Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on October 1, 2007

I’m stealing yet another idea. This one is from the lovely Alyndabear. Who I’m totally road-tripping down to meet in?Memphis next year when she’s in the US. Since if she’s in the States and that close, I must meet her. (Even though, what stupid U.S. tour doesn’t come to Chicago?) And she is having a bit of a rough patch?right now and?at the very least, I hope this?cheers her up. Or at least makes her smile for a hot second.

So as some of you know (bloggers mostly), I can see search terms for people who randomly end up here. Some may hate Rex Grossman. (Who doesn’t?) Some may want to take a minute inside a woman’s head. (You’ll quickly regret the trip into mi cabeza.) And others, I’m finding out with my growing numbers,?are just freaks. And some of these things? I’m not sure what you are looking for. But thanks for stopping by!

Anyway, for shits and giggles, I will give you some random Google searches that lead people to Kristabella.?And! The kicker??I will have Bacon tell you what he would do. Because that’s just damn funny. In theory of course. This is going to crash. And burn.

Old Chubby Feet

I’m not sure when I ever mentioned old, chubby feet. But hey, I’m old now. And I have chubby feet. Are you looking for others with the same affliction? Or looking how to get rid of your old, chubby feet? To which Bacon says “Shrivel.”

You have your answer. And since they’re old, you’re damn near there.

Ceep Full Clone (hard) Costumes

I don’t even know what the fuck this means. And how the FUCK you got here with that search. And again, what the FUCK does that mean? You know what it means? Bacon does. Bacon says “Raise Cholesterol” because you’re probably a Star Wars geek and spend all your life inside in front of the TV. So you might as well speed up your ending.

Bedazzled Shoes

See? I told you everyone likes my bedazzled shoes. So much so that they are searching for them on the internet. Am such a trend setter. And Bacon? What does he think? Besides shut the fuck up? Which isn’t an option? Thank God. Bacon says “Spit Hot Grease.” Which is shut the fuck up in Baconese.

“Jenn Bacon”

Actually, Bacon doesn’t have a first name. And Bacon is a he. But you must be referring to Bacon’s sister, Jenn, who counsels overweight teens with the same wisdom as her brother. And as you can imagine, Jenn Bacon has a tough job. Being bacon. Among overweight teens. Bacon has some assvice for his sister. “Liven Up a Salad.” Because fat people need vegetables.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Oh, thank Gawd! Now I can sleep easier tonight. Because I? HAVE BEEN WARNED! Because some idiot with the fucking CAPS LOCK on decided that I was in need of warning. But of what? I have been WARNED to “Boycott Tofu” says Bacon. Check. Already do that. Good thing I had that WARNING. (insert eye roll)

Hello I Want to Make A Reservation

Great. I cannot help you here. And hello? Use the effing telephone. And if you were smart, like Bacon, you would “Hang Out With Hash Browns.” Because if you’re dumb enough to have a conversation with Google? Then you shouldn’t have any friends. That are humans.

I Am?a Big Fucking Baby

Thank you for sharing. Did you want to make a reservation too? There is no need to share it with the world.?Because I’m guessing that everyone that knows you? Is already quite aware of this nugget of insight. And you’re lucky you don’t know Bacon. Because WWBD? He would “Spit Hot Grease” on you. And I would point and laugh.

What Should I Stick in My Ass To Make It

First off, thank you for NOT finishing your search request.?Or thank you, WordPress, for NOT showing me the end of that search. Because I don’t want to know what, if anything, you’re sticking up your ass. Nor do I want to know what said “object” makes your ass do or not do. And you want to know what Bacon would do? He would “Tempt A Vegan” because everyone knows vegans don’t stick anything up their asses. And maybe that’s the direction you need to be heading in. Things coming out. NOT going in.

Pink Taco Costume

First off, if you know what pink taco is a euphemism for, then ewww. Just ewww. Because no one wants to see a big, damn vagina walking around. (And if you didn’t know? Now you do.) You know what Bacon would do for a Halloween costume? He would “Put the ‘B’ in BLT” because that or a club sammich? costume would be way more appealing to look at. Much more than a walking coochie.

