Nostalgia

Its true. I miss my family. Duh. I perpetually miss California, no matter where I am on the globe. Duh, its flippin awesome. I miss my friends. Again duh, they're unbeatable. But alas, I didnt expect this one..... I MISS NEW YORK.

It all came to a culmination this morning, checking my e-mail before an early brunch, I received an email from THE A-rizzle “Ariel” Rosner. It was just a quick hello from New York with a iphone snapshot (what the f...you have an iphone???) of Babycakes, my all time favorite bakery, delivered straight to me in Paris. How cruel! I havent missed New York in a very long time, but I miss it desperately now. And of course, these feelings would undoubtedly start with emotions only a vegan bakery could be responsible for. It made me miss my friends who traded lunches for the vegan sweetness, the brunches, the harshness, the teas, the parties, the non-stop excitement that is like a drug and is always easy to leave, but hard to stay away from. I miss my co-op, English speaking dive bars, Saturday hat outings, running to give friends 5 minutes long hugs au lieu of a bisous, vegan restaurants, and even hipster posers. There is a charming grittiness, a feeling of no one giving a shit but at the same time not fooling anyone about their true agenda, an edge, its own special beauty with a bouquet of ridiculous memories only new york could have produced. Dont get me wrong...I love Paris. For now. But, it could never be home. Its like this grand vacation, where I work, but not really, and was extended because you couldnt possibly end it after a week, or a month. No matter how much NYC could drive me crazy....I want it back so bad. The good times were just too good.

Sometime in January I will drag myself to see “New York, I Love You”, when it will finally reach Paris. I will become even more nostalgic, like anyone always remembering the wonderfulness of a far-removed place, pushing the harder times to an irretrievable space in the mind. Dont get me wrong, I would never...well almost never complain about Paris....but hey Im allowed the miss New York too. Of course its more the people I will always miss from anywhere, but its the place that pushes you a little harder to make things happen. In Paris, I am being shown a new language, art & culture, and how to enjoy one thing for a shitload of time. It tries to show me how to be a lady, but come on, once a Stein always a Stein. New York pushed extremes...California is just simply and always will be home. But New York, I miss you.

Please Tell Me This Was Not a Date

I know I promised that my next post would be an on-going extraction from the awesomeness of my vacation...but I just felt like talking about something else, so viola. And yes, the "viola" is used just as frequent as you may think en France.

Last night I had another, this shit only happens to Stephanie Stein moment. I got invited to a soiree to be a plus one with a new "friend" named Marc from where else but the English/French conversation class. Best mix of people....EVER. I decided to accept, because well, why the hell not. So Marc proceeds to drive me 40 minutes outside of Paris, to a peculiar looking suburb that looks more like that shitty town in the middle of no where than I actually want to admit. And you may ask why leave Paris for a party on a Saturday night when this is practically the equivalent of leaving NYC for jersey city? Well, that's a damn good question. The ride there was interesting to say the least. Marc spent most of his time shuffling between techno cds, the clutch, his french excuse for a garmin, and when he wasn't too busy doing these handful of un-necessities, he was kept busy twitching or scratching something that didn't really itch at all. We continue to try and speak, although i think he finds it hard to speak English and be coked out at the same time.

Party. Hmm....I enter and meet about twenty 30-60 year olds who immediately gawk at me because I am American. And not in a good way, mind you. We drink, we eat, and after these people are really wanting to let loose so they push aside the tables and begin to dance to shitty American music of which of course they have no idea what is being sung about. Some just move side to side, others (who have had too much punch) are literally jumping up and down while kicking and talking to me in English like I am a half death three year old, and yet other 55 year old Italian men are convinced that I am their girlfriend. Sorry man, you smell. Oh yeah, and you're as old as my father, but not nearly as funny. Of course I dance with this strange congregation of people, and of course my date is the ONLY person sitting on the couch reading a philosophy book. Half way through the party he decided it was necessary to pull out his purse and start reading. Hmmmm...ok.

1 am rings and I am ready to get the fuck out of this place. Mark starts up the car and his tourettes again and cant seem to find the freeway. He starts talking to himself in French and jerking the car in 30 different directions. I was too tired to keep my built up laughter any longer. When he finally finds the freeway some cheesy American oldie comes on and he starts singing the chorus in his franglais...."can you feel the love tonight". Holy shit, get me out of here. There is some crazy french man serenading me in his beat up car to an Elton John song that is on the same disc as 20 techo songs. And an hour ago he was reading a philosophy book while telling me he could have gone to 5 other partys that night. Ok. YOU'RE A PSYCHO. This shit only happens to me...I need to start saying no to people when they ask me to go somewhere. Finally I get home at 2am. I had to laugh. And then I had to shower.

