Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on January 8, 2008

I blew my fuse this morning. No, I don’t mean like I finally had it up to here (waves hand a good six inches above head) with the cat puke and lost my shit on the cats and threw one out the window. I mean, I literally blew my fuse. In the kitchen. Apparently if you try to run the microwave, coffee maker and toaster all at the same time, your house? It blowed up.

So since the coffee was only halfway through, and Lord help us all if I don’t have my coffee (you’d see a blown fuse, fo sho), I moved the coffee pot to any outlet that would work. Outlet by the kitchen table? No. Outlet by litter box? No. Probably for the best. And yes, I was that desperate. Outlet in bathroom? YES! We have drippity drip!

When it finished, I unplugged it, moved it back to the kitchen and made my coffee. And was content with coffee and a soggy English muffin. Small victories. And all I was trying to do was to cook some eggs to put on my English muffin with a slice of cheese for a makeshift Egg McMuffin. Is there no justice? A girl needs her protein! And why the fuck isn’t the fuse box in my apartment? I have to call the office, which doesn’t open until 9, to have them flip the switch. Lest you wonder why I just didn’t do that myself.

I made sure to unplug everything so that I didn’t come home to a burnt down house because the microwave was nuking the world and the cats, one by one.

And that is how my day started today. And that’s pretty much the highlight.

I was exhausted for like 98% of today. I think I had a blown fuse. Somewhere in the lower quadrant of my right quadricep. Because I started back up at the gymnasium yesterday. And I decided it was time to start back up with the running. Because I’d like to do the Shamrock Shuffle again this year. But being the asshole I am, I decided to go overboard with the running. Acting like I’d actually run to more than just the bathroom in the last 10 months.

So I was tired. And it didn’t help that I decided to dick around on the computer until almost midnight after all the running. That is no way to recover after exercising. I mean, I need at least 7 hours of sleep when I sit around and do nothing. Add a whole lot of activity to the mix and girl needs to get some damn shut-eye. Tell this to the part of my brain that decided to transfer all my music from the one computer to the laptop. At 11 o’clock at night.

And then on the way home from work, to the gymnasium, I almost hit a guy. No, not a guy in a car. An actual pedestrian. Walking across the street. Doing his part for the environment and taking the train.

The best part? I almost hit the same dude twice. TWICE. At the same intersection!

I was turning right onto a busy thoroughfare (that is a word that needs to be used more often), so I was looking left to make sure I could turn. So I try to turn, completely oblivious to anything happening to the right of me. I can’t turn. Too many cars. I inch forward. That was apparently the first time I almost hit the dude. I never saw him. So I can’t be sure. But since I couldn’t turn, I just stayed there, head stuck looking to the left like my first-born’s life depended on it, looking for an opening. Must. Not. Look. Right. At all.

And then, finally! An opening! I start to turn. And then I see him. The Shadow. Who was wearing ALL DARK COLORS on a RAINY NIGHT. Standing right there on the corner. Trying to cross. Trying to get home to his plate of lard and fried cheese. Carrying his BLACK umbrella. Thank God for the iPod headphones. That was how I spotted him. He looked kind of like this. Only fatter. He apparently wasn’t on his way to the gymnasium.

But The Shadow had a face. And that face was not happy that I almost just crippled him. Twice. I could tell by the flailing arms and wild gestures that he had some sort of attachment to his legs and feet.

So I just wave the sorry wave and turn. He can cross after I turn. These openings aren’t there forever. It’s rush hour, silly. And you’re not getting wet. You have an umbrella. You won’t melt.

Actually, I got mad at him. For appearing out of nowhere and not wearing light colored clothing. With reflectors. Or at the very least, some sort of glow stick. I yelled “Oh calm down Shadow! Clearly I wasn’t paying attention! And you still have your lower extremities!”

Blocks later, I said to my brother (who I was on the phone with this whole time) “I almost hit a guy. Twice.” I felt kind of bad. So I’m glad I didn’t hit him. Because I already did that once.*

My driving prowess didn’t end there. As I was driving home from my gym (oh, did I mention? I went to the gym tonight.), I turned on a one-way street going the WRONG WAY. And not only did I simply turn the wrong way, I actually drove the wrong way down the one-way street. Like head on into a car. And kept going. And figured that the three inches next to the car going the OPPOSITE WAY that I was about to crash into HEAD ON, was plenty of room for a whole other lane. Clearly, I was wrong. And not paying attention. Again. Must have been all those endorphins.

I quickly three-point turned it out of there, in a very un-Austin Powers-like fashion, and got back going the right way. And finally made it home. To a house that was blown-fuse free. So I could use my toaster, microwave and coffee maker to my hearts content. Just not all at the same time. 