Make a Big Bowl of Shut the Fuck Up

That I can do. And you know what goes well with a big bowl of shut the fuck up? A big plate of Bacon. And what would Bacon do? “Taste Really Good.” Fo sizzle Bacon. Word.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, All Things Blogging | 11 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on September 30, 2007

I swear, earlier this weekend I had tons of ideas for posts. TONS! And I was going to amaze you with my mad writing skillz, yo. But right now? All I can think is “wow, that pork tenderloin I made for dinner was mad tasty. Word.”

Because apparently I’ve gone all gangsta rap on yo asses up in my hizzy. Fo sho.

GO CUBS GO!

In the middle of the night I had this awesome idea for a post. (I keep a notepad by my bed for just these reasons. You’d be surprised how often it happens. Genius comes to me while sleeping.) But I stupidly thought in my sleepy haze that I would remember. I didn’t. And therefore, you’re stuck with this crap.

GO CUBS GO!

I actually got my first bikini wax on Saturday morning. And was thinking “great post idea” because just think of the pain and have you seen 40 Year Old Virgin? Think of the profanities I can spew? Hilarity. Likely to ensue.

But guess what? It wasn’t that bad. I took some Advil before I went, which I’m sure helped. And yes, getting hair ripped out by the root on ANY part of your body isn’t pleasant, but I never felt the need to yell KELLY CLARKSON! In fact, I had a lovely conversation with my waxing lady (who also does my eyebrows) and she wants to join my book club. Because she saw the bruise. From the fall. And apparently bruise + wine + me falling = something she wants to be a part of. She’s a smart lady.

But she’s seen my va-jay-jay. So we’ll see.

GO CUBS GO!

And then I got my hair done on Saturday too. I’m still a brunette. And I have the same cut. It’s just darker than it had been because did you know color fades? And my natural color isn’t nearly as dark and shiny. It’s brown and blah. New, darker color is much better. See?

Notice the frightened look in my eyes. This is from the combination of stretching your arm far enough to get your whole head in the photo, not dipping your chin too much to show people how fat and how many chins you indeed have, and just the shear stupidity of taking this many photos of yourself with brown hair. Self is fed up with my self.

GO CUBS GO!

Saturday night I went to dinner and for drinks with Schwerer. We had bison burgers. Yes, burgers made out of bison. Did you even know?

And did you also know that bison is like better for you than beef? It’s got like 2 grams of fat and NO cholesterol. And tastes better than beef. But it is really expensive. Because everything that is healthy always costs more. And we wonder why America is so damn obese.

Schwerer and I headed back to the dive bar from 2 months ago (oddly the last time I got my hair did) to play trivia after dinner last night. Because, well, we had way too much fun the last time. And 32-ounce beers are $4. Which is really the draw.

It being college football night, there were some semi-normal people there. And the Trivia Freaks were not there. Which meant that I won like every game. Because I rule and shit.

The highlight was the fact that two dudes got in a fight. And only one of them got kicked out. Because he was little. And picked a fight with a big, big man. And then 20 minutes later? He came back in. To get another piece of the big, big man. And again got the boot. But not before the bartender gave him a beer. Because clearly picking a fight with a big, big man totally equates to being completely sober and in need of more to drink.

This little guy? The fighter? The idiot? Yeah, he’s the one who hit on me.

GO CUBS GO!

So remember how I’m “on” Weight Watchers? The Weight Watchers where I continue to eat crap and drink like a fish with the hopes that the pounds will just up and melt away? Well, yeah. It doesn’t so much work like that. (Crazy, I know.) And basically I’ve put on more than I’ve lost. But at weigh-in this morning, I did lose a few pounds. Which has me almost back to where I was a month ago. Like when I STARTED.

But I have decided that I’m FINALLY going to be good. And I’m going to eat well. And try to work out. And stop eating crap and drinking like it’s my damn job. So we’ll see if it pays off. Because Michelle and I agreed that there will be public stonings if we fall off the wagon. And I bruise easily.

GO CUBS GO!

See my new button in my sidebar there on the right? You’ve been warned, lurkers. The time is now (well, Wednesday) to start commenting. I know you’re out there. My comment to visitor ratio is quite low.

And if you don’t? Well, nothing will happen. BUT! You’ll have to sleep at night knowing you’re a mofo. And you don’t want that on your conscience.

