Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on June 22, 2008

So Saturday was the shower/bachelorette party for my friend Jenny. You know, the one where I ranted about presents and having to buy people underwear?

I ended up getting her a cute tank thing with matching panties. At the very last minute because I am the LAZIEST PERSON ON THE PLANET. Seriously. I went to Macy’s right by the party. I bought her gift after the party had already technically started. Because I was too busy falling asleep on the couch at 7 PM on Friday night to be bothered to go get the gift earlier. Because I suck.

The party was a lot of fun. Mostly because I decided that I was going to drink a gallon of vodka. That was my only option. There was some fruity drinks, vodka and that was about it. I should have run to the 7-11 across the street and bought a bottle of wine for myself since Kristabella + hard alcohol = drunken debauchery that quite often includes vomiting and/or getting hugs from cab drivers.

On top of the trough of vodka I consumed, I hardly ate. They had some good food and I had things to eat, but not a good enough base for a magnum sized bottle of Skyy vodka.

We played our fair share of wedding shower games. I vowed AGAIN to have none of that at my wedding shower. Unless the game is See If You Can Drink More Vodka Than Kristin. And I challenge you all to this game ANY DAY. I will vow to kick your ass and then continue to put pack the vodka and Diet Cokes well after you’ve quit and given up. I go big or go home. I go big and go home drunk.

The party was at an apartment downtown with an awesome rooftop deck with views of the lake and Millennium Park. I drank more vodka up there and I brought my new camera and tested it out on real people and not cats.

The party started at around 4. I got there about 5. Around 8 or 9 (I have no idea. If I didn’t have photos from the evening, I wouldn’t even had known I was there) we decided to head out on the town. I know we took a cab (see above about the camera, because I took pictures in the cab) and I think we went to the Park Hyatt. What I DO remember is that I didn’t have anything to drink there. Because THEY WOULDN’T LET ME. The bartender refused to serve me. REFUSED! (That has never happened to me, surprisingly.) Probably because it was before 10 PM and I was swaying like there was a nine-piece orchestra playing in my head.

Although, this is what Michelle told me. She could have been lying. Either way, I was quite happy for it this morning.

At some point, after I wobbled around A LOT because I could not stand in one place without losing my balance, we left. I got a ride home with Carrie, which I was thankful for because I didn’t want another cabbie encounter. And I can imagine with as wasted as I was, it wouldn’t have ended well.

While in the car, I remember looking at the clock and it said 10:19. And I thought, “oh, that’s not the clock. Carrie is listening to 101.9.” And then the radio/clock changed and I realized it WAS ONLY 10 PM! How was I THIS drunk and Weeble-Wobbly and it wasn’t even after midnight? When did I become OLD and forget to pace myself?

So I got home, ate some string cheese and got ready for bed. I somehow was in a right enough mind to change into pajamas, take out my contacts and brush my teeth. Let me tell you, this is also a feat when I’m stone cold sober.

I passed out and woke up around 9 Sunday morning. I think it was raining and I needed to close the windows. As I went back to bed I touched my forehead. And it was sore. And I was like “did I hit my head on something?” I didn’t actually remember knocking my head on anything. I figured I’d go to the bathroom mirror to check it out.

And then it hit me. As I was brushing my teeth drunkenly the night before, I went down to get some water to rinse out my mouth. As I went down, I SMACKED my head on the medicine cabinet. SMACKED. And this is what I ended up with.

I should have a fun time explaining that at work on Monday.

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, A Day in the Life of Me, Hooch Hilarity | 39 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on June 18, 2008

Did you guys know I start a lot of sentences with and? I didn’t realize it until I started writing for Betty Confidential and got my edited pieces back with all the Ands taken out. I’m like a fucking indecisive kid in a candy store. “I want gum drops. And I want pixie sticks. And I want wax lips. And I want candy cigarettes. And I want vodka-filled chocolate. And…”

So then one time at work I was all “I start all my sentences with and.” And my boss was all “I’ve never noticed that. Ever, actually.” If you could have seen me backpedal out of that one, boy howdy would you have been impressed. Because I don’t do it at work. Ever actually. She was right.

That was so not the point of this post. And by the way (I did it again right there), trying to submit posts to BlogHer for their open mic thing is really difficult when 99 percent of your posts start off with me rambling about baubles or stupid Yahoo! mail for a half-page before even getting to THE POINT. Kind of takes away from the funny. But I’m hoping they will move past that and let me just read when the funny starts.