_________________________________

*It was back in college. As I was heading to class in the morning. The guy was on a bicycle. Same situation where I was turning right and was looking left. Completely ignoring anything that happened over my right shoulder. And I saw an opening, went for it, and dude went right over my hood. I never saw him. (I’m sensing a pattern here.)

The funny thing is, he got the ticket. Because he’s supposed to ride with traffic. So as to not get hit at an intersection. And I had an excuse to miss the entire first day of second semester.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, A Day in the Life of Me | 19 Comments »
Tags:

Posted By Kristabella on January 7, 2008

I was sitting at lunch this afternoon with a friend. (In the conference room. We both bring our lunch. Because we’re poor. And are trying to eat better. And I’m down 6.5 pounds! Yay!) And she was mentioning how she had a hard time sleeping last night because once she wakes up, her mind starts racing and she’s can’t relax. So I say “well, ever since I was hypnotized, I…”

“WHAT?!?!” she asks.

Oh. Right. Yeah. I was hypnotized once. By Flip Orley. He’s a comic hypnotist. I paid money to see him and I ended up being on stage as part of the show.

Back in college, some friends and I went to see Flip at the Tempe Improv. We just heard he would be funny and it would be something fun to do besides the same old shit of movies and drinking and classes. Having never seen a comic hypnotist, or any kind of hypnotist for that matter, I was pretty excited. Mostly because I thought it was a load of hooey. And that it was all for show. I wore a shirt that said SKEPTIC with a big arrow pointing up at my head.

Before the show starts, he asks for volunteers. Anyone who wants to try to be hypnotized is welcome on the stage. See, because not everyone can be hypnotized. It’s all about being completely vulnerable and a big, fucking sucker or some nonsense. And he assures the audience that he won’t make you do anything that would make you uncomfortable or that is humiliating. He wasn’t going to make you dance naked and screw the guy next to you. That’s at the X-Rated Hypnotist. And Flip, he is legit. Too legit to quit.

So my friend Ang makes me go up there. I literally have NO desire to be hypnotized, let alone be hypnotized in front of a bunch of strangers. Not that I could be hypnotized, since hello, skeptic, right here. (points to self) But Ang can be quite persuasive.

We head up on stage with about 50 other people from the audience. He tells us that less than half will actually fall prey. I know, right then, that I will NOT be one of those. Am strong-willed. And not an idiot. Clearly.

We all assemble on stage and he starts the whole process of getting us all relaxed and all that. I’d go into more detail, but I don’t want any of you passing out while reading. Well, it’s probably too late for that now anyway.

So he puts us all to sleep. And as we’re all completely relaxed and out of it, he tells us that when he counts to three, we are going to wake up and we’re going to shoot our hands in the air because there is a door prize and we all want to win it SO. BAD. To win the prize, all we have to do is tell him our names when he calls on us. And when he asks? We will NOT remember our names. Minds. Blank.

1. 2. 3.

We’re all awake and my hand? It shoots into the air. There is a prize. I must WIN it.

“That’s weird,” I think. “I didn’t really want to do that.”

As I’m sitting there waiting for him to call on me, I’m thinking in my head “Kristin. My name is Kristin. You can’t hypnotize me, bitch.”

He goes down the line and some people know their names, including my friend Ang, who bullied her brain not to succumb to all that hypnotizing nonsense, and some don’t. And I laugh inside my head. Idiots. How the fuck do you not know your name?

Finally he gets to me. And I’m still waving my arm in the air like a complete dumbass. He points to me. And nothing. Words have escaped me. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I can’t even speak. I sit there with my mouth open, willing the words to come out. Why can’t I say KRISTIN? Fail.

Brain: YOUR NAME IS KRISTIN FOR FUCK’S SAKE!

Mouth: pahhhh

Brain: It’s KRISTIN! Say something at least, you fool!

Mouth: …

So, hey, guess what? I was hypnotized. Me! Hypnotized! Like a commoner! A weak-brained simpleton! Hrumppphh.

I stayed on stage the entire show. I didn’t do anything really crazy. And I knew exactly what I was doing. I just didn’t know why I was doing it. Like one time, when he said green light, we had to act like we smelled the worst smell ever. And every time he said “green light” I sat there repulsed. All the while, inside that head of mine, I was like “I know I shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t. Help. Myself.”

One of the other skits, I had to do baseball signs every time someone said a certain word. I was up there going nuts, tugging on my ear, wiping my nose, tapping my forearm, giving the sign of the cross. The runner on second got confused when I told him to sacrifice bunt while stealing second, taking the next pitch and to not forget to take communion.

