“I’ll get that off for you.”

Screw this, seriously. I sit in class and all I can think about is stabbing myself in the eye with a pencil (because of the kids, not the teaching, really). I’m in psych today and I swear, I thought at least forty minutes had passed when Char (I decided to call my teacher Char from now on, pronounced “Cher”) says “Today we’re going to go over chapter sixteen.”

“No! No!” I think, “She’s mad. There’s no time!” But then I look at the clock and low and behold there’s thirty-five minutes left of the class.
What. The. Heck.

I pray for the days to end. I snuggle up to those Saturdays and Sundays, hoping that if I didn’t make plans with anyone that I don’t see anyone, so imagine how horrified I was when I went to Kierland alone a few weeks ago to wallow in my new emo state and hate myself only to find freaking teenagers infesting the place.

Skaters and Abercrombie girls. It made me ill.
Skaters went out with Paris Hilton’s virginity. I mean, honestly.

I have nowhere left to go.

I’m thinking about making an undisclosed hotel lounge my new haunt. I’ll see if I allow other people to come with me.

Probably not though.

I love my friends. I do. I really, really do. But lately, there have been a few of you that I probably wouldn’t miss. I’m a little tired of the bullshit. Hmm, come to think of it, those people aren’t my friends. Never mind.

Friday’s English class was spent reminiscing with Josh Bjarko and Mrs. Holden about her encounters with scotch at the Carungi’s house. Josh had spent about five minutes explaining to me, and the surrounding others, how Mrs. Holden had gotten a tad on the tipsy side at a gala last year at the manse and how funny it had been to watch her. Just for kicks, we called her over to comment.
“Hey, Mrs. Holden? Remember that party you went to at the Carungi’s?” Josh asked.
“Oh, yeah!” Her face lit up, “When her dad was pouring out all that great scotch? And then he was a little ::indescribable hand motions and noise that I assume means drunk:: and drove my boyfriend’s BMW out of her driveway?”
A truer story never told.

This weekend at a local Starbucks, Janna finally agreed to be the Paris Hilton to my Nicole Richie this Halloween. Its only going to be too freaking awesome. Mandi is going to be Nikki Hilton too. Everyone is jumping on the bandwagon. Its gonna be hot. Loves it.

Rae’s dinner party was a success. Her eclectic mix of friends made for a fun filled evening (the only damper being that Janna couldn’t attend). Pictures coming soon thanks to Daniel who’s letting me steal his photobucket space.

Congrats to Miss Alison Carruba for becoming the brand new editor in chief of the North Canyon Rattler Review. I think you deserved it to begin with. Shame it had to happen this way though.

Loving this Ashlee Simpson stuff that’s going around. Pick a story already! Indigestion, the band (how low, really), or computer glitch? Her career should be over regardless because of that "hoe down" (which looked suspiciously like an Irish Jig to me) that she was doing. Britney must be shakin’ in her boots. But at least she can dance.

Speaking of the slut (oh, but I love her), while carousing the mall (which I hadn’t been to in forever, and then saw two people from middle school. Weird.) with Janna we decided to smell her new Curious perfume.
It was bad.
Awful.
To me it smelled like a trailer trash hoe bag trying to cover up her latest sexual encounter. Not that I really know what sex smells like, but I’m assuming it smells like the first note of this perfume.

It made me smell like a baby prostitute. I know they said that in Mean Girls, but for those of you who always wondered what Janice meant when she said that.. try this perfume.

Too tired to be funny or entertaining. I should try going to bed before two. And Daniel, you should try starting your homework before then too so that you can go to bed before 5 AM.

Quote of the day:
StephanieBrown: “Some thirteen year old girls look like they’re twenty.”
Bryan Goodman: “THAT’S MY POINT EXACTLY!”
- first hour

"I so want to make out with you right now. Want to make out?"

This is coming out in the November issue of the Rattler Review, but due to space, they had to crop some of it, so here it is in its entirety.

Stephanie Sparer

Staff Writer

HEADLINE: Tit for Tat

My breasts are small. I can't really help that. I blame it on genetics.

