Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on July 12, 2007

First off, thank you so much for the comments about my J-O-B. You people made my black heart grow three sizes! Today was a better day. Which means I didn’t cry. And I even talked to some people at work about how I’ve been feeling and it was good for me. Because they totally understood and could see how sometimes, my job, could be really trying. So it made me feel better that I’m not insane. And the one person was also like “don’t let them walk all over you. Stand up for yourself!” Which, as I told her, is the only thing I know how to do well. I do it so well it gets my ass shitcanned.

But now to the juicy stuff!

There’s a bit of a scandal going on here in Chicago. (I wonder if it made it to the national news? Probably not.) It’s been on the front page of the paper here for a few days. (I think. I was in Coon Rapids, remember?)

So there is this woman, Lisa Stebic, who went missing like forever and a day ago down in Plainfield, IL. It’s been months. Her husband, Craig Stebic, hasn’t really been a suspect. Yet. (Looks like he’s pretty close to getting arrested, though. The jig is up.) It’s a weird situation where they were divorced, but lived in the same house. They have a child together (maybe more than one?). (The kid’s teacher in school is my friend Darcie, which is random.) Craig has no idea where she’s gone. And they’ve combed the entire area. It’s all shady as fuck. And don’t police realize that people learned what NOT to do from Scott Peterson?

There’s your background. (I think her disappearance has been a national story.) Well, as I was walking through the airport at 11:30 PM last night, I noticed a photo on the front page of a person who looked familiar. So I stopped to check it out. Turns out the person is Amy Jacobson, who was a TV reporter on the local NBC affiliate up until a few days ago. She got fired the other day because there was a video released of her swimming in the pool of Craig Stebic! The dude whose wife is MISSING! Of which he’s been so distraught over in the news. And yet now he’s inviting over hot, blonde TV reporters to go SWIMMING?

Supposedly she was called by Stebic’s sister, who asked her over to swim. Jacobson, who was with her 2 kids in the car when she got the call, was actually on the way to a pool in Chicago for the day. (Let me just point out now that Chicago is like 50 miles from Plainfield. Not close.) So she thought “what the hell? I’ll go swim at dude’s house. Dude who I know because I’ve been interviewing him and his family because his wife DISAPPEARED IN APRIL! And if I bring my kids, it will make it even better.”

Jacobson admits that she made a bad decision. (Ya think??) But I’m sure she was hoping to get some kind of scoop. According to the Sun Times article, she has a reputation for getting stories through questionable methods. But since money rules the world, it sounds like the local TV station always turned a blind eye because scoop = ratings and ratings = money.

Why am I telling you this?

Because if you go back to this post, about a going away party for a friend of mine, I mentioned Amy Jacobson. Because I sat there and talked with here for over an hour. Me! I like totally know this person! She was a really nice lady. I told her about getting fired for my blog. And the unfairness of it all.

And I’m thinking now, she’s got a much better idea about what that’s like. Which only means I want to call her up and be all “Hey, remember me? I hate Tucson? I got fired for my blog? It’s so just like what you’re going through. Want to be BFF?”

Which is probably why people don’t openly offer to hang out with me. Probably that and because I’m always carrying around a bacon folder and consulting it about all important decisions.

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Posted By Kristabella on July 10, 2007

Um, hi Internet. I have been a bad blogger lately. And I apologize.

And I’m also a liar. Because I will mention the heat. Because it melted half my face off. Which is why I couldn’t blog since last Thursday night.

Actually, the heat was part of the reason I haven’t blogged. I was off babysitting for my niece and nephew the WHOLE weekend so my house was a furnace (a FURNACE!!!!) when I got home Sunday night. This after an hour car ride with air conditioning that was blowing hot air at me (HOT AIR!!!!) But not as hot as outside, so whatever. Hot. And crabby. And melting. So I didn’t blog. Sue me. (No please don’t. I was hoping I avoided blogging related lawsuits when I didn’t sign that damn agreement.)

So I planned on blogging on Monday night. But then, the world came crashing down on me. (Crashing DOWN!!!) Because instead of being all cozy in my hotel room in Coon Rapids, MN, I was standing in line. At the airport. (At the AIRPORT!!!!) Because my fucking flight got cancelled. Because three drops of water fell from the sky. (Three DROPS!!!!) (No, I don’t know why I keep doing it. I also don’t know why I find it so funny.) (Must be the Fanta.) (Orange FANTA!!!!)