Throughout the show, certain people would get tapped and sent back to their seats. Apparently you can’t fake out Flip Orley. A lot of people try to pretend to be hypnotized, but apparently there is a specific glassy-eyed look that goes with being under a spell. And the intense state of relaxation. When he snapped his fingers, my body would just turn to a big, jello-y mess in a chair.

To this day, if I am having trouble sleeping, I just focus on relaxing my body from head to toe. (Hence how this conversation came up at lunch today.) It is really helpful for those nights when you have eleventy hundred thoughts going through your head. So essentially I paid for a ticket to watch a show and instead was part of the show and learned how to relax in the future.

Well that and the fact that I cluck like a chicken every time someone says salvation. You can imagine what fun I am in church.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, A Day in the Life of Me | 23 Comments »
Tags:

Posted By Kristabella on January 6, 2008

So this coming weekend, I’m going over to my stepmom’s for the weekend to watch the house and make sure my three half-sisters don’t burn it down or throw some wild and crazy raging party. And if they do, I’m sure I’ll embarrass all of them by calling it a “rager” because that’s just how I roll.

My stepmom and her boyfriend are going on vacation for a long weekend. And yes, I realize all of you just went, “wait, your stepmom and her boyfriend?” Which, I didn’t realize was weird until a few of my friends were like “yes, that’s weird.” Well, they only said that because they didn’t know my dad and my stepmom were no longer together. They also didn’t know my dad was dead. But that’s neither here nor there.

So they are going away for the weekend and leaving the kids on their own. Except the kids are 19, 17 and 15. So, well, they might need some supervision. She is worried about them throwing parties, etc., so I’m there to throw the hammer down. Or call the cops on them and pretend I’m a neighbor because I’m not going to get blamed for that shit. I have a very long life ahead of me that I have big plans for. Plans that require me not being in jail. And plans that require me to sit my fat ass on my couch whilst watching TV and blogging at the same time. This? Is not capable from a cell. Although, wouldn’t it be nice to not have to worry about what to wear every day? And I would have no problems eating bologna sammiches all the time.

Any-hootie, this whole throwing party thing in high school is completely foreign to me. And no, not because I’m 30 and those kids think I’m, like, so old, and like, what not. It’s because I realize that my mom was so lucky that she didn’t have to ever worry about me throwing a party (in high school), or drinking underage (in high school) or doing anything more than what I’m doing right now – sitting on my ass and watching television.

I was a band geek in high school. It has taken me these 10-plus years since high school to actually admit that to people. Because while I had a good time in band and made a lot of good friends, it was also something I was ashamed of for so long. (Another story for another day.) 

My high school marching band was good. We took it seriously. We were more than just playing at halftime of football games. (In fact, we all HATED performing at football games.) We went to state, regional and national high school marching band competitions. Every year. We always finished in the top 10, if not the top 5, at nationals. (In fact we lost to a band one year whose winning program was the music from Sweeney Todd. And yes, the color guard carried around cleavers. Or maybe that was in my memory.)

Baiscally, we were nerds.

But a big reason why I was in band was because my brother was in it. And I was constantly trying to compete with my brother. And I had to do everything he did, hopefully better. (Band was actually the one thing I might have been better at than him. Band and writing.) I now know the reason I did this was because I was trying to earn the love of my father, who thought my brother walked on water. And figured the easiest way to earn his love was to be just like my brother. (Yet another story for yet another day.)

Like I said, I did enjoy band. Up until about junior year. I became tired of all of it around the end of sophomore year. The director wanted me to be drum major. I tried out, mostly because he made me, but literally went through the motions. Waved Flailed my arms around with my eyes constantly rolled into the back of my head. Because I could not be bothered to do any of that “directing” crap. I was horseshit. On purpose. I made it so there was no way he would make me lead the band on the field. Because that a) meant spending time with him, which makes me vomit in my mouth a little now, and b) that I was committed to band for all four years of high school. Which I wasn’t so sure I wanted. Looking back, come senior year, I was so done with it. It was a rare rehearsal where I didn’t get yelled at. Deep down, it was my nerdy way of rebelling.

I was a very good kid. I was a BAND GEEK for Pete’s sake. My friend and I spent our weekends at the $1 theatre. Where the most unruly thing we did was yell out the trivia answers at the screen before the movie started. Or cheer on Melanie Philpot, who was seemingly always employee of the month. Basically, we were obnoxious teenagers.