I am an A cup. That is Gwen Stefani Small. One step above a training bra and the reason I wear the never fail Victoria's Secret Push Up Bra. I feel like a football player under all the padding I equip myself with day after day. But, at least I am always ready to go long for the team.

Sometimes it hurts to see my well endowed B and C cup friends (or even D cup younger sister) flaunting about in their V-neck lacy, low cut tees. I could never pull that off without looking like a little girl playing dress up in her mother's clothing. So instead, I dress like a nun.

The nun look seems to work with me though, despite my Jew factor.

Having small breasts has its advantages though (sort of). For instance: I can run without them getting in the way or hurting my back, I can wear the Hilary Duff t-shirts that Target sells, and if the time ever comes, I could go braless and free without worrying about flapping in the wind.

Guys say that a girl's breast size does not matter, but I fail to see the truth in that. Do you know how many small breast jokes I have to withstand from boys daily? Care to guess how often I hear "MAN, HER BOOBS ARE HUGE!" shouted randomly just in the halls alone? This is why young girls all over the place are turning to breast augmentations for their graduation gifts or sweet sixteen birthdays. Whatever happened to getting a car? I swear, teen girls have the worst body images.

Just in 2003 alone, 3,841 women 18 or younger underwent breast augmentation, a 24-percent jump from 3,095 in 2002. To put this into perspective, only 978 girls had the procedure in 1992. It has become an epidemic with teen girls everywhere. Not only are they afraid to eat thanks to that Skinny McEatsomething Olsen twin, but now they are having breast implants so they can look more like Lindsay Lohan (who denies having her breasts done) all before they turn nineteen, when doctors say teen girls are usually fully developed.

"Breasts are a fashion item," said Dr. Garry Brody, professor of plastic surgery at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. "In the 1920s -the flapper era- women were binding their breasts to make them look smaller to suit the fashions."

And with television shows like "The Swan" showcasing plastic surgery, more teens view breast augmentation as a commonplace procedure. A 17-year-old who saw a doctor before graduation "thought it would be a fun thing to do". Girls are regarding this real elective surgery as if were as easy as getting a new haircut. Its not, and like any surgery has a very real risk factor including silicon poisoning, surgical complications from anesthesia, excessive bleeding and infection, not to mention excruciating pain. "We tell them it's real surgery," said Dr. Rohrich, chair of plastic surgery at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center at Dallas. "It has real risks."

However, parents still shell out upwards of $7,000 (depending on the popularity of the doctor) for new breasts for their darling daughters. I have grown to accept the fact that if I want bigger breasts, I am just going to have to buy them myself. No, just kidding. I cannot speak for you, but I would really rather have the shiny new wheels to roll around town in. Push up bras only cost 30 bucks and they come in a rainbow of colors, maybe I will even buy one to match the car.


Half of that will be in the newspaper.

I got my hair cut today. Before, drab, but now; fab.
Oh, and... sideswept bangs.

Quote of the day:
Ben: "I stayed an extra day in Hawaii [on a school trip]."
Stefi: "Why?"
Ben: "Well, Ms. Canning and her boyfriend were staying and then she said "ok, I need one student to stay with us."
Stefi: "So that I can make the ultimate dirty movie...?"
Mr. Bush: ::tries to hold in laughter, but can't. Walks into his office and explodes. Comes back out.:: Bunny, that was very wrong. Very funny, but very wrong.
Ben: "I knew she was gonna say something though. She had that look on her face."
Mr. Bush: "Oh, Ben. She always has that look on her face."
-- 6th hour

“She shaves, Mr. Bach! She shaves!”

Funny stuff, something funny. Oh, she’s so emo. Smirk a little. Skim. Skim. Skim. Find your name. Laugh. Skim. Skim. Agree with me. So emo. Skim. Check the sides. No new pictures. Check the comments. Debate whether or not you have something witty to say. You don’t. Close the comment page. Close the blog. Check your e-mail.

Quote of the day:
Anthony: "You remind me of people I admire and people I think are funny all rolled into one."
Stefi: "Thanks…"
Anthony: "Well, it wasn't necessarily a compliment."
-- 6th hour.

“Its gettin’ there!”

Incredibly busy at the moment so I’m doing this in list format.

