Scenes from Stefi’s Life

 

 

What a musical snob!

Pillowtalk

Asleep Stefi: “It’s at the top! It makes perfect sense! It’s at the top!”

And if you try to wake Stefi up, she might angrily say something like, “WHY are you two inches from my FACE?” or “Do not toy with ME, sir!”

 

And to think that as of tomorrow, December 11, Ben will have put up with me for an entire year! He deserves a gold star and a cookie.

 

P.S.– yes, we have lots of fish.

Jackass 3D (in 2D)

I can’t stop thinking about poop.

 

Yeah, I know I’m a little late in seeing Jackass 3, but it was playing at the local discount theater, and Ben told me I HAD to see it.

 

Most of it was hilarious. The stunts were great: the invisible man, duck hunting, the jet, the gorilla, the paint-exploding port-a-potty, Wee-man and his lady at the bar…

 

But I would like to know why it’s cool to watch someone take a huge dump on screen. I should have expected that, since they did it in the last one, but I think it was worse this time.

 

I guess it’s just a boy thing.

 

 

And Steve-O really outdid himself with the Bungee Poop Cocktail or whatever. The entire time, I was like, “CLOSE YOUR MOUTH OH MY GOD!” I won’t be able to eat chili for weeks.

 

In need of an analyst.

There’s a tarantula sitting on my coffee table.

 

Granted, she’s in a critter container, but I’m still not sure how she got there.

 

One minute I can’t stand the thought of adopting a pet spider, and the next I’m e-mailing someone on Craigslist telling them I want their Chilean Rosehair.

 

Maybe I’ve just lost my mind. You might remember that thing I wrote a few months ago about how I hate spiders and yet Ben wants one. I didn’t think I’d ever actually get him one.

 

It probably has something to do with the other morning at the zoo. We docents were having animal handling practice, and some of us were learning new critters. A couple of them were handling the tarantula for the first time. I almost asked if I could practice picking her up, but I didn’t. For the first time, I abstained because I was concerned I’d have an allergic reaction to her “hairs”. I didn’t feel very afraid of her.

 

I went home that day, thinking that I wouldn’t mind too much having one of those in our apartment. After all, Ben has been wanting one for who-knows-how-long. So we agreed that we’d get each other our pets for Christmas, instead of regular gifts. I got him his spider, and he is going to get me a ball python.

 

Crazy, yes.

 

I almost had the opportunity to adopt an adorable little rabbit, but upon further research, I discovered that they chew everything and need probably a little more attention and supervision than I had expected.

 

Ben and I were thinking about the bunny, but I told him, “You know… if I could choose between a bunny and a snake, I’d pick the snake!”

 

We have a ball python at the zoo named Reggie. He’s darling and laid back and completely sweet. I need to do a lot more research, but right now a little python is my heart’s desire.

 

We’ll just have to see what happens! I have a feeling that this apartment is going to turn into a zoo pretty soon.

 

Strawberry the Spider

Another of Stefi’s Many Talents

When Ben got home a short while ago, he paused while taking his shoes off.  He had only to catch a glimpse of the piles of miscellaneous items leading through the doorway to our bedroom.  “I’d better just leave again right now,” he said, laughing.

 

Ben knows a certain little fun fact about me.  I love to rearrange my furniture.

 

Maybe it’s an obsessive-compulsive thing.  I often feel my bedroom becoming stagnant, everything piling up and becoming cluttered.  The room makes me feel tired and weighted down.   It’s therapeutic to thoroughly clean everything, and for some reason, to move things around too.  I’m always optimistic, confident that the new arrangement will somehow stimulate creativity and peace of mind. I don’t really believe in feng shui, but I suppose that what I’m doing is just a less literal version.

