“Patty Duke was a little bitch!”

I had the strangest dream last night. I was watching television while babysitting for some kid and it was this made for TV movie and Carson Wheet was in it. I tried calling my mom to tell her, why, I don’t know, but I was upset when I couldn’t get a hold of her. “I know that guy,” I tried to tell the kid I was babysitting.
“He has weird hair,” they replied.
“He must have made this movie before he cut it,” I thought aloud.
“It looked better after he cut it,” the little girl said.
I nodded my head and agreed, “A lot better.”

I hardly ever talked to Carson when I went to school with him, not that I talk to him now, so I don’t know why I’d have a dream about him.

My friend Robyn left for Pittsburg today, so on Thursday she had sort of a good-bye dinner which, naturally, I was late for. Some people call my sense of time “Stefi-time” but Robyn calls it “Jewish Standard Time”. And she’s allowed to, since we share the same religion; although, I dunno for how much longer, because right now Tom Cruise is really pulling me into Scientology…

I left around midnight, but ended up talking to Thomas for an hour and by the time I was really on my way home, it was past the time I usually walk through the door. So I reached into my purse for my phone only to realize I must have left it in Robyn’s living room. I turned back and prayed that she hadn’t gone to sleep yet. The light in her room was still on so I tapped lightly on her window.
“OH MY GOD!” I heard her shout and then everything went quiet.
I tapped again and whispered, “Robyn?”
Two petrified eyes peeked out from behind the blinds, “Stefi?”
“Yeah,” I said sheepishly, “I forgot my phone.”
The eyes disappeared and Robyn spoke again, “Lemme just kill this fly.”
“Fly?”
For the next few minutes I heard a lot of fumbling and “ARGHHHHH!”s as I tried to look as natural as I could sitting on Robyn’s window ledge at one in the morning.
“Stefi, go to the font of my house,” she finally said through the glass. I tried not to fall on my ass as I stumbled through the rocks in her front yard in heels. She opened her front door and practically threw the phone at me, “Here,” she said, “You scared the shit out of me, but I got the fly.”

I had lunch with Mrs. Murphy-Tick Friday. It was nice, she’s great. I used to spend a large amount of my after school time in her classroom, not just because of lit mag, but because she was fun to talk to.
“You could write for… oh, who’s that woman on SNL who wrote Mean Girls?” She asked me after I informed her that I finally told my mother that I’m going to be switching my major from Psychology to Journalism. Something M-T thought was “implied after this year”.
“Tina Fey,” I said.
“Her!” Mrs. Murphy-Tick exclaimed because she never just says anything. Everything has an emotion and a purpose, “I could just see you writing for one of those kinds of shows. SNL or something.” She turned to my friend Kelsey who ended up joining us as well, “Couldn’t you?”
Kelsey came back from her own thoughts about her November sixth Vegas wedding and swallowed her orange chicken, the only thing she found “safe” at the Chinese restaurant, “Oh yeah,” she nodded.
I shrugged, “Eh, at least if I wrote for them, the show would be good.”
“Stephanie…” she scolded me as if Lorne Michaels were sitting next to us and may overhear our conversation. It was the same way she replied after I made any kind of slightly crude joke or off-color or snide remark about a former fellow student, teacher, etc. So I’ve heard it a lot for the past two years, since she was my junior English teacher.

Kelsey and I shopped a little at Kierland Commons afterward. I have a lot of graduation money to blow; I figured I may as well do it at FCUK. I started making friendly conversation with the sales woman when Kelsey finally asked, “… Do you know each other?”
Tiffany, the salesgirl, laughed, “No!”
Kelsey looked completely confused, “You’re talking like you know each other.”
“Oh, Kelsey,” I said as I shook my head, “You should know by now that I speak to everyone like that.” Then I thought a little bit, “Unless it’s someone I hate.”
“That explains every conversation you ever had with Nick [from Newspaper] then.”
“Yes,” I said, “You see, he was an exception.”