Yeah, Northwest Airlines sucks. Big fucking donkey balls. Because apparently they are going through some bad times. And pilots don’t even want to work for them anymore. And they just love to cancel flights. A lot. And you know what? I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with weather. American made it to Minneapolis okay last night. So did United. And none of Continental’s flights at the surrounding gates were even delayed.

To make matters worse, they have what might be the worst customer service ever. (EVER!!!!) Because first off, the gate assholes didn’t even tell us the flight was cancelled. While we were sitting at the damn gate. (Isn’t that what those microphoney, intercommy things are for??) I finally looked up because some kid was all “our flight’s been CANCELLED!!!!” (yes he said it like that) and I looked up from my book and saw a line of 30 people.

So I got in line. And got on the cellie to NWA because I needed to get to Minneapolis. I had dinner to go to. And drinks to drink!

Did you know that if “weather” is the cause of your flight being cancelled, then the airline is not liable to help you? Like at all. No hotel. No helping with flights on other airlines. Nothing. Because it’s “not their fault” that they have no pilots, their flight attendants are threatening to strike and they are trying to get out of bankruptcy. Oh and that three drops of rain cancelled our flight. Three effing drops.

Yeah. And skank on the phone was all “I can get you there tomorrow afternoon.” Um, bitch, please. Why would that help me? Why would that help anyone? I wanted to get there this afternoon, but you’re all a bunch of asshats.

So I stood in line. The line that had now grown to 45 people. And wasn’t moving. Because of the great customer service, I’m sure. And friendly lady in front of me, who flies NWA all the time and says this happens more often than not and that the reason probably was that the next flight our would-be aircraft was taking was probably empty, so to save costs, Northwest Airlines cancelled our flight. Again, because they are cheap bastards. Anyway, nice woman asked if we had a travel agency at work. And we did! As of last week! And AWESOME! Because I didn’t have to call all those airlines myself. And I got a flight out this morning at 7 AM. Which means I’ve been up for too long. And that I may have drooled on myself on the plane. Good thing the woman next to me had a bad back, so was in no shape to recoil in horror. Not that it would have stopped the drool. (She told me she had a bad back. Which was why she couldn’t turn on her overhead light. I think she was just a pretentious bitch. I hope some of my drool splattered on her designer jacket. That was ugly.)

Oh. And did I mention, by the time I got to the front of the line. To helpful NWA man (actually, considering, this man was all kinds of patient. He needed a freaking medal.) Who wanted me to fly standby on the two later flights. That either got cancelled or had 30 people on the standby list. Um, no thanks. I live here. Am not sleeping on airport benches. Anyway, it was 5:30. On a weeknight. And it was raining. So yeah, I didn’t get home until 7 PM. And had to be up by 4 AM. Fun.

But I made it to Minneapolis. Where it is cooler. Like I’m almost freezing because it isn’t an oven outside. But I’m not complaining. I’m just going to drink my orange Fanta (FANTA!!!!) and pass out in my bed. In Coon Rapids.

Yes, there is such a place.

And P.S – Dane Cook? STFU. You almost make me want to never watch baseball again.

P.P.S – Fanta, Fanta. Don’t you wanna Fanta, Fanta?

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, A Day in the Life of Me, General, Rants & Rants | 6 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on July 5, 2007

So recently I’ve been having a hard time at work. I’ve obviously been really reluctant to talk about it on here because I now have a fear of every company overreacting to people having blogs. And writing on them. Perhaps about work. Oh! The humanity!

There are over 1 million blogs on WordPress alone. And I’m sure just as many on Blogger and TypePad, etc. I cannot be the only person at my place of work with a blog. (Believe me. It’s a big company.) People. Let’s get into the 21st century already.

Anyway, I think my last mention of it was on this post. And a lot of you have asked if everything is OK. Which is funny. Mostly because you know me and you read the blog, so yeah. I overreact. Sometimes.