- My mixer, Chelsea, died due to cookie over load (450 in four days) last week. It literally started smoking, so I had to throw her out and buy a beautiful new one, Starr. Named by Janna for one of our inside jokes. Funny to us. Probably not so much you.
- Crystal and I surprised Janna (and the rest of the Chili’s family) with blue cake. Happy Birthday, Kosher!
- Singing Grease + Dancing + incriminating photos/movies= much more fun than doing math HW.
- “Only real friends give each other hickies.”
- I’d love to make a habit of going to Starbucks on Friday instead of school.
- I worked a party for All Saints kids who bussed in children from Mexico to take them shopping and then feed them. Apparently, they’re all from wealthy families anyway.
- I miss sleeping.
- I miss reading what I want to read.
- I miss writing what I want to write.
- I hate math.
- I'm going through a big band phase. This causes me to break out into Luck Be a Lady Tonight in the middle of English and periodically any Shirley Bassey song.
- They extended the braces an extra month to make them “absolutely perfect”. I guess that’s ok. I wouldn’t want a half assed job.
- I’m getting my hair cut. Should I go for the side swept bangs to complete my transformation into a Stefster? Blog readers, what up?
- In: What up? So Five Minutes Ago: Sup? Out: Hey
- I lost my notebook and searched for it for two hours last night before Brown told me it was in Murphy-Tick’s room. I forgot it Thursday when I had to be three places at once.
- We need to kick about five people out of Writer’s Circle. Ah, what the heck. I’ll give them one more chance. I’m in a forgiving mood.
- Apple licorice: strangely good.
- Health Food Stores: strangely fun.
- Starbucks, I missed you.
- Too much work, not enough time. I fell asleep doing psych last night. I woke up with paper stuck to my face. Do you know how unattractive that is?
- Overall: had a great weekend, minus the stress.

Quote of the day:
“Don’t forget to dance with your little Mexican friends! They need something to talk about when they get back home!”
-- WASPy teacher talking to her WASPy students from All Saints.

"Thanks for the rose.. and you don't know my name."

Last night I had this dream that I was with Lindsay Lohan. I don’t know where we were. It seemed like a house, and apparently, we were friends. We were sitting and talking about the play I saw last night when she started looking into the mirror and adjusting her top, “Thank you, Dr. Fauer!” she shouted. (Dr. Fauer is our family doctor)
“Dr. Fauer?” I questioned.
“Yes,” she grasped her breasts, “For my beautiful boobs!” then she covered her mouth and her eyes went wide, “Oh my G0d! Don’t, like, ever tell anyone that I said that!”
I wanted to be friends with Lindsay, so I said, “OK, don’t worry, I won’t.” Then I persuaded her to go to the mall with me and to tell everyone that I was Tara Reid, and it worked. What the heck?

The play I saw last night was good actually. Not that I was surprised. North Canyon’s Theatre Ensemble is awesome.

I went to a funeral yesterday too. I didn’t laugh throughout the service this time. I was good about that. I totally went Jackie O. on everyone’s ass. Big glasses, pencil skirt, heals. It was kind of amazing. All I needed was the hat. I wish I had a pillbox hat.

My dad always gets the same way at funerals. Lovey Dovey. He usually mopes around for days afterward mumbling about “not a lot of time left” this and “life is too short” that. This is because he’s never had anyone close to him die. He’s lucky. So whenever we have a random person who knew someone who knows someone who knows us, and so our family is invited to the services… we go. And he encourages us all to cry.
“Just let it all out,” he’ll sigh as he brings a tissue up to his eye. “Its OK.” He’ll then rub my mother’s back and shake his head. The next week is what I dub Make-ups Week; AKA The week after the funeral where my dad contemplates life and tries to include himself more in mine. And.. maybe even call his mom and sisters back east.

Its not like my dad is NOT active in my life, but he’ll take more of an interest in everyone this week.