If we weren’t at the movies, we were at someone’s house, watching movies or playing board games. I think the craziest we got is if we drank caffeine late at night! Or went to the drive-in! *Gasp*

I did not go to parties. I didn’t drink. I didn’t do drugs. I was a square. But so were all my friends. I had plenty of friends. We spent a lot of good times together. I’m still friends with a lot of them today. I had a lot of fun in high school. And I’m glad that I did hang with such upstanding teenagers. Because I know, looking back, that in a battle between me and peer pressure, peer pressure would have won every time. He brought an undefeated record into every match.

Clearly, I have made up for it. I made sure, during one of my first weekends in college, to consume enough vodka to embarrass a Russian. But even in college, most of us were not big drinkers. I didn’t do most of my damage until California. Where I learned how to party like a single, 20-something with no responsibilities should. And I wouldn’t change a single moment. My liver might disagree, though. To which I threaten him with a weekend-long bender, and it shuts him right. Up.

But high school kids partying and drinking underage, without supervision, will always be a mystery to me. I blame some of it on the fact that I’m an old lady now. But I think a lot of it is because I never once had that thought in my head as a kid, so I assume all kids are the same. And that the world is full of band-geek squares who enjoy a good dollar movie.

Lord help me if I ever have my own kids. Because I am karma’s bitch. And I don’t think you can call the cops and pretend to be the neighbor when it is your own damn house.

Category: All in the Family, Mayor of Band Geekdom | 23 Comments »
Tags:

Posted By Kristabella on January 3, 2008

At this time of year, people are all about making resolutions and starting a new year fresh and resolving to be a better person by losing weight, or working out, or sending more birthday cards. I’m not one for resolutions really. I like the idea of them. I like that January 1 brings a hope among people to make themselves better or to make them happier.

What I don’t much like about them is that people aren’t realistic or give up too easy or don’t follow through and then are depressed because they failed. And that the outcome of the year depends on it. That defeats the whole purpose of the resolution. It is a good thing. Not something to make you feel like shit and make you feel like a failure. So that is why I try not to make them.

Last year I think mine was to do more and take advantage of the city I live in. Be more active or something. Did I do it? Maybe. Maybe not. But I made it something where if I succeeded, great. If I didn’t, it was OK because it wasn’t something I had to accomplish between January 1 and December 31.

I had no intentions of writing a resolutions post this year because I resolved to do more of the same. I resolved to blog and drink wine and watch trashy reality television. I resolved to keep doing the things I enjoy. But something I read made me start thinking about what I would like to change. What are the things that upset me in my life that I’d like to change because they cause me stress and anguish and for me to be a grumpy Gus. Which is no good for me.

What I realized is that I am constantly striving for perfection. I am constantly trying to be a perfect co-worker, a perfect employee, a perfect friend, a perfect sister, a perfect Auntie, a perfect blogger, a perfect daughter, basically all-around perfect. And I realized in all my striving to be so damn perfect and to give so much of myself to that, is that I’ve become completely selfless. It’s like I go out of my way to make people happy, regardless of what I really want or what stress and anxiety it is going to cause me.

I work, like most people in the world. I enjoy my weekends. Probably too much, seeing as I prefer not to leave the house and/or shower. But I more often than not sacrifice my weekends, my only days off, to give my time to spend with others. Because that’s what the perfect person does. They don’t do what they want. They constantly give.

The outcome of all this is that, especially being a single person, I get shit on a lot. Because I set precedents. And then I am constantly having to live up to this perfect image of this perfect person that everyone expects. And I can’t falter now, because with that faltering comes the disappointment. And perfect people don’t disappoint the people around them. Especially their loved ones.

On top of that, because you’ve created this perfect persona, it is an expected behavior. It is no longer viewed as a selfless act. It is the norm. So not only must you keep it up, as to not disappoint, you also don’t get the “atta boys!” and pats on the back for the things that you have done, the lengths you have gone to. Because you’ve set these lofty goals for yourself, so it takes doing something way out of the ordinary, like driving somewhere at 3 o’clock in the morning, for people to actually open their eyes to look at you in a new light and all that you do.

Don’t get me wrong. I spend a lot of quality time by myself. It’s not like I give all my free time up to others. Because otherwise I’d be locked up in a padded room somewhere. Because one, I’m too selfish for that. And two, I generally don’t like people.

But thinking back on the last few weeks, where I have had time, time to do whatever, I realize that some of the happiest times are when I’ve spent entire days in my pajamas, curled up on the couch, reading a book from cover to cover. I don’t have to answer to anyone. No one is expecting anything from me. Yes, I could be out running errands or cleaning the house, but those things aren’t running away. And while yes, to some it is a waste of a day, it is in those moments where I feel the most at ease, the most relaxed, because I’m not trying to live up to some crazy ideal person that I am supposed to be.