And I know you all just said “AND WHEN WILL THAT BE????”

And now I just keep doing it on purpose.

Anyhootie, tonight I had my first appointment with my new therapist. I picked her randomly off a page of therapists that were close to my house. And I really like her. She seems very cool and she just let me ramble on like an asshole for a whole 45 minutes before cutting me off and telling me “hey! I do have other patients.”

And I’m all “oh, but I forgot to tell you about the one time when my dad hung up on me. Oh! And I have two cats! And I’ll have some Swedish Fish! And some Milk Duds.”

It was good. I wouldn’t say I walked out of there feeling good. I mean, I basically put my whole life and all the batshit crazy issues out on the table ALL AT ONCE. And after seeing all that, it is amazing I’m able to get dressed every day and not have to wear a bib from the drool.

But! I do like her. She was easy to talk to. (That is not saying much, my throw pillows are easy to talk to. So is the one-eyed man on the bus. Even though I’m not quite sure who he is looking at.) I told her about getting fired for the blog. She laughed. She thinks I’m wacky from living in fear of someone from work finding it. She called me honey a lot. I think she thought I was younger.

She also told me there’s depression there. She’s not thinking I need to go on medication just yet, she needs a few more sessions. But it is there. And noticeable.

I’m not surprised. More and more, I feel that way. I don’t feel nearly as bad as my lowest point the last time, but I almost started crying for no reason in her office. And that’s not normal. I went to therapy before for almost a year and I don’t think I cried once.

So I’m going to start to see her weekly for the time being. And I’m going to try to get to the bottom of this and work through all these issues that I’m having. It is nice to be able to talk to someone again. So I’m glad I finally called and got in.

And in the meantime, I’m going to stop showering, wear mismatched clothes and speak in tongues to channel the crazy.

Which is also known as a “typical weekend” in Kristabellikstan.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, Therapee | 37 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on June 17, 2008

So this coming weekend, I was invited to an “Uncensored” shower for a friend of mine.

First thought: R. Kelly won’t be there will he? I know how GOLDEN his “uncensored” showers are.

Second thought: This is going to make my prudish self uncomfortable. I just know it.

My friend Jenny, the Chicago Woman of the Year Finalist, is getting married in August. I got this invitation in the mail from one of her friends, I assumed, and marked the day on my calendar. Supposedly the whole “uncensored” part is supposed to be naughty and you’re supposed to bring bedroom clothes as a gift. I got that much from it listing her bra and panty size on the invitation.

The shower starts at 4 PM and afterwards we’re going out for a pseudo-bachelorette party. Or girls night on the town. Something.

Let me just state one thing, I hate showers. Of all kind. (Even the ones I’m forced to take in the morning because society tells me I’m better without a funk.) I realize they are a tradition and look, when I get married (I said WHEN! The positive outlook, it returns!) I plan to have a large shower. And I plan on not buying any pots, pans or mixing bowls until that time.

But I will not make any of you sit through me opening that shit. I will take your presents, give you food and booze and then I will send you on your merry way. And you will get a very nice thank you note from Bacon in your mailbox. The opening the gifts thing? Hate. Heat-of-17,000-suns hate. Shakes-fists-at-the-heavens hate.

Luckily, I’ve been able to skirt so many of the important bridal showers in my good friends’ lives. Both of my best friends, Lori and Julie, lived out of state and I just did my bridesmaidy duty from afar. With moral support. And GLEE! at not having to sit through any bridal showers.

So needless to say, I was not overjoyed at this idea of going to Jenny’s shower. But she is a good friend, as am I, so I RSVP’d. I figured it said COCKTAILS on the invitation so I would be well equipped.

Today, while exchanging emails with my friend Michelle, I got some details on this “uncensored” BUY LINGERIE FOR THE BRIDE bridal shower. The woman throwing it lives in California (which I gathered from the RSVP phone number she left on the “uncensored” invitation. Don’t get me started on the fact that she didn’t leave an email address to RSVP to. Does she NOT know my avoidance of the phone, especially when it involves CALLING STRANGERS?) This woman isn’t able to attend the wedding because she’s the luckiest fool ever and gets to go work the Olympics in China. And I am not jealous AT ALL.

