Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on February 5, 2008

Well, hmmmm.

We were supposed to get The Snow of the Apocalypse tonight. It was supposed to start snowing at 6 PM and we were supposed to get 8-14 inches. I had hoped they were wrong since they are WRONG more than they are right. But then again, I was hoping they were RIGHT because then I could work from home in my pajamas. I don’t mind working. But if I can do it without showering and in my PJs, then sign me up.

But it is currently after 10 PM and there is no snow. Not a single flake. In fact, there isn’t much on the ground because the rain earlier in the night kind of melted all that. Which was all fine and good in my book. Because better to have 10 inches of snow fall on NO snow than to have 10 inches of snow to fall on 18 inches of snow.

So I turn on the news. Which, well, I don’t watch much news. That’s not my kind of “reality” television. But I know Chicago. And I know we are obsessed with the weather. And I know those stories lead the newscasts. Even over the election coverage. When this is The Snow of the Apocalypse. And I realize I start too many of my sentences with And.

So The Snow of the Apocalypse? It isn’t going to be starting until some time tomorrow morning and afternoon.

(Dammit Kelly! I can’t help it!)

So now I’m facing a dilemma. They are still calling for The Snow of the Apocalypse. Kind of. But we’re going to get about 8 inches or more and it is all going to fall during business hours. So when I get up, there will probably only be an inch or two on the ground. But as the day goes on, it is going to accumulate. And by the time I leave for home, we’re going to have a shitload of snow on the ground. And I’m not pleased about this. Because I don’t mind driving if there is an inch on the ground. But I DO NOT want to be stuck in traffic, having it take me two fucking hours to get home tomorrow night. I shall remind you I live seven miles from the office. SEVEN MILES. Last Thursday with about an inch or two on the ground, it took me well over an hour. This displeases me. It displeases me greatly.

I guess I’ll get my ass up for work. Unless I hear from someone before I hit the road. But I’m going to make it clear that I’m not happy. Because one, I hate driving in snow with stupid people, and two, it means I can’t wear my pajamas all day.

Hrrummpfff.

Editor’s note: With cranky pants on and panties in a bunch, after waking up on the wrong side of the bed, I went into work this morning. And it started snowing about 11. And we got to leave about 3:30. So I was in my PJs before 5 PM. Which isn’t so bad. And I didn’t have to shovel myself a parking spot. Although The Snow of the Apocalypse is just a snow storm. And we’ll maybe get 6 inches. Which is fine with me. And the weather people are WRONG. Again.

Category: Rants & Rants | 22 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on February 4, 2008

Lesson learned today: The internet gets angry when you talk about a new hair cut and show NO PROOF! I shall never make this mistake again. I will forever take photos right at the salon from here on out. Because let’s face it, that’s when it looks best anyway. Because I do not have four hands and a revolving head.

But that would be quite a party trick.

I shall make you wait no longer! Here, finally! Photos of my new hair.

Ooooh. Shiny!

From the other side

Close Up. Of my eyebrows that need a waxing.

My lip is fine. Thanks for asking. Even though I bit it at lunch this afternoon and thought I would pass out from the pain.

So, viola! There it is. I think I like it. I’m about 95 percent sold on the cut. It looked better as I styled it for this photo shoot. (Yes, I had to REDO my hair for these photos. Do you see how much I care that you have an unrealistic image of me?) I used the flat iron, which I think is kind of essential with this cut. Even with my mostly-stright hair. Especially if it is foggy and humid in early February in Chicago.

In other news, I gave blood tonight. It’s for Manic Mom’s contest. Have you heard about it? I probably should have publicized it more, but I forget things easily. It’s one of the side effects of mass quantities of alcohol.

You have until Feb. 14 to get out and donate! You! NOW! And you can win wonderful cash prizes! And they give you COOKIES!

And! You get a sticker! And people have to be nice to you!

So get out there and donate! Help save lives! And possibly win money!

And as a final public service announcement, for those of you in Super Tuesday states, be sure to get out and vote on Tuesday! I hear they give out stickers too. And who doesn’t love stickers? Stickers = freedom, people.

Category: All Things Blogging, Hairapy | 38 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on February 3, 2008

So the Giants won. Sorry to anyone who didn’t watch the game and may be living in a bubble. I just ruined it for you.

This was the first Super Bowl in a long time (maybe ever) where I couldn’t care less. I hated both teams so much, that I wished both could lose. And that both quarterbacks could have their legs snapped in half. Because Tom Brady dumped his hot pregnant girlfriend for a model. All the while forgetting that he is gay and that Gisele is just a beard.

