Anyway. So. My sister has acquired a stalker. Not even the funny kind that I'd normally laugh about--more like the kind who calls her up at my house and asks her to do obscene things over the phone. She has never met this man in her life. She has never spoken to him in her life. She has never given out enough information about herself anywhere for her to have acquired this asshole. And yet...
So yes, apparently he's chalked up his third call at around 11 tonight. My sister, being the silly child that she is, bungled the *69 tactic that I told her she should take. And I also told them to call the police, but my parents are ridiculously non-confrontational and so my mother says "well... we'll see... if he calls back again..."
Um... no. I'd rather you not just leave it some more and still be so worried that one of you will be in the house at all times when she's there. And this isn't me being all bent out of shape over the fact that you don't want to drive out and pick me up when I bus here. No sweat, I can figure out a way to take another bus that'll get me home, suitcase or no. I'm a big girl, I can hoof it. But... really. Sense here. Police > talking about getting caller ID/talking to a councillor.
That's all so far in the life of Steph.
Oh. And she's acquired an almost totally unwelcome obsession with clothes. That's a pricey obsession, I'm telling you. D: I haven't exactly given in so very much to the urge but... yeah. Weird. Maybe it's a system upgrade.
...Bedtime now. Sally's gone and stopped frothing so much, so all is well.
[EDIT]: Right, so I didn't sleep right after. Whoops. I'm hungry. Someone feed me. D: I also wandered onto the Britney Spears website because I was linked to her "fuck yo bitches" poem-post. It's pretty. I like art. The bad photoshopping is pretty hilarious too. I also am impressed by her ego and how she's asking ~$600 for a signed photograph.
Well something's gotta pay the husband bills, I suppose.