Me Back Now

So I'm back. I'm just back from being given 10 days of paid vacation after working a little less than a month of my rigorous 12 hour work week. The U.S. does not quite have a good grasp on this fantastic method yet. It is more like we'll give you 260 days and apres a prize of 10 days is rewarded left to worry about what craziness one might fit in with the only time for oneself. Now that just isn't right.

My vacation started by my little sis Shaina tagging me in Paris and scurrying away to Ferrara, Italy to have me find her in return. My cousins (Susie & Schmitty) catch up with us there and then allied with me back to Paris. It was quite a whirlwind, but left me happier than ever after seeing English speaking family ….even if I did give up my bed for a yoga mat. The awesomeness of the past week is quite overwhelming, so I will separate them into a couple different posts. First, of course, in true Stein fashion:

Food/Drinks:

Start: Ferrara Italy

1.Breakfast at the hotel is very telling of what Ferrara is like. They love you through their food. The spread at the “continental” breakfast included three types of cereal, three types of croissants, fruit, eggs, juices, breads, cured meats, cheeses, cafes, etc etc. Yes, this is breakfast, and yes it is never too early to eat cured meats apparently. Schmitty rejoiced while Susie and I rolled our eyes. We later made up for the lacking consumption of lunch meats by taking as many nutella packets as we manage without weighing us down too much while running from breakfast patrol.

Break for what fancy pants Shaina calls Drinking Chocolate. I had to remind her that we are American and we call this stuff hot chocolate pudding.

2.I don't understand how these Ferrarians make any money. Well, at least in the restaurant business. Not only do they pile on food and practically give it away, but this is THE common method of doing business. We're not just talking special occasions, and if we are, then everyday at 5 or 6 o'clock is Thanksgiving. Welcome to the “apertivo”. Early evening marks the time for folks congregate at their local cafes to have a cafe or a drink. And after ordering a drink, then they bring you free food. We are talking cheeses, breads, olives, pastas, sweets, chickpea baked deliciousness, and more. I don't get it. Its like they feed you because they don't want you to eat dinner and give them money. But then you do. And then you get dessert.

4. Gelato. Tourjours. Everyday. All the time. The owner greeted us with a painted on smiled so big and honest that you knew the gelato couldn't be anything less than fantastical. Each day this woman gets up and makes her gelato from scratch. By charging just under 2 Euro for quite a generous portion, and like all other peeps in the food business here, she makes little profit....I am sure of it. But, here, money seems to take a backseat and pleasing others is the primary aim. The loves what she does, and she does it well. We talk to her for some time on our last day, with people on one side who know no English and in return people who know zero Italian. But we smile, and it isn't faux, and we we try to understand each other through flailing our melty gelato-covered hands. We take off on our bike gang just happy that someone cares. Even if it is means wearing loose clothes for a day or two.

Paris

1. Meeting up with one of Schmitty's co-workers from back in the US of A and his friend, we were directed to Le Pain Quotidien for Brunch on Sunday. The place was extremely familiar, as they have a few scattered throughout NYC, and the rest of the world. Although I have never spend so much time in any restaurant back in New York. We enjoyed the company so much, I think we began to forget about the food but enjoy it at the same time, if that makes any sense. We discussed the many differences between Americans and the French, debunked a couple stereotypes and confirmed a few others while laughing and of course sometimes crying. From time to time just remember make looking forward to your food as much as your company and vice versa....and make it last as long as you can. For the French this is a social hour, a feeding hour; a time of luxury developed from something you need to do anyway. Only here do you pay twice as much for a cafe if you want to sit. Because you will sit for hours.