So she’s throwing this get together because she’s close with Jenny and wants to do something nice for her and feels bad that she can’t stand in Jenny’s wedding because hello? OLYMPICS IN CHINA! PEACE OUT!

First thought: That’s very nice of her.

Second thought: I hate her already.

Third thought: I wonder what kind of booze she’s going to have.

So I ask Michelle “do I actually have to buy UNDERWEAR for her? Because I’m a prude and DO NOT WANT. Could I totally be the asshat who brings spatulas and cookie sheets to an ‘uncensored’ shower?” Michelle tells me that she and another girl are planning on throwing Jenny a mixing bowls/mixer/gravy boat typical shower in July.

First thought: Good. Because I like to buy kitchen utensils in my spare time.

Second thought: Hold the fuck up, TWO SHOWERS?

I know. I’m a selfish whore. She’s getting married. You are supposed to get gifts. But then my other friend Carrie was all “this is a bachelorette party gift, not a normal shower gift.”

First thought: Oh, OK.

Second thought: WAIT A COTTON PICKIN’ MINUTE! Since when do we buy bachelorette party gifts that are not lots and lots of booze?

All the bachelorette parties I’ve been to have been gift-free. I’m a purist and the gifts should be a BRIDE hat or a Suck for A Buck shirt. Or penis memorabilia, if you’re into that kind of stuff. (Note: I AM NOT.) The whole idea is to hang out with your girlfriends, have a good time and get so fucking shitfaced you don’t remember doing that jello shot off some dude’s midsection. (OK, that was my Saturday night.)

I am poor. I love my friends, I love giving gifts, but it is not within my means to be buying all these things. And I also like to fucking complain a lot.

I know we will all have a fun time. Even though I’ll be uncomfortable around all the bras, panties and naughty bedroom wear. Which is why I plan to drink all sorts of “uncensored” drinks.

And I also just wish I was on the ball enough to give here these. But I dropped the ball and am not paying $20 shipping for a thong.

Maybe for shower number two.

Category: All Things Blogging, Rants & Rants | 42 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on June 16, 2008

My creativity and ability to write anything has completely escaped me right now. And I feel the need to push yesterday’s post and all it’s woe-is-me-ness down the page.

Thank you for all your comments and emails. It meant a lot. I was having a bad day, a fat-slash-ugly day, and I just hit a low. And I think we all have those days. Lately I’ve been having more of them than normal. But I’ve resolved to quit my bitching and my complaining and do something about it! I can eat better and work out some and make myself feel better about how I look.

I feel like the funny has been zapped out of me today. I’m watching The Mole and the snarkyness has left the building and I can’t even properly make fun of the guy that is anorexic. Or say anything more than how much I hate the host, even though he used to be a sportscaster in Chicago. Or how when this show ends, I’m going to be as blindsided with who the mole is as I am with EVERY episode of Scooby Doo. Because I never guess that it is Old Man Taylor, the grave digger, who got foiled by those meddling kids.

I could tell you about how I’m STILL not done at the dentist with this fucking tooth. They took the molds for my 2 crowns and fucked one up. And then didn’t tell me before I went in, you know like just picking up the phone and telling me, and just figured I would give up 2 hours of my morning instead of the 30 minutes they had told me it would take. Like I don’t have a JOB to go to.

So now, instead of only one more appointment with these fucking asshats, I now have THREE more. And I just found out that that I’m going to be paying a shitload out of my pocket because I reached my maximum for the year. And I think as retaliation for their idiocy, I may just pay them $20 a month for the rest of my life until I pay it off. Because I want them to know how it feels TO BE FUCKED AROUND WITH.

Plus, once I have my last appointment, I will never be going back there AGAIN.

And that will be a good, good day. As good as the day I figure out the ending to Scooby Doo before they pull the mask off.

Category: All Things Blogging, Dental DAMN | 19 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on June 15, 2008

I had this whole post planned to write today for Father’s Day. But then I realized I didn’t really want to be all Debbie Downer and ruin a special day for people who grew up with great dads. I figured most people wouldn’t care to read about my dead father who was a bit of a douchebag. Plus it is a post I’ve wanted to write for a really long time, but I just haven’t had the time or the energy to actually sit down and do it. Mostly because I’m afraid of what will come out as I type. And also, it is hot in my house and adding hot tears running down my face is no way to spend a Sunday evening.