GO CUBS GO!

And finally, I got this in the mail from my friend Aaron. This made him think of me. Because I have awesome friends.

It doesn’t look a lot like Mark, but close. And the eyes are super blue, just like they are on REAL Mark Grace. Swooon.

Actually the weird thing is that the bobblehead looks more like my old boss at the dirt place.

Now if my friend could exchange the bobblehead and instead send me Gracie’s digits or a random, meaningless night of sex, that would be much better.

GO CUBS GO!

Category: A Day in the Life of Me, All Things Blogging, Lametown | 18 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on September 27, 2007

Oh My God people. I need to stay away from the wine. Far, far away. And maybe get some damn self-control and realize that just because there is wine, it DOES NOT mean you need to drink it. And maybe eat something more than a few pieces of bruschetta, some veggies and three noodles from a pasta salad.

So last night was our book club get together. I didn’t even come close to finishing the book. That was a first. I am having a hard time getting into this book. The author kind of sucks.

As per usual at book club, there were mass quantities of wine. And oodles of yummy treats. And I never eat dinner before?I go. Because there is always a ton of food. That is a hell of a lot better than anything that I could cook myself.

Well the problem is that as soon as I get to book club, there is a glass of wine in my hand. And I’m usually well into the first glass before I start munching. This is NOT a good equation. So usually I’m pretty damn drunk. And most of the book clubs are within walking distance to my house. Which means YAY! Must drink more!

I’ve been going to book club for almost 2 years. I love it and have made some really good friends. We have a blast and every time we always say we should hang out more than just once a month to talk about books drink. But now that I’m not the new girl and close with these people, the real KJ comes out at book club. And the REAL KJ is a raving fucking lunatic with a drinking problem.

Last night took the cake. Because apparently I fell. HARD. Because I’m sore as hell. And I’m still finding bruises. Oh, and one more?small?thing.?I DON’T REMEMBER IT HAPPENING! At. All.

Michelle stayed over at Casa Kristabella last night because she, too, had too much of the sauce and couldn’t drive home. And when I woke up this morning, still fully clothed in what I was wearing to book club. With my purse right next to me. And my alarm blaring in my head for God knows how long. Wondering why the fuck I was getting up so early. And why is it so dark? And oh, right. You have to be at the fucking hotel, jackass. In like 45 minutes.

I had this entire conversation out loud. Totally forgetting that Michelle was out on the couch.

As we were walking to my car I mentioned “ow. My hip kind of hurts.” And she’s all “because you totally fell, dumbass.” And I had flashes. Very embarrassing flashes. Flashes of something a 30-yeard old woman should not be doing. Drunk and falling so belongs in your 20s. I remembered that I fell. And I think I laughed. And I vaguely remember that when it was happening to me it was like happening in slow motion. Because I’m a big damn girl. So it’s like a fucking Redwood going down.

But that? Is all I remember. Michelle broke a glass. There were other people there. And we TOTALLY overstayed our welcome. And I’m sure Jess will not be inviting me back ANY time soon. Because she probably has a KJ-shaped hole somewhere in her apartment. Because I don’t even remember WHERE I fell or if I took anything with me on the loooooong way down.

I’m totally driving to the next book club. Because I do NOT need to be drinking. Ever. Again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other news, apparently Divorced Daddy is the world’s biggest douche bag. Because he sent me texts and emails yesterday. Inviting me to a free Beastie Boys concert tonight. I said a big fat “hell to the no” to him at first. But then this morning was all “that could be fun. And I can bring a friend. To witness the MIXED MESSAGES.” Well, Michelle was out. Because she felt like I felt. Minus the falling and bruises and the swelling.

So I decided that I was going to ask Salesboy Formerly Known As Winky (SFKAW). Because I was bored in the training today and emailed him. And I apparently was still Goddamned drunk, seeing as I accepted the concert invite from Baby’s Daddy and freaking asked out SFKAW. What are these cojones? And where did they come from?

First, I was teasing him about something and was finally like “did you get my package?” (Because my good prank? Got NO damn response.) And he was all “yeah. I didn’t feel it deserved a response.” So I told him I thought it was hilarious. He did not agree.