But then I found myself rooting for the Giants and Eli. Well, not Eli. Just the Giants. Otherwise I’d spend half the night vomiting my chili back up into my toilet. And that is no way to spend Super Bowl Sunday.

And now football is over until the fall. And that is always a sad time for me. Well, at least until April when baseball season starts. And I can consume beer again under some sort of sports/social veil rather than just being a damn alcoholic.

~~~~~

So I ended up having a snow day on Friday. I don’t know if it was necessarily a snow day. I was told I didn’t have to come in. Not that I was planning on it anyway. We got about 10 inches and most of that came down in the early morning and continued on until the afternoon. It was a wet, sloppy mess in Chicago on Friday. And by the time I would have shoveled my car out of its parking spot, it would have been time to leave work anyway.

And it is currently snowing right now. So Monday morning should be fun times.

~~~~~

I made it to the doctor. And I got that bump thing taken out of my lip. So now I’ve got a few stitches and look like I went a few rounds with Lennox Lewis. Or like I got some lip injections. And my doctor is also a plastic surgeon, so maybe I just convinced him that while I was there…

No. Just a plugged mucus seal was removed. And a salivary gland or something. He was all proud of it and kept showing it to me. And since he was just the cutest thing, and I needed him to sew up the gash in my lip, I amused him. Plus I couldn’t stop staring dreamily into his eyes. He was so cute. It was like my own version of McSteamy.

He also told me that I have a deviated septum. My nose is crooked or something. So I was all “now I can get a nose job and just tell everyone I didn’t get a nose job, that I just had a deviated septum. You know, like all the celebrities do.” And then I laughed like a crazed hyena.

I learned this is not the right thing to say to an actual plastic surgeon. He said that all his nose job patients tell everyone that they had a deviated septum and that was what required surgery. But this was after he touched my nose and was all “you don’t need a nose job.”

I was waiting for him to add “because your nose is just cute as a button. It’s so cute that if you were a few years younger, I’d play the whole ‘got your nose’ game with you.”

He didn’t add that. I was a tad disappointed.

This was no way to get this cute plastic surgeon to marry me.

Which was a moot point when later, as he was making fun of my book, his nurse mentioned something about his wife.

But I was still sweet as pie to him because he was sticking a needle in my gum and cutting open my lip.

So I’m all good. I’m hoping my lip looks a little better tomorrow.

~~~~~

I got my hair done this weekend. I had her darken up the color since it was starting to fade. And then I told her that I maybe wanted a new cut. Maybe something shorter.

She gave me the Katie Holmes bob. Minus Suri’s bangs. I loved it when I left the salon. But now I’m not liking it so much. I think it makes my face look fat.

I’ll take some photos when I charge the batteries in my camera. But it seriously looks like this. It’s like a longer version of Posh’s bob. It’s like a reverse mullet. It’s longer in the front, shorter in the back.

Now I just need big sunglasses.

Pictures tomorrow. I promise. Because I’m sure you won’t sleep a wink until see my new haircut.

~~~~~ 

At what time is it appropriate to go downstairs and yell at the pot smokers that their band practice has to come to an end? Because the cats can’t even lay on the floor without being bounced up and down from all the bass. It’s nearly 10 PM and I’m about to brandish my broom handle at them like the crazy cat lady that I am.

Category: A Day in the Life of Me, Hairapy | 29 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on January 31, 2008

It’s snowing here. It has been snowing since this morning. The genius that is known as the weather people in Chicago called for a “light dusting” of snow today. And then a big snow storm to arrive this evening and mostly overnight. (Fun! Who hates winter?)

They were wrong. Because it has been snowing all day. And it was not a light dusting. And we’re supposed to get like 27 inches overnight. Or not. Because they have NO IDEA.

Thankfully, we got to leave a little early from work, which is nice when the snow is starting to accumulate on the side streets. (Chicago is a great city and really keeps those plows and salt trucks plugging away on the main streets. Which means EVERYONE takes the main streets. I brave the snow-packed side streets. Because I hate people. And traffic. In that order.) I drove very slowly home. And I realized that white, puffy flakes of frozen water falling out of the sky turns people into the biggest idiots in the world.

Halfway through the drive home, I was preparing to stop at a stop sign. This may seem like an easy task. But in a tiny Nissan Sentra with an inch or so of snow on the ground, it can lead to some sliding. I was preparing for a full stop (and not a customary pause and roll like normal) because there were pedestrians. And I really wasn’t trying to hit them. So I stopped. I fishtailed a little, but I stopped to let those fools cross. (It’s SNOWING! Stay inside with your child. Do NOT bring him outside!)

As I was sitting there, stopped, this fucking bitch is staring right at me and yelling at me to STOP. Which, let’s reiterate, I WAS stopped. It was like slow motion, her turning her head out her stupid fur-hooded jacket and mouthing, quite obnoxiously, to SSSSTTTTOOPPPPP. STOP! STOP!

So I jumped out of my car and gave her a roundhouse to the old noggin. Shut your pie hole, bitch!

Not really.

But because I hate stupid people and I wore my cranky pants all day today, just as she turned her back, I honked, waited for her to turn, and gave her the bird. I gave the finger to Idiot McStupidpants and her little kid, too. I don’t stop at trash talking 11-year olds with their grandparents. (Seriously, I need help. Or my own TV show.)

Not soon after that, I realized a co-worker was behind me. And probably noticed what childish and immature thing I just did. But I didn’t care. Because it was all I could do to not DRIVE OVER HER!

I finally got closer to home. I ran into some other stupid people who decided that because there was snow on the ground, it gave them full permission to drive down the middle of the street. Because that’s conducive to accidents in the snow, assholes.

Finally, I pulled down my street looking for a parking spot. Thankful that I got home a half hour earlier because the snow was starting to pile up, which means parallel parking gets a tad difficult. As I was driving down the street, some skank decided to STOP. In the middle of a ONE-WAY STREET. So NO ONE can get around. WHY? Why would someone do this? This is not acceptable. EVER.

Finally she pulled her damn head out of her ass and realized her douchebaggery and moved over a little. I pulled through, stopped, looked at her SQUARE IN THE EYES, and screamed profanities at her. Through my closed windows. But still. My looks can be quite powerful. Even in the dark. Well, that and the flailing hand gestures. Whyyyyy?

Then there was the stupid crossing guard. Ever since the Great Sink Hole of 2008, the City of Chicago has decided to put crossing guards/traffic cop-type people at certain intersections. Intersections with stop signs. Because apparently the sink hole ate our brains and we all forgot that that red octagon that says STOP actually means to STOP. Ess. Tee. Oh. Pee.

Well, this stupid crossing guard threw a little attitude my way. Which I did NOT APPRECIATE. Because I didn’t move fast enough through the intersection. Because, did I mention there was snow on the ground? And my tires we spinning quite a bit. And I did not want to die in a fiery car crash tonight. Lost is premiering for God’s sake.

I finally found a parking spot, after circling the block a few times. Not too far from the stupid woman who was STILL stopped in the almost-middle of the street. Which I let her know how idiotic it was, once I trudged through the snow on the way up to my apartment. Shouting at her in what I’m sure sounded like Swahili that you “shouldn’t park in the MIDDLE OF THE STREET!” Because stupid people need to know they are STUPID.

Thankfully, I came home to warm slippers. Which was quite helpful since I did not wear snow-appropriate shoes to work today since it wasn’t supposed to snow until the EVENING. And the giddy thoughts of Jack, Sawyer, Locke and the gang. And the fact that I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to hopefully get this stupid thing cut out of my lip which means that I can actually sleep in a bit because my appointment isn’t until 9:30.

I’ll need to remember these few of my favorite things as I shovel my car out of its parking spot tomorrow morning. That bitch better hope she isn’t still parked in the middle of the street. Otherwise she better duck as that pile of snow comes right off the end of my shovel right at her big, fat fucking stupid head.

/rant

Edited to add: Lost, WTF? I realize now why the producers do this nine-month lapse in between new episodes. Because we forgot how irritating you are. Why? Why do you make more questions roll around my head? Why do you do it? It makes me feel stupid. And me no likey. But I’ll be right back in front of the TV all engrossed next Thursday like this week never happened. You’re like crack that way.

Category: A Day in the Life of Me, Rants & Rants | 26 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on January 30, 2008

Well, apparently my little experiment went over quite well yesterday. I think that’s a comment record. It’s why I wish Dooce would have never opened comments up. Talk about an inferiority complex. Does she even read past comment 450? Who gets 950 comments? That’s ridonkulous.

But it has made me get to thinking, and it will be a weekly feature. And stay tuned for brackets. And the Gag-Inducing round.

So as I’m catching up on my feed reader (I was at just about 350 last night and now I’m back up over 400. You people write a lot), I noticed that there is a contest going on.

So The Hotfessional, Laurel and Sonia are having a contest where we are to share our worst travel stories. And since Hotfessional travels a lot and (I think) originally found me from a rant about Northwest Airlines, she is the expert. I’m pretty sure mine will win no prizes, but it is a story that is legendary in Kristabella circles. And at the very least, you’ll laugh out loud. (Quite a few of you have heard the in-person version, so please let me know how this stacks up.)