So instead, I’m going to tell you about my boring weekend, in which I realized I am fat and I really need to stop with the excuses and just start eating better and working out.

The weekend was actually pretty uneventful. I got like one-third of the things done that I wanted to get accomplished this weekend. Thankfully, a few of the things I didn’t get around to involved spending large sums of money, so it is OK.

Saturday night I met a friend out at a bar on the South side. I work with her and we’ve been to this townie bar quite a few times because every time we go, we always have a blast and run into some of the most interesting characters in Chicago.

We usually meet another co-worker there who has been going there for so long she literally knows everyone there. She went to school with the owner.

On Saturday nights this bar has karaoke. Last time we were there, there was a whole mess of 20 year olds in the bar, having some sort of neighborhood reunion. We had a lot of fun looking at the pretty, young eye candy.

This past Saturday wasn’t much different. There were a lot of the locals, but there was also a bunch of young kids. And by young, I mean they looked like they just turned 21. (Which we learned later was in fact true when a guy told us he was 21 and three weeks. And here I was under the impression that we stopped counting our ages in weeks when we hit like three months old.)

The best thing about this place is the people watching, the great pizza and the cheap drinks. We always have a good time.

This Saturday night, I decided that I was going to give the karaoke a shot. I had enough liquid courage flowing through my bloodstream and the group seemed like a good group.

I decided on my stand by karaoke song, which is Baby Got Back. And, as always, I sang the hell out of the song. Until about halfway through where I get winded from SCREAMING into the mic and not really breathing and then saying a lot of words strung together.

I made the other ladies in my party get out on the dance floor and shake what their mamas gave them. I don’t do this song without a back-up group. It was awesome and everyone was dancing and it really got the party started.

So we spent the rest of the night dancing and drinking and chatting. It was great. At one point, one of the young-ins was bouncing up and down like he was on a pogo stick. He was literally bouncing off the walls. I decided that this kid was clearly high on something other than life. So I asked him.

Me: Excuse me young man, are you on cocaine?

Him: No. No drugs. I just love Saturday!

Me: Um, OK crazy druggie man.

As is par for the course, I didn’t get hit on. I actually had a bit of a semi-drunken break down about it after I got home. (At 4 AM!) Because the one lady I was with, who is older than I am, got hit on by a guy almost half her age. They exchanged numbers and I’m sure she’ll never go out with him because he’s too young. But he seemed nice.

Oh, I lie. I did get hit on. By a short, fugly man with a porn star moustache and a comb over. He FOLLOWED me out the door when we left to tell me, in a drunken slurring kind of way, that I was the most real and genuine person he’s ever seen. And that I don’t put on a facade or anything. (Which, he pronounced fuh-cod.) And all I could say was “thank you.” And then I walked ran away across four lanes of traffic.

Driving home I started wondering if this is what I’m destined for – taxis drivers and unattractive drunks in bars. Since those seem to be the only people who hit on me or approach me. Like I’m some ugly leper with only one eyeball.

Do I not get hit on because people aren’t looking for real and genuine? Like I’m too real right off the bat that I’m not even attractive or worth pursuing? Or are the only people who see this “realness” CREEPY GUYS THAT I DON’T WANT TO DATE?

Normally, it doesn’t bother me. I mean, especially at this bar where a lot of the regulars are older than my mom and don’t usually have all their teeth. But something about last night, where I was already feeling horribly self-conscious because I’ve put on so much weight and I’m unattractive and no one will even want to talk to me at BlogHer, made it a hundred times worse.

Now, I don’t actually think I will meet my future mate in a bar. I mean, those things generally don’t end with long-term commitments. I KNOW this. But last night, with the booze flowing, it was a BIG DEAL. And I was upset about it. Because I want what all women on the verge of spinsterhood want – no more cats and someone to settle down with. I want my happy ending. And sometimes when I’m already in that lower point, it doesn’t help when short people who don’t know it is fuh-sahd are my only options.

So don’t worry, I’m not going all melodramatic on your asses (although,  so much for no Debbie Downer post). I am sure we all go through these low times in our lives.

And if you don’t struggle with things like this, don’t comment and tell me any of this because I will punch you in the face through the computer screen with my fat fist.

Category: A Day in the Life of Me, Spinsterville Here I Come | 36 Comments »
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