“What are you up to today?” he’ll ask as he sits down right next to me on the couch, causing me to shift up and curl into a ball. Totally not the comfy relaxed spread eagle I was in before. “Anything fun?”
I know what’s next. I try to think of something. Anything. Anything so that he doesn’t suggest a family outing. But I can’t, its too early in the .. ok, so its not morning anymore when its 12:30 in the afternoon, but when you had only woken up 20 minutes prior, that’s basically morning, and my brain can’t function that .. early-ish.
“Uhhhhh……….. I.. don’t think so,” I answer with one eye on the TV.
This is the part where he begins to touch my hair. Bad move. Bad, bad move.
“I was thinking maybe we could all go.. I don’t know.. walk in a park today. Go feed the ducks,” he tilts his head and I can see him already envisioning this.
Crap. Too late. I try to concentrate on my TiVoed That’s So Raven (Best. Show. Ever.) “Oh, yea,” I say, “Maybe.” I know it won’t happen. A. because my sister will complain and B. because my mom is not an outdoors person and hates birds.
“Or,” he says, “I’m going to the post office later. You want to come with me then?”

Its not that I don’t want go out and be with my family. I hang out with my family all the time. I’m like THE family girl, ask any of my close friends, but.. when my dad suggests stuff, its always something like.. “I have to go to Home Depot later. You want to come?”
And.. I don’t know, the park in 90 degree weather isn’t usually my deal. Plus, like my mother, I’m not fond of birds. Except penguins, really. Those are cute.
“I’ll go to the movies,” I said. This is me helping with the suggesting.
“No.. nah..” he shakes his head. “I’ve got too much to do.”

Life sucks. And then you die.

Ok, so if you’re lucky.. or optimistic, life doesn’t suck.

I find life is all what you make of it. I could totally go all existentialist on you guys right now and tell you life has absolutely no purpose except what you make of it, but I won’t, because chances are you all know that already. Unless you’re Christian, and in that case Jesus sent you your purpose in the mail along with your social security number.

I believe what the existentialists have to say. I mean, not everything is fate. I think fate takes you only so far. The rest is up to you. Kinda TGIF of me to say, but, you and the cap’n make it happen.
Is that the TV ad I’m thinking of? Was that a Cap’n Crunch ad?

Oh yea, and some old guy hit on me in the men’s bathroom yesterday. I swear to g0d, old people. If they’re not callin’ me ugly, they’re hitting on me. What’s the deal?

And the men’s bathroom thing- not as weird as you think.


Quote of the day:
Daniel: wow
Daniel: I just realized
Daniel: how emo
Daniel: your profile is
Stefi: it is not
Stefi: yours is
Daniel: oh no, IT IS
Daniel: psh
Daniel: mine
Daniel: is romantic
Stefi: mine is not
Stefi: ok
Stefi: so maybe
Stefi: a little bit
Daniel: hahah
Stefi: ok, but I also have
Stefi: an inside joke and paris hilton.
Daniel: not enough to redeem it
Stefi: oh.. and belle and sebastian.. and the shins.. and the postal service.. and Elliot Smith and travis.
Stefi: fuck.
Stefi: fuck you. I'm not emo.
Daniel: now you're gonna cry about it
Daniel: EMO GIRL
Stefi: shut up before I cut myself some side swept bangs!
Daniel: HAHHAHA
Stefi: So what if I already have a messenger bag..? and I totally only just thought about this.
Stefi: fuck.
Stefi: I'm a wannabe scenester.
Daniel: OMG
Daniel: I just realized it too
Stefi: Crap.
Stefi: all my life I've been living a lie.
Daniel: and all the name tags could be your buttons
Daniel: like the emo kids
Stefi: An emo person hiding amongst the youth of Wet Seal.
Stefi: saying please, please don't look at me.
Stefi: I'll die.
Stefi: I own a beret too. Does this mean anything?
Daniel: probably
Daniel: now you need some bug eye glasses
Daniel: OMG
Daniel: don't you have glasses?
Stefi: OMG I ALREADY BOUGHT SOME

-- a sudden realization made by Daniel and me. we decided in the end that because I'm a mix of the best of everything.. I'm a Stefster.

“Thank you for that, Bunny.”

Cookie count this week: 200 even. Crazy.


Hasn’t been too bad of a week. A tad on the stressed side because I’ve had a ridiculous amount of writing to do. Essays, articles, a play now.. and writer’s circle hasn’t even started yet. I’m excited for it though. Hopefully it’ll be a lot better this year.. and I think it will be.. y’know, ‘cause I’m in it (and Janna too).