One day, in the near future, I promise everyone a really good blog. But at 3:27 AM on a Sunday, that’s not happening. Sorry for the lack O’ funny, but at least you’re getting something to read, aiight?

Quote of the day:
“Honey, he’s been dating himself since the third grade.”
- Robyn about a boy who continuously has girlfriends who look and act like him, however she meant it in another way.

"My question to you is; could you smoke your own urine?”

I went to lunch with my friend Skylar today who I admire very much because she sticks to her guns. She doesn't take crap from anyone. And, mentally, she's about twenty-nine (I didn't have a fun saying for that one). As I put it to her over fundidos or, whatever it is that she ordered at the Mexican restaurant, “You were emotionally out of high school by the age of nine.” She makes me feel like the almost college freshman I really am.

I hadn’t seen Skylar in a while so I caught her up on how boring my life is and she told me all about how to smoke crack. Actually, I had asked her. Skylar is better than any ‘Don’t Do Drugs’ course the schools could ever give.
“Well,” she started between puffs of her cigarette as we drove down Shea, “With crack, oh Jesus,” She shook her head and laughed, embarrassed to be telling me something she considered almost personal, or maybe just laughing because I was so naïve. I couldn’t tell. Probably both. She flicked an ash out of the window of her rented green Nissan.
“A new car?” I had asked her earlier when she picked me up (I don’t let her smoke in my car).
“No,” she said and looked at me as if I were playing a mean joke, “I told you my car was stolen…” She paused and I just blinked, “Didn’t I?”
“Uh, no,” I answered quietly.
“Oh, yeah, three days ago,” she said as if she were telling me the last time she went to the movies, “This is a rental.”
“Green’s a good color for you,” I say, because I’m always looking on the bright side.

“There are a couple different ways to do crack,” she said as she took another drag of Marlboro.
Meanwhile, I was trying to find a pocket of clean air by casually sticking my head out the window in a rather dog-like fashion; pretending to be very interested in the architecture around me that included a gas station and an animal hospital. “That’s new,” I would say and point in a general direction, “I don’t think that was there last time.”
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” she laughed.
I rolled my eyes, “I’m never gonna use the information,” I countered, which is true. I don’t know where to get cocaine and even if I did, I wouldn't do it, I had explained to her, “I’ve never even seen cocaine. I think I’ve seen weed. Once.”
“You think?” she laughed as I inhaled all the smoke she exhaled.
I coughed a little and shrugged, “Maybe.”

We went back to her boyfriend’s apartment after lunch to see their new Kitty, NASA, I think they named him, or Napa. I don’t remember, but either way, he was cute, and I don’t normally like cats, so that’s saying a lot.
“He likes this,” she said as she began driving the cat crazy with some toy. I took a closer look as the cat pounced on what I could now recognize as leather straps.
“Sky, is that a whip?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said, now on the floor next to NASA, Napa, Mensa… maybe.
It didn’t even surprise me.

Quote of the day:
“Oh, that’s not a bong. That’s a diffuser.”
- Skylar schooling me on her boyfriend’s roommate’s drug paraphernalia.

“You look like you’re going to cry.”

I carry a lot of stuff with me at all times and even I’m not so sure why. And it’s always all over the place. I like to make everywhere I am home.

Last summer I had this messenger bag that I took everywhere and I think at least once a day I’d say something to the effect of, “Where’s my iPod?” or “Where are my keys?”.

“Wait guys, I can’t find my glasses.”
My male friend would sigh and as he threw his head back in annoyance he’d slur (because he was usually “drunk” and I was driving him somewhere), “Check the other pocket. They’re just in the other pocket.”

He was drunk and he knew this.

I carry a small purse now, but I still find ways to shove all of my crap into it. I feel like Mary Poppins sometimes.
“A coffee maker you say? Why I happen to have one with me!”

My car is a similar problem.
“Help yourself to the Skittles,” I like to tell people if we’re sitting at a very long stoplight, “I have a few Starbursts left, however, the chocolate is seasonal.”
Actually, I had forgotten about the chocolate until it was too late.

“What the fuck happened to your carpet?” a friend recently asked me when she was sitting in the back, “You didn’t let your dog in here did you? I thought she just peed on you?”

She had only peed on me, scared to death because I was taking her to Starbucks and she hates the car (but that’s a story for another time). What my friend saw encrusted on the backseat floor was actually chocolate that had probably been there since about November and had melted in the summer heat. I tried to Shout that out, but it just didn’t work like I’d hoped.
“Just… try not to step in it, ok? Don’t make it worse than it already is. Just read one of the books back there or something.”
“What’s this thing about… ‘strap-oning’? It looks like your writing, but I can’t read it? What did you write this in the dark or something?” my friend asks as she’s holding up a notebook sideways.
I’m driving, but I make a grab for it anyway and quickly glanced, “Stripping,” I correct her, “If an idea comes to me, I have to write it down,” I explain as she rolls her eyes at the girl sitting next to her in the back. The other girl just shrugs back and continues chewing on her biscotti.
“You’re so weird.”

A lot of ideas come to me while I’m driving, and I find myself scribbling away at a stop light while some old guy looks at me like I’m crazy. I often turn and nod to them, “Sup?” I ask before I continue writing something that’s usually forgotten about moments later. I’ll come back after months to try to clean out my car and I’ll find some old receipt with a lot of practically worthless chicken scratch on the back.

“A lot of waxing. ‘Who knew I’d know her?’ Caughtonme.”

I never did use that stripper thing I wrote out which is a damn shame because I’m just now remembering how much more interesting that was compared to this shit I’m writing right now out of pure boredom.

I wrote one on responsibility as well, but scrapped it when I realized I didn’t have much of it and wasn’t looking for any either. I’m quite content to sit at home and not do much of anything at all this summer. Just the way our Lord intended. Now stop reading this and get back to work.

Quote of the day:
Alison: “You’re sleeping? No, you’re not.”
Stefi: “Not anymore…”
- The one day I tried to sleep early and about fifty thousand (give or take) called me.

“You would be a reporter. Wait, are you serious?”

With help from H. S. Thompson T. S. House

Here I was, at home succumbing to the fact that it was gonna be another boring night on the internet talking about how bored I was. I didn’t believe that this “spontaneity” Ashley so desperately craved was gonna turn into anything fabulous, but I brought some pop tarts just in case (cherry, it was appropriate).

We drove around this lesbian town looking at straight porn last night. And you wouldn't think that would be any different from any other night, except that we did it in an SUV.

With strangers.

And everyone (save for Tay House and myself) were totally under age. At least one of the occupants in the car was stoned out of their mind.

Ok, so it might not sound that great on paper, but it was beautiful and “spontaneous”.

It all started out of boredom at Fascinations.
“Just turned eighteen, huh?” the obviously gay name tag girl asked us. I think I answered her in my head.

We searched around for a fun toy to bring back to Ashley and her buddy Lisa, but we weren’t willing to spend forty thousand dollars, so we settled on some good ol’ fashioned girl on guy action.

“How much do you make working here?” I asked the gay teller as we rented some porn. I wanted to ask him if you had to be gay to work here too, since it seemed the two people working that night were.
He smiled as he checked out Dirty Girl 5 for us. “A lot! And it pays for college.”
“PVCC…” Taylor snidely remarked later in the car.
“Any discounts?” I continued questioning as I fingered some penis enlargement “herbal” (because “We don't sell it if it's not herbal” the worker later tells me) pills.
“Yes,” he said coyly, “but I can't tell you how much.”

We came out of the store to find the car missing.

Oh no, wait. There it is.

Ashley, that wild cat with only a permit, had moved it ten whole inches. Her eyes were crazed with spontaneity and “I think she was foaming at the mouth,” Taylor House later claimed.
So we left her to Hungry Howie, who ravished her sweet pussy until we felt bad and turned around to rescue her.

She merely laughed at the spontaneity of it all. What a whore.

Armed with (bad) porn and a laptop, we thought “what the hell do we do now”? So we ventured to the shittiest park we could find and quickly made some friends.

“Hey! Hey! Are you watching porn? He's watching porn!” A boy, I later learned was named JR, pasted himself to the driver’s side window as Taylor held the laptop.

Soon, at least fifteen guys encircled the SUV in hopes of catching a glimpse of some “quite dirty” “barely legal” girls. Some just invited themselves in, sliding in next to Lisa and asking, “Is that your sweet pussy?” She giggled every time for the first ten times, but then the spontaneity fizzled and the car went quiet, except for the quiet moaning of Lisa “Crystal” and the uncomfortable shifting of seven boys I had met only minutes before.

A muscular boy without his shirt approached the car, “Are you guys watching porn?”
“No, we're watching the fucking Disney channel,” someone answered, maybe me.
He saddled up to an open window next to four other boys who were straining their necks to see the free show because they wouldn’t fit in the back.
“Mannnnnnnnnnn,” he sighed, “That’s so sweet.”
“It is,” I answered this time, “Just wait until Pirate Night!”
“You have THEMES?” JR or RJ or whatever his name was asked.
“Hell yeah. We’re just awesome like that.”

PIRATE NIGHT 2005 coming soon to a park near you.

Bring your eye patches, bitches.

Quote of the day:
“I know you can kill a cock like that.”
- RJ to Lisa

“Are you coming or going?”

I love Phoenix, I do. Great town. Yay. Go Suns, what a season, am I right or am I right? But why isn’t there anything to do in this lesbian town? After eleven, we may as well live in Capeside, MA or some other equally boring WB town (not Sunnydale) because there’s nothing to do here.

The other night was a prime example. It’s 10:59 PM and suddenly the lights of Desert Ridge (which, I hate anyway) shut off and the police officers start telling everyone (8th grade Abercrombie Clones and us) to go on home and I think to myself, no, no, I don’t want to go home. The party is just getting started. So we pile into the SUV and drive around aimlessly in hopes of finding some couple having sex in their car that we can mock. And sure, that was enjoyable, I had a good time, but what happened to the good ol’ fashioned hang out spot? If I want to hang out anywhere after eleven it has to be downtown at a sleazy strip club and that’s only fun if you sit up close and I don’t have the ones for that. I only carry money in twenties. Everyone knows that. Mill Ave. I guess is there too, but one has to be in the mood for that. I’m not even gonna mention Denny’s. Only truckers and whores go to Denny’s.

It’s just annoying because there’s only so much fun to be had at the Circle K.

Let’s move on to my next subject: Lack of Sleep.

It's the reason why this post is so shitty (I know it's shitty. I'm not in denial).

I haven’t been sleeping a hell of a lot (not that that’s any change or anything), and the sleep I am getting consists of me on the floor of my bedroom with my face on my laptop because I’ve fallen asleep writing on it again. So, it’s not that great. I wake up two hours later with an indent of keys on my cheek.
“What the hell happened to you?” my mother asked this morning when I woke up.
I feel for my cheek which has the corner of my laptop embossed onto it (kind of cool actually), “Uh…” is all I can muster up. I’ve become like the monster from Young Frankenstein. When you talk to me, that’s exactly what I sound like. I move like him too.

This is a really bad entry, I realize and it will be edited and rewritten when I’m awake so that everyone can have something to look forward to.

Quote of the day:
To be announced because I am too tired to think.

“But, it’s summer!”

You’ve been looking forward to it all year, and now it’s here:
The Third Annual Stefi Awards hosted by Stephanie Sparer.

I’ll skip the song, dance, and monologue and get straight to the awards (we’re pressed for time).

Best Rumor About Me That Wasn’t True
That I’m Canadian.

Best Rumor About Me That Was True
Teachers thought I was trying to spite them on announcements and complained about me. Scandalous! Not really.

Most Embarrassing Moment of Senior Year
A certain girl saying certain things while she was certainly drunk.

Favorite Teacher(s)
Once again, this year we have ties.
Murphy-Tick, Henzelberg, Bush, Bach, Fraser, Chariton.
I think the list grows every year.

Favorite Teachers I Never Actually Had
Lopez and Sedor

Least Favorite Teacher
Keller and that jerk who made me take off my hat at graduation.

Special Thanks to a Student Award
Brianna White you have saved my ass so many times it’s not even funny. And let’s not forget about all the green tea. You are amazin’!

Special Thanks to a Teacher Award
MMT, no one can replace you. Thank you for all of the passes you used to give me when I was late to class (and for getting me out of math a lot).

Best Teacher Moment
MALE: Mr. Bush wins for his incredible poise while telling Ben he was an epileptic after Ben made an off color epileptic joke. (See it here)

FEMALE: Ms. Holden wins for her detailed explanation (including hand gestures) of the missionary position on the second day of school.

Top Three Bach Moments (because you can’t pick just one)
“I’d do it for a million!” – Bach on porn

“Quit dickin’ around.” – Bach swearing (but he was quote, unquote “acting”)

The twenty minutes he spent scratching his back on the newspaper couch.

Top Three Jenke Quotes (because you can’t pick just one)
"You explore. We're all explorers.. from the time you're fetus and you see only shadows- to when you're two and you break your mom's vase. Whoops. Falls right off the table. To When you're four and you burn yourself on the hot stove- to when you're a freshman in high school and you begin to explore how you came into this earth in the back of an old volkswagen." – on the first day of school

“We refer to it as ‘Home Country’.” – On what he calls a boy’s crotch

“For those of you screaming “sex and drugs, give us more of it!”, this is not your day.” – Jenke before he gave us a giant stack of notes to copy.

Class I’ll Miss the Most
Newspaper/sixth hour. They may as well have been the same class. Once I got into the newspaper room around 10:30 in the morning, I didn’t really leave the rest of the day. Let’s be honest, I never went to Jenke’s class seventh hour.

Class I’ll Miss the Least
Well, duh. Jenke’s. It was so difficult to motivate myself to go, so I guess this also makes it the class I went to the least.

Best Rosie Moment
I couldn’t stop laughing at this sad story I was trying to tell and she told me I “must live an embarrassing life”. Not too far from the truth I guess.

Best Drunken Moment This is a new category.
Thomas: for everything that led up to “Oh shit. I fucking fell.”

Bad Asssssssssssssss of the year: Male
Robert Kraul


Bad Asssssssssssssss of the year: Female
Skylar Anne Audiserk

Most Awesome Senior Male of the Year
Carson Wheet

Most Awesome Senior Female of the Year
Xenia Kachur

Comeback Kid Award (this is for the person people used to hate, and now don’t)
Carson Wheet

For Pete’s sake! Put on some make up!
Katie Davids. You look so nice when you do yourself up. Now just do it every day.

For Pete’s sake! Put on some clothes!
Girl in my math class, I saw your thong every single day. Every day.

Best Locker Award
Oh, how funny, it goes to me for the third year in a row. I’m serious though, my locker could have kicked your locker’s ass.

Best Goodbye Award
Sitar at graduation was the only student who successfully made me cry.

Best High School Moment
Being able to play Mrs. Coach in Somebody to Love with Rocky Face as Mr. Coach. It was awesome being part of the MTT cast.

Worst High School Moment
Waking up at 7:20 AM and realizing that you’re late for your senior English final. Oops.



That’s all for this year and I’d get out some closing remarks and make it all mushy, but that’s not what this blog is for, that’s why I have a livejournal.



Quote of the day:
Sam: or just blow him
Stefi: ...
Stefi: you've changed.
- Sam’s suggestion of how to get a guy to go out with a girl.