So I do have a resolution. I resolve to not try to be the perfect sister or perfect Auntie or perfect daughter or perfect anything. I resolve not to feel that constant pressure of always have to put others first and make them happy before myself. 

I resolve to be me. And really enjoy being me. To make sure that I do things for me that are in my best interest and things I truly enjoy, things that don’t cause me stress. I resolve to make sure people appreciate me, flaws and all. To enjoy time with others because I WANT to. Not because I feel like I HAVE to.

I resolve to enjoy MY life. Because it’s the only one I’ve got.

Category: A Day in the Life of Me, All Things Blogging | 15 Comments »
Tags:

Posted By Kristabella on January 2, 2008

You know what is not good? Not good is sleeping every day until noon for five days straight, getting at least 10 hours of sleep a night (no, wait, there is a bad part in this), only to have to be jolted awake before the sun when you are smacked in the face by reality and actually have to go back to work. This is not good because when you train your body into thinking that there is a good possibility it is going to get to sleep until noon, making sure it gets all the rest it truly deserves, you body will revolt and not let you fall asleep at a reasonable hour. Well, reasonable for someone who will NOT be getting up at noon and DOES have to go back to work tomorrow.

Man, I’m sleepy. My body, in all its revolting, didn’t realize it would be the one that would have to suffer at work today because it decided not to let me fall asleep until after 2 this morning. Which makes my total hours of sleep in the last two days 14 hours. And one of those days I got 10 hours of sleep. It’s amazing I got anything done at work today.

Oh, wait, I didn’t really. It’s still slow. I think a lot of people took the rest of this holiday week off as well, since it is only three days. And since, well, maybe some of them aren’t going to be working there much longer, what is the worst that could happen.

Thankfully we have a sales conference coming up soon, so I do have things to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I was going to write this story about how after 9/11, when I celebrated my birthday a few days later, some of the players from the 49ers showed up. Since the game was cancelled that weekend, everyone had a lot of time on their hands. And I was going to talk about how Bryant Young bought me a beer.

But then, one of my good friends Kevin Lynch, previously of the San Francisco Chronicle and now a blogger (!) for the Chronicle’s website, wrote about that story. Well, not really. He wrote about how awesome BY is (’tis true) and I just happened to have been mentioned. Read it here.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I forgot to thank my Secret Blogger Santa on here. She sent me this awesome deck of walking tours for the city of Chicago. And I can’t wait to try them all out. So anyone that is planning on visiting me in the near future, bring your walking shoes! And of course your drinking shoes. These can be one in the same. As long as you don’t mind possibly puking Old Style on your walking shoes. You have been warned.

~~~~~~~~~~~  

Are you guys watching Pushing Daisies? And by watching, I mean watched? Since the writer’s strike forced us to be without anymore of Pie-Maker Ned and Girl Named Chuck until an agreement is reached. Which makes my heart oh so sad and lonely.

I know I’m the last one aboard this bandwagon, but this is the best show on TV. It finished a smidge ahead of Gossip Girl. Which lost me a little after tonight’s episode. Because Melrose Place chick should totally be with Rufus the Musician.

Anyway, Pushing Daisies. If you haven’t seen it, I suggest you high-tail it over to abc.com and watch you some episodes. One, because it is a fantastic show. Two, because the dude touches dead things and makes them alive again. Three, he makes pies for a living. And his restaurant, or pie-eteria, is called The Pie Hole. Which, unless you are dead and need my boy Ned to touch you, is fucking hilarious and genius. (Boy, oh boy, would I like Ned to touch me. Ahem.)

I am in love with Ned. Like seriously, I think I had a whole slew of things to write about tonight and I just watched the last two episodes of this shortened season and all I could think about was Ned. He’s so cute. And I just want to take him home with me  and carry him around in my pocket at all times because he is just so damn adorable. He makes me giggle like a school girl every time he’s on the screen. I feel like Girl Named Chuck must feel every time she looks at him, you know if the show were set in real life and someone could bring people back from the dead and you couldn’t even touch the one you love. That face. His smile. His facial expressions. That sound? Was me melting into a puddle.

I just think it is a fantastic show. Every actor in the show is awesome. That little blonde, spunky Kristin Chenoweth steals scenes like it was her job. The principal from Boston Public is priceless in his role. The writing, the dialogue, the humor and the whole premise behind the show is fan-flipping-tastic.

If you don’t believe me, believe the face of this tall, handsome drink of water. Sigh.

I just swooned my ass right off the couch.

And I’m sure there was something else I was going to write about. But. Can’t. Stop. Drooling.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, All Things TV | 15 Comments »
Tags: