Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on February 12, 2007

First, I would like to point out that Yahoo! blows. I’m officially taking away your exclamation point, bastards. (Sorry Kim, I know you like work for them and shit.) So you can have more than one e-mail address and they all go to the same inbox. In the words of the Guinness guys – Brilliant! Except, it never seems to work for me. And I ask the help desk, which takes THREE F’ING DAYS TO ANSWER, and they give me nothing. They basically tell me to do what I’ve already been doing, like I’m some type of retard.

What am I telling you this for? Because I set up an e-mail addy just for this blog. (It’s on the about page.) So in case some award-winning author or publisher ever wanted to contact me about writing a novel so I never have to work? Well, I wouldn’t have gotten the e-mail! So fuck you Yahoo. You’re on notice. I switched to Gmail. So if any of you want to e-mail, my new “blog” e-mail address is kristabella.wordpress (at) gmail (dot) com. And I do it that way to escape the spammers. Which there are a lot of. WordPress rocks and blocks them. And doesn’t make you all have to fill out those weird gobbeldy gook thingies to post a comment like Blogger. What the hell is gubrtsfy anyway?

And speaking of Blogger. (Dude, this so wasn’t meant to be an ALL OUT RANT for the love of Christ.) Why did they change their format and shit for commenters? So because I’m not on Blogger, my blog URL doesn’t show up when I comment. I love my Blogger friends, but please, I comment for traffic. What the fuck?

Apparently I did have something else to write about. Anyway, today Amalah like tagged the internet. And is making us all do this Six Things meme. And she’s all powerful. She is Queen of Everything. So I’m going to do it. Even though I’m pretty sure it isn’t going to be easier than just writing a post. (And Scarlet did a similar thing awhile back. But didn’t tag me. Didn’t tag anyone. And I thank her immensely for it. I don’t back down from a challenge. OK, maybe I do. Because I’m not a meme fan.)

Here goes. Six weird things about me. If only everything about me wasn’t weird…

1) When I was a kid, I was a total China doll. I broke my leg once, my foot once, my ankle once and my finger once. The first one came when I was 5 when my brother was teaching me how to slide tackle in soccer and slide-tackled his three-years-older-powerful-manly-leg into my shin. And snapped it like a twig. Cast number one. (He still, to this DAY, claims it was a rock between his manly leg and my shin that caused the damage. This is why he’s an engineer, NOT a doctor.) The second one was playing Jaws. Which is a game I thought everyone played as a kid. But apparently only kids in the Chicagoland area. Where you put two jump ropes parallel and move them farther and farther apart, making a kind of “ocean” which contains “Jaws” which you have to jump over to save your life. (Hey! It made sense as a third grader.) I made the jump. But broke five bones in my foot in the process. Cast number two. I broke my finger in eighth grade. At basketball practice. A girl rolled the ball to me in a drill. Jammed that pinkie finger right up. She rolled the ball to me. Rolled! That was just a splint. My finest moment was as a senior in high school. (I think. Maybe junior year?) We (and by we, I mean a bunch of high school-aged teenagers) rented out Discovery Zone for the night. It was one of those indoor places with the ball pits and slides, etc. Yep. We rented it out. For the night. We were nerds. So I had just gotten there and was like a pig in slop. All the slides! And the ball pits! Weeeeeeee! I went down one slide and got up. Simple enough. That’s how everyone else does it. As I took a step, I totally f’ing turned my ankle. It swelled up like a pregnant lady’s belly. Turns out? My tendon slipped off the bone and when it came back in place, chipped a small piece of the ankle bone. From walking. Yep. And that one was the most painful. Cast number three.

(Am I done yet?)

2) Continuing on the tradition of medical mishaps, I swallowed a calculator battery in the eighth grade. (I swear, my luck sometimes.) We had a substitute in English that horrible day. I was sitting there, talking, of course, when I felt something land in my mouth and slide the fuck down my throat. I think I tried to go in and “get it’ with my fingers. Yeah, like that was going to work. I immediately yelled “what was that?” Thinking everything BUT a calculator battery. Turns out I have perfect timing. Some douche chucked a calculator battery across the room and I was lucky enough to have it get in my belly. If only it was high school in the days of the TI-82. No way I could swallow a AAA battery if I tried. I can’t even swallow vitamins. I attempted to go to the nurse’s office but thought “what harm can a calculator battery do?” So I took a drink of water and went back to class. (Was dedicated student.) A few periods later, Ms. Monahan freaked out and sent me back down. (I still don’t know how she found out.) Everyone freaked out and called poison control because “Oh my God! What if the battery acid leaks out?” Me: “Battery acid? Fuckity fuck fuck!” I ended up in the emergency room, they took some X-Rays and we waited for it to pass. It did. And I’m fine. Did I mention the boy I had the BIGGEST crush on was the one who threw it? No? Yeah, adds to the embarrassment.

3) I love the Golden Girls. I watch re-runs of it on Lifetime all the time. And I’m convinced that Bea Arthur is really a man.

4) I gave my high school drivers education teacher a rock for a gift. From Rochester, New York. My dad was driving back to Rochester to pick up my brother from college near the end of my sophomore year and I wanted to tag along. I had to miss a crucial driving test or something in class. But I was a model driver and didn’t need the class time. The girl driving around with the parking brake on for an entire hour-long class, she’s the one that needed the help. (She’s getting married this weekend, by the way. My friend Shelly is standing in the wedding. I hope it’s long-sleeved, since it’s going to be 12.) Anyway, so he let me go to NY with my dad but told me he wanted a gift. And he felt really bad when I got back and gave him a gift. He was just kidding, he said. Until I gave him the rock. He might still have it. He had it still, three years later, when he had my sister in class.

5) Speaking of excellent driving skills, I drove through a fence when I was 15. I still had my permit and my brother, in a moment of stupidity, let me drive his baby. His 1973 Ford Gran Torino. The Starsky & Hutch car. It was a beaut. It was summer-ish and it had just rained a little bit. I went to turn the corner near my dad’s house and I lost control a little bit. And panicked. And was all “which way do I turn the wheels when you’re fishtailing? Opposite? Same direction?” Meanwhile, I never took my foot off the fucking gas pedal. I jumped the curb and went right through their fence. The pole of the fence. Which was cemented in. No damage to the Torino. But I’ll never forget sitting in the driver’s seat in their back yard. I thank my brother to this day (thanks Mike!) for taking the heat for that one. Now all I get is speeding tickets.

6) I was in love with Alberto Tomba, the Italian skier, during the 1992 and 1994 Winter Olympics. Like insanely obsessed. I may, may, have clipped articles about him and made a little scrapbook. Oh, my, am such a nerd. I only put that out here because my family threatens to tell people about it. Like future husbands. So THERE! I was weird and Tomba-obsessed during my youth. He was like the Jim McMahon of skiing. Or Bode Miller. Except he won medals.

Well, that’s that. Writing it all out on one page really makes me realize how batshit crazy I am. Crazytown. Population = one.

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