2. The French got me at their first croissant au buerre. The Italians got me at pumpkin ravioli with nutmeg. But no one does a home cooked vegetarian feast like the Codoni-Schmitt-Steins. On our first full day in Paris, I showed Susie and Schmitty the amazingness of the French outdoor market. The endless stands filled with fresh vegetables, chickens (de-clawed and de-feathered, unlike my frigo), wheels of cheese, whole fish, flowers....basically anything you might possibly need for one killer dinner party. The cousins were surprised to find how friendly the French were; everyone was patient and helpful....especially the lady who gave us ballin advice on a great brie. Of course there is always one in the bunch and this one was the damn ginger lady who basically told me to screw myself. Fine. Ill make some other ginger lady 50 cents richer. But that didn't stop our supreme glee from smelling and perusing the market while buying up all the veggies for the upcoming veg filled dinner we desperately need after way too many apertivos and gelatos. As a shout out to my Californian roots, we snatched brussel sprouts, pumpkins, spinach, carrots, and potatoes to make up our veggie meal. Brie de mieux, a baguette, and a bottle of wine later we were finished. We baked oatmeal raisin cookies and c'est la vie....we needed that one. My roommates laugh at my semi-vegetarian ways, but they secretly want in. I mean how can you find anything better than roasted root veg? God, I'm California. And I love it.

3. Their last night, we head out to a recommended restaurant by a local and my friend KK joins us as well. We found the place after searching for 30 minutes in the rain and jumping into a few puddles. The restaurateur took a liking to me over the phone when I incorrectly placed my reservation as StephaNIE and not aStEPHphanie. She is currently my favorite funny French person so far, calling Scmitty a baby when he couldn't finish his cheese and me bizzzare for trying a piece of fromage blanc avec mon chocolat gateau. She truly made the night even better if that was possible. She never gave us look to indicate that we were stupid, ignorant Americans, but rather joined in our our fun. We were happy to have another practically at the table. Schmitty sprang for the ultimate French meal complete with foie gras, steak tartar, and fromage. Everyone enjoyed our three hour meal, except maybe the other Parisians listening to our boisterous laughter and the sight of our sharing of foods. It was a blast, and not only did no one look at us strange for hanging out until almost midnuit, but we had trouble getting the check.

4. The Grand Finale: Singing and Dancing as we pop open Champagne at la Tour Eiffel on the hour. It began to sparkle and we enjoyed a beautiful night in Paris. Paris at night is so beautiful I even forget that its fucking cold. The cousins made the night even better hand selecting a bottle of “golden” champagne at the Paris' answer to Target. It was DELICIOUS. A few macarons later we commence singing and dancing like the boisterous Americans we are so proud to be.

Coming Soon: Dance/Music/Enteratinment......You don't want to miss this one folks.

Best Week Ever, Nothing Really Happened

My best week so far has been so, not because of a few poignant events, but actually just an accumulation so far of petites choses so small you might call them pathetic. But holy shit have they made my week feel flippin amazing.

1. The best croissant au buerre so far Ive found is from a place, so close to chez moi, that I could actually sleep walk there, in a storm, wearing three inch heels, with a screaming 3 year old on my back. Delicious.

2. I mustered up the confidence to ask a question today, at the french's attempt to duplicate a Best Buy, and the employee understood what I was saying. You might think this should be a common acheivement in my everyday Parisian life, but alas, it is not. People here never understand what the hell im saying and not only did this guy understand, but he responded with...hold on to your panties here... "good question"....en francais of course. I didnt understand a word he said from then on, and I still dont know whether I can play European DVDs on American computers...but who the hell cares. Someone, finally!, understood what was coming out of Stephanie Stein's mouth. Shaina Stein must be praying extra hard for me on Sundays.

3. Monday night, a couple of friends and I attempted to watch a soccer...ughhh I mean football game..at an Irish bar, and yet again misunderstood the time and day of the match. So of course we opted for a classy cafe instead. Why not...the wine is the same price if not less than the hot chocolate. First, shout out to Paris for having outdoor cafes stay open in the winter and mastering the concept of the space heater. Just as I was enjoying the delicious wine, great company, and the romantical atmosphere of sitting in a warm seat out in the flippin cold.....yep a creepster. I thought I had seen it all folks. I mean New York has no shortage, Costa Rica makes a strong presence in the rankings as well, but a Jamaican man living in Paris took the cake. I thought that telling him I was an escape convict from a small town in Idaho would deter him, but appartantly he was only more interested. Note to self: New pick-up line for French men. Long story that I wish would have been shorter in reality, he drunkenly follows us, barely able to keep his body upright, and manages to grab two out of the three girls sprinting down a grand street in the Marais. We dash into a bar shreiking with a few middle age french men drinking wine and eating chicken wings. (They have those here??? should have not been the dialouge taking up my brain space at that moment) As the creepiest creepster I have ever experienced opens the door and pass out in the entrance flat on the beautiful mosaic floor, one of the guys asks, “ Is this guy with you?” What?! Are you fucking kidding me? We just ran into this place screaming, panting, and asking for antibacterial wipes. No, this guy is not with us sir. What the F??? Well, as far as I know that man is still passed out at that bar. Well, I guess if I ever run out of stories, Ill go wake him up.