I will admit to hating my job A LOT a few weeks ago. I had a really bad couple of days there at the last conference in the suburbs. I just couldn’t take it anymore. It reached a point where nothing I did was right. I stood on my head in front of the room for 2 damn hours, while twirling plates on my pinky toes, and still! I got yelled at because I was supposed to put it on the piggys that had roast beef! For the love of Christ woman! Pinky toes? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Even after we got back from the conference and returned to the office it was the same shit. I thought maybe a change of scenery would do me good. But I was still miserable. And really wondering why I couldn’t find a job that agreed with me. It can’t be that hard. I rule, for Pete’s sake.

But then I had a weekend away. And was determined to make it work. At least for more than a freaking month. I had to, really. No other choice. Bills and such. And I think once you shoot for 4 different jobs in the last 6 months, people start to frown. Upon you. Because after 3? It’s totally about you. Not them.

And last week was an OK week. And I finally started to realize that I’m much better in the office because I don’t sit next to any of those people. Those people who hated my plate twirling. (Bastards!) So I can literally go the whole day without seeing them. Which, after spending almost 2 full weeks together, and I mean like 15-hour days together, is a blessed, blessed event.

It got me to thinking. (And we know it’s never good when I get to thinking.) I realized it’s no different than spending too much time with anyone, like say, your family. See, because you don’t choose your family. And you don’t really get to choose your co-workers.

Now I love my family. But as with every family, we heart drama. You know how it is. Every family gathering starts off so peaceful. Like were on effing Little House of something. And then we all hit the sauce, someone throws mashed potatoes at the ceiling and viola! D-R-A-M-A.

And just like I can take most of my family in small doses, (obviously not the ones that read this. Hi family people! Keep reading! I love you!) I can only take co-workers in small doses. And small doesn’t include seeing you before 8 AM and after 5 PM. And NEVER on the weekends. If I can help it.

Unfortunately I got really spoiled at the Niners. I doubt most people experience a workplace like that. One where you actually all like each other. And choose to hang out with each other for 15 hours a day. And on your days off. And even when you don’t like someone (Fitz) there is enough beer in the room to make it OK.

And I think I secretly hope all my future workplaces will be like that. Or just assume that they all are. But the reality is, most places aren’t. And I’m getting that. Finally. Jesus I’m a slow learner.

I swear, by the time I’m 40 I’m going to be able to not only hold down a job, but finally get it. You know corporate culture and all that mess.

Maybe I should watch Office Space for the 1,428th time. Has taught me so much already.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, A Day in the Life of Me, General, Worky Work | 5 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on July 4, 2007

It took me about 15 minutes to think of that headline. And it’s not even good.

Did y’all have a good 4th of July? Did you cook out on the grill and watch endless displays of fireworks?

I actually did nothing. Because I partied like it was 1999 on the third of July, staying out drinking until 3 AM. So I spent most of today lying on the couch, wishing the cat would just eat my face off and put me out of my misery. Because a bottle of wine plus a six-pack of Miller Lite a good equation does not make. It explains why I can’t think of anything creative or funny to write. And apparently why I started talking like Yoda.

I was supposed to go to the White Sox game with Senor Beavis, but it just wasn’t going to happen. The idea of showering and just moving was much too much for me to handle. Sorry Beavis.

I did have a hell of a time on the 3rd. Obviously, from the hungoverness. Actually, Chicago traditionally does its fireworks on the 3rd. It’s a big deal. It’s always during the Taste of Chicago, another big deal. There will be more than one million people downtown to watch those fireworks year after year. Those suburbanites like their fireworks, apparently.

So Tuesday night, I went to a friend of a friend’s apartment on Lake Shore Drive. It was the 12th floor so she invited some people over for dinner and to watch the light show in the sky. The weirdest part (and not really) was that this chick is the girlfriend of a dude that my friend Shelly tried to set me up with last fall. We all went out to a bar and it was a grand old time. Until I spilled an entire FULL glass of beer on my crotch! I walked around all night looking like I wet myself. Needless to say, it wasn’t too soon after the spillage that he left. WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE. And that was that. (Honestly, it totally was fine. He’s a really nice guy, but I don’t think we had any chemistry.)

So yeah, I went over to his girlfriend’s apartment for dinner. Hello? Awkward? Actually, it was all good. I mean it wasn’t like we dated or anything. And his girl is really nice and we got along fine. She likes sports too. But you just never know.

The funniest part was that because the fireworks were being shot off from Grant Park, and not Navy Pier, we only saw the tops of some of the fireworks. Because there were like 15 tall buildings blocking our view. It sounded like a great show, though.