And then I invited him to the concert. Asking him if he was even old enough to know who the Beastie Boys are. Because I figured the best thing to do was not only show up at the concert where Divorced Daddy was going to be, but to show up with a guy! Who was funny! That I was clearly going to flirt with. In a totally over the top fashion. Because that is not infantile at all.

But SFKAW couldn’t make it. He had a hot date or something. And probably didn’t appreciate me calling him a baby and going on and on about how I’m a shriveled up old spinster.

I didn’t go.?Because I’m 30 and CANNOT drink like I used to. It took a full damn day to recover from last night’s debacle. In fact, I’m still not 100%. So yeah, no concert for me.

Mostly because I don’t like Divorced Daddy. And I could take or leave the Beastie Boys. Although they probably put on a good show.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~?

And finally, look what came in the mail yesterday! (No, not my DGM shirt. Which yes, I was secretly hoping was in this package.)

I know what you’re thinking. You got a Robbie Gould jersey? He’s the damn kicker! (Actually, I know that 99% of you were not actually thinking that. Or even know/care who Robbie Gould is.)

No, silly. I live in the damn past. Because in addition to this, I just bought a Ditka shirt on Sunday.

Money well effing spent.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, A Day in the Life of Me, All Things Blogging, Hooch Hilarity | 10 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on September 25, 2007

I’ve been tagged. By the lovely Hotfessional. And since she’s awesome and I can’t wait to meet her in person on her next trip to Chicago so that we can have highly intelligent conversations drink mass quantities of wine, I will do her meme. Even though I did something a little similar a few months ago.

So add those six crazy things about me from February to the following eight. And I’m sure there will be more to come. Because the crazy? It never stops. (Although right now, I can’t think of eight anything. Except beers that would be nice in my tummy.)

Anyway, here we go. Eight more reasons why I need professional help.

1. When I was little, my brother (although he vehemently denies it) told me that if you went to get your eyes checked at Pearle, they stuck needles in your eyes. I was freaked the hell out by Pearle for a good portion of my life. Even after I was old enough to realize that NO! They DID NOT do that. You damn moron! And said brother? Never got his eyes checked until very recently. So he was just an ass. And I usually end up at LensCrafters.

2. At some point in my young, insane childhood, I decided that it would be cool (read: stupid) to have all of my fingers crossed. At all times. Like even when I slept. The point, you ask? No fucking clue. Because I’m just a fucking weirdo. And I’m pretty sure I had no friends at this time either.

(Um, eight is a lot Hotfessional.)

3. I hate roller coasters. HATE. I cannot stand that stupid feeling of having your stomach go up into your throat on the big drops. Like HATE. A LOT. I used to like them. But then my brother FORCED me onto The American Eagle at Great America and I’ve hated them ever since. HATE. Heat of the sun hate.

4. I grind my teeth at night. So much so, I have to wear a specially made night guard. Because it got so bad, I ground down the enamel around the fillings on all of my molars. And it is why I have crowns on those teeth. (And because I am a queen. Royalty = crowns.) Because porcelain is indestructible. And the night guard? It makes me drool like Homer Simpson at a Krispy Kreme. I literally wake up in the middle of the night to slurp and wipe my face off. With a towel. Because it is A LOT of drool. (Hey guys! I’m single!)

(You so don’t want me to go on, do you?)

5. When I was younger. I’d say kid, but I’m pretty sure I did this when it wasn’t age appropriate. Not that it was ever age appropriate. When I was younger, to fall asleep, I used to literally bang my head on the pillow. And kind of hum. Out loud. It put me to sleep. I think it stems from when my Mom used to be a bouncer at a heavy metal club when she was pregnant with me. (No. She wasn’t.)