   4. Just made a apple, carrot, ginger, kiwi, spinach juice. Delectable.

   5. My heat came on. Reynauds rejoice.

   6. I got to speak English to Carole, one of my roomies, last night. This made me feel like an actual human being and not just like a stupid american girl living with two cool Parisian twenty-somethings. Even though Ive been living here for almost three weeks, it was so nice to chat with her and expand our conversation beyond my limits of hey, you work today?, you hunting this weekend? Shes a great girl. And Im beginning to feel more and more at home everday Im here. I lucked out again living with these ladies. I even have a date to visit their place in Brittany! OOOO! I can barely walk straight so I hope they know not to give me a rifle.

   7. As I was typing an email to a friend, Yellowcard's Ocean Avenue came on. I love a good, crappy flashback. It always reminds me how far I've come, and how much further I should really be....since Im actually enjoying this ridiculous sound right now.

   8. Im making friends with the marche peeps every wed. Fish guy is hot. I told him to keep the change. Booyah.

Yep, this is the stuff that is making me probably the happiest lady on Earth. Its so nice to feel happy when nothing really crazy or out of the ordinary is happening. Im actually enjoying the times when I have nothing to do; for once just enjoying what is happening to me. around me. Even if it is a stranger's hand trying to grab my ass. And beyond this, my little sis is visiting me this weekend. What could be better? I wonder if we are attending church.....oh vey.

Week In Review

Since my favorite section of the lovely (and highly missed!) New York Times is “The Week in Review”, I thought I could make an adaptation and squeeze it into my highly popular blog that I sure is on par with the number of subscribers the Times gets from GoBush, Wyoming. So taking a break from arguing about who really deserves the peace prize or our pathetic headway on the health care front, lets look for a moment at what important news didn't quite make in the NYT version:

Sports Debrief

Me: 0.5*

Croissant au Beurre: 786

*half point awarded for pathetic/minimal effort

Monmartre Wine Festival

Hookers and hipsters congregate together to drink booze, eat tariflette, and scare away German tourists.

Another Fine Mess: Golden Bikinis Not Allowed at Parisian Public Swimming Pools

Girl is told she must wear appropriate swimwear for first time since her mother was allowed to brush her blond bowl-cut.

Economy 101: Euro vs. Dolla

Quick Lesson: If Bikram Yoga is 25 Euros this roughly translates to $36.25. Alternative, I'm a poor teacher-friendly sport: Running. Not only can one run for free , but one may also get a free comedy routine that features American girl, first running while singing, and then falling while shrieking in the middle of a cobblestone street. I smell a Tony folks!

hint: American Girl shreiking/falling=me

Style: Dining & Wine

Spotted: Three Paris roommates, speaking broken French and English, laughing and stumbling out of a midnight dinner bonding over possible male conquests and plans for an American Thanksgiving...all topics that unfailingly transcend the language barrier,especially after a tapped bottled of delicious French wine. (Side note: If every restaurant comes with a personal, tall, handsome, bi-lingual restaurant proprietor to assist in the handpicking of wines in the "cave"....well then, I'm never coming home. But only if the next one isn't married.)

Quotation of the Week

Excerpt taken from a fellow assistant's blog, referring to none other than yours truly:

“Again the Tall One, a fellow English assistant, makes about as much sense as a three year old German child, learning French as a third language.”*

*Actual words may vary and may have been altered in transition form “copy” to “paste”. One thing remains true: I am actually referred to as “the tall one” in true life blog.

Mental Health: Crazed Woman Looking for Company on the Subway

chosen awkward bystander=moi

Technology

French keyboards insist that one must shift to type a period, but not an exclamation point. The origin of their passion explained.

Classifieds

20 something year old in search of older woman, preferably in her seventies, preferably French, to spend afternoons and/or mornings with at cafes, reminiscing about life in wartimes, and keeping her inner golden girl humored.

Status: FOUND

(same story, different city)

The Arts in Review

Deal in the art world: Watch Stephanie Stein dance on the metro. At the Bus Stop. On school grounds. Whether you are looking for Comedy or Ultra Modern Dance-ish-ness, you only have to splurge on the ticket to Paris, France!

Sponsor: www. kayak.com

Well guys, that's pretty much sums up my week. Its lightly raining and I'm about to grab a cafe and find an electric blanket so I can burn myself to pieces. Just kidding mom, Ill stick to real fiiiire. Don't you worry bout a thang.

Speaking of thangs and chicken wangs:

Update: No chicken with attached appendages in the frigo this week. Just a lot of yogurt.

mon frigo est ton frigo...

Sometimes I just need to type, so me make sure I don't completely forgets all mon anglais. So here are a couple of updates, if for nothing less to remind myself that I am living in a foreign country, with a foreign language, where sometimes, things just dont seem to translate....word for word...or contents of ones refrigerator for the contents of ones frigo. Just read on...

1. So, my apartment situation is beginning turning out to be more perfect every day. First, my roomies are awesome. We get along well despite the franglais that I attempt to speak. Yes, the girls might speak so fast that even a Parisian auctionier has reason to feel tense about his job security. BUT, they do have a house in Brittany, which I will hopefully soon visit, and they DO come back from their weekend trips with fresh tomates, courgettes (zuchinni), and freshly preserved compotes compliments of their garden. Since they basically told me “mon frigo (fridge) est ton frigo”, I invited a friend for dinner the other night and this basically left us the responsibility of picking up a baguette and cheese for our meal. So I begin to rummage through the bags in the frigo and viola! What could this be...hmmm feels smooth...a cabbage maybe?...hmmm a little pointy...yes! Its definitely an artichoke...I just know it. Three full minutes of hysterical screaming later...I calm down enough to tell my friend Katheryn that I have just bee stroking a talon of a dead f-in bird wrapped ever so discreetly next to the courgettes and the cheese. Just another ordinary day in the life a frigo a Paris.

   Did I mention my roomies sport of choice? Hunting. And I thought their eyes got big when I told them I was a part time vegetarian because the French like their meat more than they like strikes, cigarettes, and stripes combined. Nope, its because they store dead animals with their apendages still attached in innocent looking newspaper. Go figure.

2. Third day at school today. I am still getting all of the same questions about boyfriends, Obama, and why the heck I am where I am....all things hard enough to explain in English, let alone French. Between a little bratty teenager telling me that my hair is ugly short and young boys winking at me throughout classes, Im not sure how I feel. Actually, I freaking love every second.

3. Just had a 10 minute conversation with my roommate that should have lasted two seconds because of my pronunciation of 22 (veint deux)....she thought I was saying vendu (bought). Yes, indeed, my sister is visiting the apartement on the bought of October. Urghhh....language barrier!

4. I touched a talon. I touched an f-in talon. God Dammit.

5. I officially congratulate whoever made the executive decision that articles in English need not have masculine and feminine forms. Would someone remind me of the purpose of this please? Les, de, du, le, la, blah, blah....

6. #765 we got wrong and the French got right: Apparently you cant get kicked out of your own house. Foreclosures? The French dont grasp this idea because alas! If you are on the street guess who takes over the monetary responsibility? You got it, the good old government. Their idea: We take care of you before we have to. Think about it.

7. #766 the French got wrong and Trader Joes got right: Peanut Butter. And democratic at that: Smooth, Crunchy, Salted, Unsalted. The multiple party system at its best.

8. The strangest people I have met so far are indeed not French, they are British.

9. I have given up temporarily on practicing my french, because I have learned they really dont say much other than Donc (which means nothing), ughhh (which means less), and ahhhh (ditto), and just talk with their hands and kiss each other. Okay....much easier than I thought. Ahhh, now if it were actually this simple....life would just not be as fun and hilarious.

10. First Parisian dinner party last night. Hmmm....very interesting. I stumbled in at about 11'o clock, welcomed by about 20 young Parisians. No English? Its freakin almost midnight and my brain is fried! Three glasses of wine later it turned out to be a great night.....but they could use some New Yorker advice about how to get things a little crazier. Ill break em down. O! Interesting slang usage. To be a la mode (in the know, fashionable....not with ice cream, dad) you sometimes take a phrase and inverse it. Example: C'est fou (Its crazy) becomes C'est uof! (pro: say-oof) Ces Francais sont uofs!