After this party, Shelly and I went over to a housewarming party. For this guy named Jim. He’s the one from this post. (I actually saw him once, a few months ago, which was the first time since that incident.) Which I totally brought up to him after about eleventy thousand gallons of alcohol on Tuesday night. And you know, as per usual, I brought the awkwardness to the party. I should have stuck to bringing a dessert or something.

We ended the night watching last year’s hot dog eating contest on ESPN. Because what screams American more than a Japanese guy inhaling 54 hot dogs?

God Bless America.

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, A Day in the Life of Me, General | 5 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on July 3, 2007

First, a small disclaimer. Since apparently, after further review, I do fucking swear too much. Especially on this blog. Please be aware that this blog is rated the following, for violent abuse of every fucking swear word in the English language. Bastardos! (And Spanglish.)

Good thing no damn kids read this. I would bitch-slap them into next Tuesday, for fuck’s sake! (I wonder if I can get it to go up in ratings any higher.) (Yeah, you’re right. I’d be an asshole to try.)

I had an actual post to write tonight. But then I got home and my phone rang. Twice!

People, I dislike the phone. I hate talking on the phone. I could not have lived in a workplace pre-email and electronic communication. My old boss at the dirt company used to scold me all the time about only trying to contact people via email. He’s all “pick up the damn phone! Dirt peoples are not so smart with the ‘puters.” (That’s funnier in my mind because I’m picturing a big, old guy in overalls and a straw hat chewing on hay telling that to me. Like people in the dirt business wear overalls. Pshaw.) (And another reason why no one should be allowed into the innerworkings of my cerebellum.) (NO idea where I pulled that one out of.) (Your cerebellum, most likely, dumbass.) (Oh. Shut the fuck up, Hypothalamus!)

And that, ladies and gentlemen (and Rich), are the only parts of the brain I remember!

Anyway, phone, right. I like emailing. I’m a writer. I’m much smarter and funnier when I write. (I mean, minus that above crap.) (And most of these posts.) I can take the time to put complete thoughts together. Writing comes very naturally to me. I can easily express my thoughts in writing. (Anyone else think I’m trying to convince myself of this as well?)

When I speak? It’s a whole other ball of wax. It usually comes out slurred. And most times I go on and on and on. Because I hate awkward pauses. There should be no silence. Fill it with words! And stories! And uncomfortable laughter!

So tonight I was shocked to get a phone call from my half-sister. She’s about to be 19. She knows everything. Just ask her. I mean, didn’t you know everything at 19. (I’m just kidding. She’s a good kid.) (And apparently old enough to read this. Legally.) This phone call tonight reminded me of Swishy’s.

Me: Did you misdial?

Her: No. I wanted to know if you still wanted to be roommates.

Me: Um, what?

Her: I was wondering if you wanted to be roommates.

Me: Um, I’m sorry. What?

Her: Room. Mates.

Me: Like for a day?

Her: (in that cute 19-year old giggle we all wish we still had) No silly, for like the whole year.

Me: Who put you up to this?

Her: No one. I need a roommate. I think we should live together.

Me: No. I don’t want to be your roommate. Am almost 30. You are 19.

Her: And?

Me: There’s like a pre-teen person age difference there.

Her: And?

Me: No. And get back to me when you’re 30 and my 19-year old daughter wants to live with you.

Her: I’m pre-med! That couldn’t mathematically happen.

Me: (I’m not so good with the math.) I could adopt!

Her: See! You need me as a roomie! I’ll do your math for you.

Me: Honey, that’s what calculators are for. And no, I’m not going to be your roommate. And tell your mother to stop laughing in the background.

I’m still laughing at the fact that she thought I’d say yes. There was enough of an inkling that she actually called. And hey, give the kid an A for effort for trying. Especially since the last time she stayed at my place, she claims my cat peed on her towel. Yeah, like my cat would push all your clothes out of the way in your bag JUST to pee on your towel.

Oh. Right. He is pretty dexterous. For not having opposable thumbs and all.

And when asked about this whole roommate nonsense, Bacon demanded I “Liven Up A Salad.” Which, I don’t know. But I’m taking it to mean “no f’ing roommates!”

Category: A Dash of the Crazy, A Day in the Life of Me, All in the Family, General | 10 Comments »
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