And if you don’t laugh? You apparently have no soul.

I always told myself I would save this story for the book I write one day. But seeing as I have, oh, about ZERO words written of this phantom book, I can no longer keep this story from the interweb.

(I’m pumping it up so that maybe I’ll get a sympathy vote or two. Or maybe I can promise to buy Hotfessional some wine next month when she’s here.)

Back when I was living in California, I came back to Chicago in the summer for all my vacations. Since no one ever came out to visit me. In six years. But that’s neither here nor there.

On a trip back home in 2000, I planned on going to a Cubs game. Since I only came home once in the summer (since summer in the NFL ends right after 4th of July), I ALWAYS went to at least one Cubs game. It was my one and only chance to hit up Wrigley. And drink Old Style.

This particular game was a weekday afternoon game. Since most of my friends have jobs, I coerced my friend Darcie into joining me at the game. Since she is a teacher and had nothing better to do. And one day away from the bon bons wasn’t going to kill her. The only stipulation was that she had some sort of thing she had to be at that evening around 6:30. Which was plenty of time to drink, drink, eat a hot dog and drink some more.

It was a really hot, humid summer afternoon in Chicago. We took the train down early to insure adequate drinking time. We took the train downtown, since we were both in the ‘burbs at the time. And bonus because my mom’s apartment was across the street from the train station. So I didn’t have to set foot into an automobile.

We drank and drank and drank pre-game at some local watering hole around Wrigley. There wheres and whens are of no interest in this story. Plus the Old Style has killed off those details from my brain. After plenty of libations at Murphy’s or Sluggers or some place with BEER, we headed over to the Mecca that is known as Wrigley Field. Our seats were not good. They were in one of the last few rows in the upper deck. And by this point, I was not caring. Except for the fact that it was a longer walk to the bathroom.

I’d like to point out that earlier in the morning day while at a bar, it had rained a little. For those of you used to humidity, this is normal. It get so God damned humid that it rains for a second, you love life again, and then POOF! The rain disappears as magically as it came. And now it is even muggier. If that is EVEN POSSIBLE!

So we get up to our seats and are actually thankful for the upper deck and the overhang. Because our seats are dry. So we become one with the green plastic chairs and immediately summon the beer guy. As any normal Cubs fan does. It’s hot, it is summer, I’m on vacation and do I really need an excuse to have a beer?

The game goes on. The beer vendor and I become quite close. He’s selling Old Style Export Light. I joke, LOUDLY, to everyone around us that “this stuff is so bad that they can’t get people to drink it here so they have to export it out of the country.” Or serve it to Cubs fans.

I’m much funnier in writing.

As you can see, the beers, they are a-flowing. At some point, as I’m sitting in my seat, I lean forward a bit, elbows on my knees, beer in hand. For SOME reason (humidity), the glass slips out of my hand and drops. All over the back of the girl in front of me.

I apologize profusely. Because well, beer at Wrigley isn’t cheap. And because, well, she might be 11 and she might be with her grandparents.

I move on and flag down another beer. The past is the past. It is time to move on. There are more beers to be had.

But Girl in front of me cannot. GET. OVER. IT. She keeps looking for napkins and not leaning back in her seat. Staying as far away from me and my beer as possible. Like I’d do that again.

So I get mad. Because I’m an irrational drunk person and have I mentioned it is HOT outside? And heat makes me cranky. So I begin TRASH-TALKING with a pre-teen girl at a baseball game with her GRANDPARENTS. Because this girl? She still had her rain coat on (which must have been like wearing a plastic suit in a sauna). So she wasn’t even WET. Roll your eyes at someone who CARES, Girly.

Which is what I decided needed to be said OUT LOUD to everyone around me. Nothing is awesomer than a drunk, fat girl harassing a kid. Let me tell you.

A few innings go by. I’m done with Attitude McEyeRollyPants and her relatives. I’ve moved on. To more beers. At this time, I realize, it is time to use the facilities. Because I need to drain the tank. So I head down the stairs to the bathroom. Note to people who have never been to Wrigley before: there aren’t handrails in the upper deck. I think they do it on purpose to watch drunk people fall.

I think you know where I’m going with this.

On my way down the stairs, I slip on grime that has been there since the last time the Cubs won the pennant that has gotten “moist” with the humidity and spilled beer, and slide, on my ass, down some stairs. I bounce back up like a champion and look to my section. “I’m OK,” I wave to them. They wave laugh back.