I decided I want to marry the boy who takes the attendance in my second hour class. He’s blonde and lovely and we make eye contact every day (I sit right next to the door), but I never talk to him… I never say hi… I should… because I’m going to marry him. I should at least know his name before we say our vows.

I have nothing to talk about. I’m way too tired. This blog is going to pot. I was thisclose to posting an eljay inspired emo I’m free to quote Hilary Duff as if she were a prolific philosopher entry.. but I didn’t. I’ll save it for a rainy day.. which might actually be next Tuesday my peeps in Phoenix are lucky.

Crap.. 10 page research paper due next Tuesday.. I should get on that…

Quote of the day:
Daniel (12:09:25 AM): it's times like these
Daniel (12:09:31 AM): that I wish I did drugs
Daniel (12:09:37 AM): so I could take like speed or something
Daniel (12:09:39 AM): and be up all night
Daniel (12:09:54 AM): and by the time school started I'd be getting off my high
Stefi (12:10:03 AM): you IB kids
Stefi (12:10:11 AM): this is why newspaper writes stories about you

Its not fun. Its not funny. But I’m tired.. and grasping at straws. Why am I even posting?


p.s. fourth hour outing tomorrow. text if interested.

Pictures are up. Check the sides, bitches.

“I think he just dripped on me.”

The Homecoming plans went off without a hitch. We looked fab, we rocked the cafeteria, and we had our homeboys. Oh, not to mention some partial chik-fil-a for Daniel and I thanks entirely to Kristie.

The game went just as everyone figured. We lost. It wasn’t really a surprise, but according to Crystal who was sitting behind me, we had a 30% chance of winning by the fourth quarter. I don’t do math, and I very rarely do football, so these statistics were lost on me.

The dance was fun. Though I think I had more fun before and after than actually there, but I took some good pictures that should be up shortly. Barely any seniors went this year, it was kind of strange. And my cousin went. That was odd too as she lives in Chandler.

I can’t believe homecoming week is over. Its ok though, because we have the musical to look forward to at school. Grease. If I sang, I’d totally try out for Rizzo, but I don’t, therefore, I’m just hoping for another walk on role like last time. Literally, a walk on role.

I had a dream the other day that I made out with David Bowman, who I’ve known since I was about twelve. He’s in my psych class and I didn’t remember the dream until I saw him in class and felt strangely attracted to him and freaked out because I didn’t know why. Then I remembered and thankfully, the feeling went away. The dream was so weird. I don’t even know why I had it. He sits across the room from me, and save for some accidental eye contact every once in a while, we don’t communicate really at all. I think in my dream he was a good kisser though?

Psych has gotten a little exciting if only for the moron in front of me who insists on doing all that he can to annoy the hell out of me. He brought his lighter last Thursday and in the middle of a lecture on late adulthood, this kid starts trying to light his pants on fire. “OK,” I said in my Mom Voice, “You have to stop.” The kid pretended not to hear me. Mind you, the rest of the class heard me, including the teacher who had stopped her lecture because of it, and they were all staring at me. The kid flicked his lighter again. “Stop it,” I said one more time. The kid whipped his head around this time,
“You stop!” he shouted, “Mind your own business!”
The teacher looked sad that she wasn’t the one shouting at this kid. I could see it in her eyes. She was thinking, “That’s not fair! I hate this kid too! I want to shout at him!” so she got in on the act, “Do I need to send you down the office?” she asked the boy.
“No,” he said as he gave me his best death stare, which could have been so much better honestly, “this girl just needs to mind HER OWN BUSINESS.” Mrs. Chariton and I exchanged “thank you” and “you’re welcome” glances respectively.

The next day that kid wasn’t at school. “How funny,” Mrs. Chariton commented to me, “he’s not here today. Wonder why that doesn’t surprise me?”
Maybe its because I told her after class that he had a lighter and they ended up suspending him? Sometimes I love me. Mrs. Chariton loves me too, because I gave her an excuse to kick the guy out of class, and we’re both Jewish.

Quote of the day:
“Sex is just a phone call away. For some of you, anyway.”
-- Dr. Jenke