 

I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. I could occasionally convince my mom to let me rearrange, and she would help me move my bed to the other side of the room and put my CD player here and my TV there. But we moved when I was eleven, and my new room didn’t really allow me to do this. In fact, I suffered through seven years of mostly-stagnant furniture, only moving a bookshelf back-and-forth once in a while. The problem was that with my TV having to connect to the wall in a particular spot, and with the positions of my closet and all of my windows, my bed and desk could only fit in certain spots. It drove me crazy, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.

 

Fortunately, I eventually went off to college and moved into a dorm where I was lucky to have my own room. Now, this room was about the size of a walk-in closet, but at least it was all mine. It came with a desk, a chair, and a huge, heavy bed with big drawers underneath. The bed was only a few inches shorter than the smallest wall in the room, so you can probably imagine how difficult it was going to be for me to move it around.  At least a few times throughout the year, I would turn things around, trying to find the perfect configuration. My roommates were always amazed that I could do it.  It was like a puzzle for me. I would have to move the desk over here to move the bed, then move the desk back to pull the bed the other way. I’d be down on the floor, pushing the heavy bed with all the strength in my body, then climbing over things to go push it from the other side. Not once did I ask anyone to help me move my stuff. Naturally, I would be pretty proud of myself once the job was finished.

 

So when Ben was gone this afternoon, I decided that it would be the perfect time to move everything in our bedroom. This meant the bed, the huge bookshelf, both our desks, our worktable, and both nightstands. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to move some of it by myself, much less shuffle it all in a crowded room, but it proved to be much easier than my old dorm room. By the time Ben got home, I was finished with the furniture and was trying to put away as much of our junk as I could. After he jokingly threatened to leave, I pulled him into the room to show him what I’d done. I felt bad that I didn’t ask him before moving his desk, but he seemed to love the new arrangement. I showed him the open space the configuration had created, and in the spirit of “Stepbrothers”, said, “It’ll give us so much extra space in our room to do activities!”  As though I still needed room to stretch out on the rug to color or do crafts.  Some of us never really grow up.

Why I’m changing my major: Reason # 342

I’m going to be brutally honest. The students in my school’s visual arts department are flippin’ WEIRD.

Either that, or I was just particularly irritable today.

I was already peeved when I walked into class. Partially because when I was getting stuff from my locker, I overheard a girl a few lockers away telling her friend how amazing a particular animation professor is. I resisted the urge to interject, “Yeah well, [insert name of professor here] is a dumb b****.” Bitter much? MENSTRUAL much? But I wanted to punch that girl in the face for being in love with and dressing just like the professor in question. She’s like Dumb Animation Professor in training.

So when I opened the door to my classroom, I noticed there was a very weird girl directly behind me. Directly. All up in my grill. She then proceeded to tailgate me across the empty classroom and sit down next to me. She could have picked any easel in the entire room, but she wanted the one right next to mine.

Not a minute later, as I’m sitting there in a huff, starting to send Ben a very angsty text message, a voice behind me goes, “ummmm….”

Standing there awkwardly is a very special lad, kind of a big guy, hardcore glasses, greasy-looking shirt, and the beginnings of a moustache he must not know how to shave.  Actually, he reminds me of Milton from “Officespace”. He’s breathing heavily, saying, “Ummm, that’s sort of my usual spot. You’re in my spot.”

“You want me to move?” I said indignantly. “Is it really that important?”

“Yessssss….”

“Fine.”

If I weren’t just a really peevish softy, I would have told him to f*** off, since that easel didn’t have his name on it.

But I figured I’d rather move and be pissed than send the guy into a panic attack, so I picked up my stuff and moved to the other side of the class.

At that point, several more people had come in, and yet another special girl plopped down her bags next to me. “Where’s the cool easel?” She said, looking around. “It has all this writing on it. I want that one.” Meanwhile, other people were shuffling easels and chairs and fighting over spots. One guy loudly proclaimed, “well, it’s the midterm, so you might as well get the best spot you can.”

Whatever, guys. I was just glad we could do our midterm drawing and then leave, instead of staying for the entire six-hour class.

