’M YOU!”
-- Thomas shouting to Crystal’s mother when she was on the phone.

“Once.”

I accompanied my father to Starbucks this evening. I had just gotten home from the movies and my mom was tired and reading and my father, randomly, out of the blue, said to me “You want to go to Starbucks?”

I looked at my mother to see if he was kidding, but all she did was raise an eyebrow to me and said “Go, but if you do, bring me back one of those things I like.”

He allowed me to drive the entire way without screaming things like “PEDESTRIAN!” or “BREAK! BREAK! FOR THE LOVE OF G0D STEP ON THE BREAK!” or even a “Jesus Christ! Watch what you’re doing!”

I guess he figures there’s no point anymore. However, I did notice that he was gripping the side of the door pretty hard.

We grazed the surface of politics (“So.. how’s Democrat club?) and movies (“Who’s that actor you like so much? The blonde one? Brad Pitt?”) as we sipped our coffees while in the back of my mind I just kept praying that no one I knew would walk in the door and see me there with some odd balding older man.

I was normal during the coffee talk, but I think he has a heard time dealing with the fact that I’m older. He even asked me about boys.
Boys.
“Any new boys?”
No.
No new boys. No boys period. I don’t talk to my daddy about boys. Because he is one. It was then that I realized that sadly, breasts have come between my father and me.
His little baby has grown up.

With an A cup.. but still.

I got the sex talk from my dad when I was ten (too little too late as I had already heard all I ever needed to know from Sarah The Play ground slut by the tender age of eight who had heard it all from her big sister in the sixth grade). Nonetheless I don’t think either of us have fully recovered from the painful conversation consisting of delicate phrases such as; “Boys have.. things outside of their body.. not like girls.” and “So this is why boys tinkle when standing up.”

My mom was a lot better when teaching me about sex. I remember, a day not long after seeing Pretty Woman for the eightieth time, my mom merely turned on Real Sex, that weird HBO show, and said “You know what this is?”

Mind you, I was fifteen at the time and already knew everything (just kidding, I was twelve), but, I suppose that’s a lot easier than explaining “His.. thing.. goes into… your.. thing.” Which is pretty much as detailed as my father got.

Way to go, Dad.


Sarah the Playground Slut never explained Oral Sex though (I felt the dire need to capitalize that), so that talk came later. Actually at around the same time the Clinton scandal broke out.

My mother thankfully, was the one to give me this talk. I don’t know how my dad ever would have handled this. If I hadn’t heard everything from Sarah the Playground Slut, I’d probably still think of sex like a Dr. Seuss book.
“You, ah, take Thing two um, well.. Thing two can also.. go into the.. ah, the, the mouth area… thing.”

She flat out asked me if I knew what Oral Sex was. I think she only asked me if I knew what it was so that maybe, just maybe, she could get out of telling me.

“Sure,” I clearly remember saying as I sat on the couch watching Legends of the Hidden Temple (best show ever) and eating a Popsicle® (Yea, the irony, I know.). Cherry, naturally. I only ever ate the cherry ones because cherry is the best flavor. Although, now, I also like the lime ones, but I digress. Allow me to continue.
“Its when you talk about sex over the phone.” I said to her.

She actually burst out laughing. I think I was like, eleven at the time. She set me straight after that too AND told me what phone sex was. So at least now I’m officially all caught up on my sex stuff. Well, most of it. It wasn’t until about two weeks ago that I learned what getting a little “half and half” was.


Quote of the day:
“Oh, you’re sticky. You might as well take a shower. Oh, you’re in the shower. You might as well have shower sex.”
-- Jenna explaining some weird sex theory she has.

I’d like to take this time to tell everyone to stop bugging me about what happened at Andrew’s house. No, I was not responsible for what happened. It was a terrible thing, but it wasn’t me. Please give me more credit than that. He’s my friend.

"I don't care."

I'm blogging.
April Fools.

I swear, this is the one "holiday" I can't stand the most.

There's nothing good associated with it. No candy. No presents. No big dinner. No school recess.

Nothing. All you get a bunch of morons saying stupid things and then yelling "April Fool!" afterwards and laughing their asses off. Its even worse than St. Patrick's Day. And I hate that "holiday" as well, but at least St. Patrick's day has colors, you know? April Fool's Day has nothing. Unless you're French. Then apparently you get fish or something. But I'm not French. I'm American.

I hate pointless "holidays".

OK, I'm in geology class and I'm supposed to be doing stuff, so I'll post more later.

Quote of the day:
"Everybody looks the same in the dark, but not everybody feels the same. Because everyone always says that. But not everyone feels the same. That's my personal quote."
-- Dick