I marvel to myself, on my way to the bathroom, about my new-found celebrity and I think I quite like it. I am the star of that section. They wouldn’t have nearly as much fun if I wasn’t there. Who else would have made witty comments about beer?

Still smiling, I relieve myself and head back to our seats. But not before stopping off for another beer. Because it’s almost last call and I haven’t changed one bit. I still try to cram as much beer into one baseball game as humanly possible. Plus, I know there will be no partying at local drinking establishments after the game because Darcie has to get back. And we need to get on the train right after the game.

So the Cubs win. They come from behind, or something. It is all very exciting. I high-five it with everyone that comes in my path. Yes, I was that fan who was asking for high fives like it was my job.

We make it back to the EL and head on downtown to get back on the train. At this point, it’s about 4:30 or so in the afternoon. On a weekday. During rush hour. We make it onto the red line and I manage to stay awake long enough to get us to Union Station. We have to run once we’re in the vicinity because we can’t miss our train. And I’m moving a tad slowly like I’m underwater, what with all the alcohol I’ve consumed. Add to that all the heat and humidity and the Export Light that is mixing around in my belly in a bad way.

Finally, with much running and tugging from Darcie, we both get on the train back out to suburbia. Since it is rush hour and the train is PACKED, we aren’t sitting together. I’m fine with that because at this time, all I want to do is sleep on the shoulder of the stranger next to me.

And then the train starts moving. And I realize there is a reason why Old Style exports that shit out of the country. And why 13 beers in the sun and heat and humidity is never a good idea.

At this point, I decide my best course of action is to make it the bathroom. It’s best for all parties involved on a PACKED train. I find said bathroom and I close the door and lock myself in.

I will spare you the disgusting details of this commuter train bathroom, but let’s just say it probably hadn’t been cleaned since the Carter administration. But I feel I’m going to be sick and as the considerate drunk I am (when not spilling beer ALL OVER YOU) I plan to do it in a place that already smells like it’s been vomited on twenty times over.

I do my business and decide it is time to get back out into the main cabin. I am only going about 25 miles out of Chicago, so this train ride isn’t more than an hour. And Darcie gets off at an earlier stop than I do, and, even in my drunk state, I know I need to make sure she gets off at the right place and arrives safely at her destination.

So I pull myself up off the floor of the bathroom, quite a feat in itself, and move towards the door. I unlock the door and give it a tug.

Nothing.

“Heh heh heh,” I giggle to myself out loud. “It must still be locked. Heh.”

So I move the latch back the other way and PULL!

Nothing.

PULL!TUG!PULL!TUG!PULL!TUG!

FLIP LATCH! FLIP LATCH! FLIP LATCH!

Nothing. FAIL.

At this point, I’m out of options (clearly they’ve ALL been exhausted). So what do I do? I come up with the best solution to this predicament. I decide to take a nap. On the toilet seat. In the DIRTY BATHROOM!

What seems like hours later, I wake up and I hear them call out a stop right before Darcie’s. And I decide that I must get out of this bathroom. NOW! I have no choice! I can’t be stuck in here forever! Think of the diseases!

So I go about my routine again.

PULL!TUG!PULL!TUG!PULL!TUG!

FLIP LATCH! FLIP LATCH! FLIP LATCH!

Nothing. FAIL. Times 2.

But this time, I mean business. I put my foot up on the wall to brace myself and pull with ALL. MY. MIGHT.

FAIL!

FAIL!

FAIL!

Finally the sea parts and in a rare moment of drunken clarity, a light bulb goes off in my head. And I realize “hey, I think I’ve got it!”

So I unlock the door and then this time? I PUSH.

VIOLA! The door opens. And two women just stare at me, right outside the bathroom, no doubt wondering what the hell I had just been doing in there for the last 40 minutes. And how on Earth I was making all that racket.

When I make it back to my seat next to Darcie, she says “I was wondering what happened to you.” But clearly not enough to check on me.

The train stops, Darcie gets off at her stop and I go on my merry way all alone. I make it to my stop, get off, walk across four lanes of rush-hour traffic on a busy street, making sure to follow the SOBER people who would hopefully not lead me to my death, and head back to my mom’s place. And proceed to pass out on the couch, even before she’s made it home from work for the day. And I stay in that position, mostly, until the next morning.

So as you can see, traveling horror stories don’t always involve delayed flights, lost luggage or crying babies. Sometimes they are horrible drunken journeys between the rails with the fear of dying in a Ebola-infested bathroom that you’ve seemingly locked yourself in. And all logical thought left behind at the ballpark hours before.

So, ladies, where’s my prize?

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, A Day in the Life of Me, All Things Blogging, Hooch Hilarity | 19 Comments »
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