6. Growing up I was a diehard Bears fan. Jim McMahon will always be my idol. And don’t even try telling me how he’s an asshole. I know. And still I have the McLovin. Well, the Bears traded him in the late 80s. To San Diego. And I was immediately a Chargers fan. For a hot second. Until he ended up somewhere else. In those years, Payton retired. Ditka left. And the Bears sucked. Since I enjoy a good football game, I started watching a LOT of Buffalo Bills games. They were good and on ALL the time. So I became this HUGE Bills fan. (Yes, a bandwagoner right around all their Super Bowl losses.) I loved Jim Kelly. (I have a thing for quarterbacks.) And I watched all the games I could, including all those horrible Super Bowls. When Thurman Thomas forgets his helmet on the first play, fate has decided that today? You will be bitch-slapped on a national stage and today will not be your day to win the Super Bowl. Ever. But after EVERY Super Bowl loss, I cried. CRIED. SOBBED! Like a fucking baby. Like my first born was riding on the game. People, this was the early 90s. At the very least, I was 14. (My mom deserves a damn medal for dealing with me.)

7. Before I started Weight Watchers back in 2003, I didn’t eat vegetables. A salad once in awhile. Or corn. That? Was it. But when you’re ready to eat your damn arm off from the HUNGER, you’ll try just about anything that will put food in your belly that is zero points. I now eat beans (all kinds), carrots, broccoli, asparagus and a host of others. And damn, I was missing out.

8. Most people call me KJ. That is the most commonly used nickname for yours truly. But this didn’t start until college. Apparently we’re not into the initials thing in the Midwest. Anyway, prior to college every single friend in high school called me Martha. Why, you ask? Because one day during band camp (yes, really.) (And no, I didn’t play the flute. And our band camp was NOTHING like that. We actually marched on a football field outside in the hot sun in August for 12 hours a day. Good times.) Anyway, one day during band camp, one of the assistant directors, Mr. Weiner (yes, like Oscar Mayer. And yes, real name) was getting people’s names wrong all day. So I was all “what’s my name?” (And not in a prison movie like fashion. I did not end that question with bitch.) Since Mr. Weiner is a funny man (wouldn’t you be living with that name all your life?), he decided that right then and there, my name would be Martha. And it stuck. For three damn years of high school.

Whew. That was tough. And I’m not going to tag anyone. Because this is too much like work. But if you happen to have time on your hands and want to participate, feel free to leave your link in the comments. So we can all laugh and point. I mean, enjoy.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, Memes | 7 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on September 24, 2007

OhmyGod, I know! No post yesterday! What in the h-e-double hockey sticks is going on in this world?

Well, I was busy. The Bears were on Sunday night. And I went to a bar (wha? You? At a bar? Did pigs fly?) to watch the game. With Divorced Daddy and his friends. And let’s just say a lot of beer was consumed. And I had to get up at 5 this morning. And I?realized at about 2:30 this morning that I was required, come 6 AM, to be in two places?at once and how the fuck was I going to do that? And when I finally learned how to clone myself, fake KJ was over at the office waiting for the bus. The bus THAT DIDN’T COME! Because this bus company? Sucks ass. Break down? Yeah right. YOU FORGOT!

So yeah. I’m a bit cranky. And I’ve been up too long. Because you know, sitting in a classroom and then on an air-conditioned bus all day can really wear a sista out. Especially after drinking for four hours last night and not getting any sleep. Because how do you even begin to clone yourself? I’m not MacGyver. A paperclip, tube top and salt is NOT going to work. And I could not fall asleep until I figured it out. (Note, trade the tube top for a tube sock.)

So what did you say? You want to hear about my “date” with Divorced Daddy? OK. But some of you should just stop reading this damn whining now. Because, yeah. That’s all it is going to be.

A little bit of back story. On Friday night, we had kind of made plans to maybe meet up. Since most of his friends are Jewish (it was Yom Kippur), he didn’t have any plans. Neither did I. Score, right? No. Not score. Because he called me three times to ask me what was going on and when?I told him, for the third time that I had nothing (NOTHING!) going on, he still didn’t ask me to do anything. So I asked “so do you want to do something?” His answer? “I’m on the fence.”

Um, what?

Now I admit, I didn’t make a decision. He asked what I had in mind, but since it was already like pulling his damn toenails out with pliers, I left it up to him. I do not make decisions. I want people to like me. So if I don’t pick anything, it can’t be bad and people can’t hate me. And spit on me. Because people can be mean.

He came up with nothing. Just more fence shit. And then he told me that if I get “inspired to do something” that I should give him a call. To which I got irritated and said “whatever. I’ll talk to you later.” And then I yelled FUCK YOU at the phone for probably the first time in my entire left. (Yes. I really am 30. Can’t you tell?)