When the professor started class, someone asked him if we would be able to leave after we finished our drawings. He looked surprised. “No, we have class! We’ll be here until 9:30.”

My cramps suddenly worsened. I took out my pencils and bristol paper, wanting to cry for some reason. Why didn’t I switch to Bio LAST semester?

Then the weird girl next to me, the one with the special easel with writing on it, stopped scribbling badly with her excessively squeaky charcoal stick and looked at me.

“What’s that big mark on your head? Are you okay?”*

What a magical day it’s been.

*See previous post

An Epic Tale of Accidental Self-Mutilation

Dear Reader,

 

Today I’m mad at my hair.

 

Mainly because my forehead hurts like a motherf*cker. The sound of a curling iron on the hottest setting sizzling my skin off is pretty sickening. It was at that point that I ripped the cord out of the outlet and stormed out of the bathroom.

 

……

 

The other day, I can’t remember what Ben and I were talking about, but he happened to point out that I’ve worn a dress ONCE in the ten months we’ve been together. I hadn’t really thought about it… I’m not a huge fan of wearing dresses. Well, maybe that’s not true.  I guess I wouldn’t mind dressing up if there were someplace to go. But the fanciest place I’ve been out to in the past six months is Outback Steakhouse, so I really don’t need anything but my jeans and CSUF t-shirts.

 

But the point here is that I was browsing the internet for some cute dresses that I could actually fit me and my food-baby into. I found one at Torrid that I really like, and I’m actually considering spending a good chunk of my weekly paycheck on it (there goes my Del Taco fund).

 

However, a girl can’t wear a $65 dress with a half-assed ponytail… so I decided I would just have to make my hair look fabulous. As impulsive as always, I figured that Target didn’t close for another 40 minutes and I had time to drive up the street and get myself a curling iron. This couldn’t wait until tomorrow. My fantasy of sexy, wavy, moviestar hair just had to become a reality as soon as possible.

 

So I threw on a jacket and boots with my man-shorts and wet hair and raided Target of its curling irons and styling products. I got heat protection spray, curling spray, hair spray, and an iron which claimed to be great for long-lasting curls in hard-to-curl hair. The answer to my prayers! Sure, it came to $28, but it was going to be well worth it!

 

I hurried home, dried my hair (the only reason I own a hair dryer is because my grandma bought it for me), and sprayed all kinds of stuff in it, just like the bottles said to. Still optimistic, I started to curl. My mom used to curl my hair when I was a kid, so I thought I had the general idea of how to do it. Apparently not, because it wasn’t working. So I brought in my laptop and looked up some videos on Youtube. The woman in the video was just going to a picnic, she said, and she wanted to do something cute, quick, and easy to her hair. She just stuck the curling iron in there, twisted it, yanked out out, and VOILA! her hair was perfect. I tried doing the same thing, and the most I got was a slightly (and I mean slightly) curled end. I did that a few times, in different spots, and it was all to no avail. I turned the iron up to the hottest setting, hoping it would help. Nope.

 

Angrily, I took some hair from the front and tried it. I twisted the iron under, but I obviously got too close because I immediately heard a sickening sizzling sound.

 

Now I have a most attractive, very large burn on my forehead that spells “DUMBASS”.

 

Obviously I need professional help.

 

Forever your depressing blogger,

Stefi

Adventures at the Zoo

I am living my childhood dream. When I was in second grade, we had to draw a picture of ourselves in our dream careers. I drew myself as a zookeeper, wearing that cool khaki uniform and pith helmet. Next to me was a tiny cage, filled up by an elephant. Yep, I was going to be the coolest grown-up ever!

Well, I can’t say that I take care of elephants, but I do work at a zoo!

Wait, Stefi… don’t you work at Disneyland?

Okay, I volunteer at the zoo. Maybe I’m exaggerating my awesome-ness. One morning a week I go to the Santa Ana Zoo to teach kids about animal adaptations and show them some really exotic animals… like bunnies and opossums!

That’s not that cool.

Of course it’s cool! And you know what the best part is? I get to work with a ROOSTER!

This little rooster is named Rip. He’s one of the first animals I learned to handle, and we fell in love immediately. He’s small enough to fit in one hand, with his feet dangling down. He just sits there and looks at me, making little clucking noises. He doesn’t give me much trouble when I try to catch him in his yard (much to the amazement of the other docents), and when I put him down and try to leave, he follows me to the gate. I’ll lean over the gate and say goodbye, and he just looks up at me sadly. Walking away, sometimes I hear him crowing.

The head of the zoo’s education department used to train orca whales at Marineland. Today I asked her if she thought Rip was trainable. “Absolutely!” she said excitedly. “Haven’t you ever seen those roosters at fairs that play the piano?” I’m still not sure if she was kidding. But if any rooster could play the piano, it would be Rip. Although, I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. Maybe I could just teach him to crow on command (“Rip, speak!”) and to follow me onstage. I’m envisioning an epic bird show like San Diego puts on. We’d have to get a couple of other birds to train too, so we can have some fly across the audience and perch on my arm. And then I’d say, “We can all help to protect endangered species… right, Rip?” And Rip would say, “Cockadoodledoo!”

Today I went to visit him, and the keeper was cleaning out the building. “There’s some mealworms in the fridge if you want to get him some,” she said. “He loves ‘em!”

I scurried out, passing Dora the Opossum on her giant hamster-wheel, and ran across the way to get Rip’s snack. When I came back, I think he must have recognized the little dish I was carrying. It was full of mealworms, most of which were still alive. Apprehensively, I reached into the dish and pulled out a wiggling bug. I bent down to offer it to Rip, hoping he’d take it soon so I wouldn’t have to hold it for too long. He took it from my fingers, but it fell to the ground. A couple of people leaned over the fence in awe, watching Rip peck at it and finally devour the rest. They smiled at me and talked to one another in Spanish, apparently pretty amused by me feeding a rooster.

I fed Rip one after another, and he started swallowing them more quickly, then looking at me imploringly. “This is the last one,” I told him. But he looked so sad that I continued to feed him.

The zoo’s miniature train chugged past, and the people aboard looked over the fence to see what I was doing. “Here’s one of the zoo’s brave trainers,” the engineer joked. “She’s feeding Rip the Rooster!”

I’m obviously not an actual trainer, but it still felt pretty badass. Today roosters, tomorrow elephants.

Adventures at the 24-Hour Wal-Mart

I ended up buying “Jillian Michael’s Yoga Meltdown”.  Apparently I can lose up to five pounds a week. If I do the workout like seven times a day and stop drinking cherry coke.

Six Reasons Episode VI is Awesome

1. So, I was just thinking… how unfortunate is it that the only time Leia isn’t wearing like… a mumu, is while Han Solo is suffering from hibernation sickness. She’s looking legendarily hot, AND HE CAN’T SEE.

Pretty unfair.

We can only hope she saved the slave bikini for the honeymoon.

2.  OBI-WAN: ….Your sister remains safely anonymous.

LUKE: Leia! Leia’s my sister!

OBI-WAN: What? No!

LUKE: You mean… there are other girls?

3. Does Jabba have genitalia? Is he capable of intercourse with his slaves? Has a study been done on this?

4. Ben feels bad for the guy who takes care of the rancor Luke killed with the sliding door at Jabba’s pad.  Remember him? The fat guy with the nasty hairy chest, the dirty face, and that weird mat on his head? Maybe it’s shallow of me, but the hideous monster and his ugly caretaker evoke no feelings of sympathy for me.

5. “That awful dance with that six-boob lady! And the worst-looking digital characters ever!”—Ben

Was this really necessary? It felt kind of awkward. Like the movie was really serious and we were getting involved in Luke and Leia’s plight, and then it suddenly became a skit on Sesame Street.

6. Yoda sounds like a cross between Fozzie and Miss Piggy.

Muppets in Space!