Thanks for listening guys! Its great hearing from all of yous.

Much love.

Peace,

Steph

another home, un nouveau pays

Salut tout le monde!

So, I finally found and settled into an apartment in the 17e arrondisement! It is a little bit of a strange and lucky story of how I found it, but I got extremely, extremely lucky. When I was in California, I went to a yoga retreat for 2 days and met this girl who had studied abroad about 5 years ago...long story short I am now living with her host family's two french daughters about 5 minutes away form les Champs D'Elysee et I can see the L'Arc Du Triomphe from the middle of my street...woooo! Once I figure out how to work my camera I will post pictures....but Im a little techno challenged.

So, lots going on over here! I started my first day of teaching last Thursday and they just threw me into the mix. Apparently they think Im qualified to teach without any experience, instruction, training, or observation. Huh, fine by me. For the most part, my students are great. The classes that speak and understand English pretty well were very interested in a few things: are we all obese?(or obize as they say), what do i think of french food, what brands do i wear, do i like Barack Obama!? (that was a biggie) They were probably most interested to hear whether or not i had a boyfriend and if I liked "black boys". One of the teachers apparently was intrigued when I said I was single, so he made sure to invite me over to his flat and asked if i like foies gras and wine. Hmmm, perfect meal for a semi-vegetarian.....fattened up geese livers....rigggghhht. So, I don't think the schools are very worried about being so politically correct over here. This thought was later confirmed when I heard a teacher later joke with a student that she was sexy. Maybe lawyers just dont exist in this system. Good thing for the french teacher's sake. This guy would be broke as a joke in the US. One subject that is very sensitive is religion. It is a very private part of the French people's lives and it is not mentioned or not allowed to be demonstrated in the schools. No burkas, no clothing advertisement, no mention thank you. It is nice to see that an area of your life that is so personal and controversial, can remain in the home or your place of worship. Maybe they got this right and the foie gras wrong? Debatable.

On teacher orientation day, or "fill out a shitload of papers in french that i wouldnt even understand in english" day, the most notable event was the bottles of wine that were placed throughout the cafeteria for the assistants to enjoy at lunchtime. What a great idea! I might not receive my first paycheck due to sleeping through the rest of the orientation, but still, GREAT IDEA.

Man, there is so much more to tell, but Im sure Im losing many of you with my ramblings...I prolly (yes Im an English teacher) wouldnt even read my own e-mails, so no hard feelings. So some other things summed up:

1. Nuit Blanche (White Night) was last night.....full moon...all of Paris stays up all night to run around in the streets drinking until the sun comes up and visiting different points of interest where there are art installations. Very cool. Very tired.

2. Roomies are great! They threw me a mini traditional French dinner party with about a million courses: 1. l'aperitif (cocktails) 2. potato dish 3. more veg 4. meat 5. salad 6. cheese 7. dessert plus wine equals almost sleeping through work the next day. Word to the wise: Running in Birkenstocks should not be attempted for long periods of time.

3. French bands that cover American hits= HILARIOUS

break-sit at a cafe for hours-wire yourself with un chocolat chaud or une cafe decaf. People watch and talk philosophy. (this is not done in french)

4. My French sucks. My English now sucks too. My mind is scrambled. Me not know what going on anymore.

5. Work schedule: Friday are full, Tuesdays and Wednesdays are half days. Hmmm...re-application form please!

6. Many people often wonder why French women are so skinny. This is very simple. They walk approximately 1,000 kilometers a day and they eat cheese with butter and creme. Try taking more than 5 bites and actually swallowing. Yeah, good luck with that.

Anyways, Im having a ball. Im meeting new peeps, enjoying my job, and really loving life right now. It is just one of those times when everything seems to be falling in the right place. But thank goodness for skype....I miss you all especially Mom and Dad! My roommate's family is calling my name. I think last night they were telling me about a drunken cat on top of a building but they were probably just saying it was nice to meet you. 2 hrs of studying a day is my goal. o la la! Miss you all.

o skype name: stephanie-stein

holler at a girl.

Peace

Steph

Stein-O-Mite

Stephaneezer

Stein-Time

Steiny

Schmoopie

Gushigan

or whatever else you know me by....