So apparently, I like him a lot more then I let on. Because I was pissed. WHY does he not want to hang out with me if we’re not in a group? WHY would you call if you knew you didn’t want to do anything? WHY are you such a weirdo? WHY am I so clueless and such an IDIOT? Are you blind woman???

I didn’t hear from him at all Saturday. Which was fine. I was with my niece and nephew all day. Celebrating Week Four of the Never Ending 30th Birthday. And I had already agreed to go watch at least part of the Bears game with him Sunday night at a bar. That wasn’t close to my house or the hotel I was staying at Sunday night. But I need to put myself out there and all that dating bullshit because otherwise? I’m marrying my DVR. Which, really??Is starting to look like a great option. He knows what?I like. Lots and lots of reality television.

We exchanged a few texts before the game. He was going to get there before 6 and wondered if I wanted to come early too. “Since I was leaving early.” Awww, right? Yeah. Not. Or maybe. I don’t fucking know.

So I got there. We were there alone for about 20 minutes. He kissed me ON THE LIPS when I got there. Good sign. (Yes? No?) And then his friends started showing up. I had met a few of them. But when you put them all in one area? Well he is friends with all chicks. And they are all hot. And on top of that he was talking about this neighbor chick he met earlier in the week. That he hung out with on Saturday night.

(My gawd, do we all see where this is going? Apparently I need a damn two-by-four to the head to make it crystal clear.)

And I got all crazy insecure. And was like “what the fuck am I doing here?” And really, really wanted to go home. Or cry in the bathroom. But I stayed. Because life isn’t all easy and shit. And there was beer here.

He called me over to sit next to him. And was super flirty. Had his arm around me the whole time. Good? I thought so? Maybe? Am I a complete moron in the world of flirting? I didn’t think so. But apparently that is not the case. Am getting World’s Biggest Dumbass tattooed on my forehead this weekend. That should help matters.

Because then he started talking about how he has no guy friends. And needs to make more. So he could “hook me up with them.”

WHAT?

A normal girl would have said something. Or left. Or just said?”what the fuck?”?and looked around for hot guys in the bar. That’s what normal people would have done. Because normal people don’t get all hooked on a guy they BARELY KNOW because he’s nice. A guy that clearly doesn’t like you in that way. He just likes to take you back to his place after a night of drinking. Because, don’t people do that all the time with people they only want to be friends with? (Don’t answer that.)

But I am not normal. And I still, in my drunken haze, thought something was there. Until later that night when he again?brought up needing to meet guys so he could hook me up with them. Again. To which I responded “you totally confuse me.” (No, stupid. You, woman, are living in a dream world. And are blind as a bat.) And he said we should talk tonight.

And we did. And my doomsday gut was right last night. He thinks I’m “really cool” and “fun to hang out with,” but it is really “more of a friends thing.” Which I figured. Because I had a bad feeling. And my gut is always right. (But maybe, just maybe gut, you could be a little more proactive with these things? For fuck’s sake.)

But that doesn’t mean I feel any better. Or less like a fool because we had a decent make-out session a few weeks ago. Because, silly me, I thought if you made out with someone, there was something more there than friends. Or maybe you just wanted to make out with a hot chick. But then you don’t keep calling them. Because, hello? Expectations.?And you don’t offer to let me crash at your place. And you don’t kiss me when you see me. You just don’t. Because, hello!?MIXED SIGNALS! Keep it up and you will be single for a long time. Because you’re 33. With a kid. The time for keeping girls around for booty calls and friends with benefits is long gone.

And it definitely doesn’t mean my insecurity level has stayed the same and not jumped through the God damned roof because I just got rejected by a short, balding, divorced guy with a kid who is?a BAD kisser. And it also doesn’t mean that Insecure KJ hasn’t jumped all over reasons why he isn’t into me.?Because Insecure KJ can come up with hundreds of them. And I hate Insecure KJ right now.

But it does mean that we won’t be friends. At least right now. Until I can show up with some hot, tall, childless arm candy to bring with me. Because you? Just passed up the best thing to come your way.?And your loss is someone else’s BIG gain.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, All Things Blogging, Spinsterville Here I Come | 12 Comments »
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