Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on March 25, 2007

So I know you’re all wondering “Isn’t today that race for KJ?”

Well, you no longer have to wonder. And yes, I know you weren’t really wondering.

Today was the Shamrock Shuffle. And what a beautiful day for running. It’s about 70 and sunny here in Chicago today. Which, for the end of March is really nice. It is really humid, though, which isn’t all that fun to run in.

So I was a little worried about the race today. I started to come down with a cold later in the week last week. By Friday, I was starting to get all achey and I was really wondering if I would be able to run. But I was determined to do it anyway. One, for the free beer at the end of the race. And two, because it cost me $40 damn dollars!

I stayed in all day Saturday to rest. I drank lots of OJ and took lots of naps. Mostly, it wasn’t different from most of my weekend activities. On Saturday night/Sunday morning, I woke up about 5 AM with this really nasty cough. And it wasn’t going away. And frankly, I felt like dogshit. All I kept thinking was “um, don’t I like totally need proper functioning lungs to run 5 miles? Isn’t that a tad vital?”

I woke up about 2 hours later and felt a little better. And I made sure to take some Advil before I left. Mostly for the running pain. Not the sore throat pain.

The Shuffle is about 30,000 people. Which is a fucking lot of people. So basically, the race “starts” at 9:30 AM, but if you’re not one of the elitist assholes athletes who run 5 miles in under 30 minutes (WHAT???), you have to walk to the starting gate with the herd. I think we started about 15 minutes after the “gun” which was fine with me. I’m among my slow-running peers. And less likely to get trampled when I collapse at mile-marker 2.

(Seriously, people finished that race at about the time I hit mile marker 1. Those people must die.)

So Jenn and I were off! Jenn’s a serious runner and like runs marathons and f’ing ran a 1/2 marathon last weekend. But she said she’d run with me. Even though I was severely slowing her down. (Those are my words. Not her words. Because if she said that, I would have tripped her on the Columbus Street bridge.) (Hi Jenn! Thanks for running with me!)

So around the 2 mile-mark they had the only water station, which is probably fine when it isn’t so warm and humid and we want HYDRATION! WHERE IS MY GATORADE?!? So I walked through the water station. Because, really? I can barely walk and do nothing on a normal day. Don’t try and get me to run and drink at the same time. I’d drown from it all going UP MY NOSE! (Jenn says this is a trait I should learn. I think not.)

So we walked through it, probably about a block or so and then started running again.

And guess what? GUESS WHAT??? I ran the whole thing. RAN! THE! WHOLE! THING! (No, jackass, I don’t count walking through the water station because mommy needs to be hydrated.)

Yep. Me. I ran it all. 4.96 miles or whatever that shit is. 8k. The end was really rough. Those Shamrock Shuffle bastards make you f’ing run up the hill on Roosevelt right at the end of the race. That? Is not nice.

It was also rough because Jenn’s creepy, stalker ex-boyfriend ran with us for the last mile. (He’s one of those douche bags that finished in like 34 minutes. And then came back. For more running! Punk.) And while he was being overly nice, I don’t like him and don’t want him all running and being up in my business. Because I don’t like him. I wish he was being a prick because I would have just told him to shut the fuck up. But by 4 miles in, there was no talking and running.

And I finished in just 28 seconds shy of an hour. Which I think is very respectable for my first time. And seeing as I hadn’t gone more than 3 miles ever. EVER. So I’m quite proud of myself. So I’m tooting my own horn and writing about it. And I was so damn proud of myself that I didn’t even redeem my free beer at the end. Me! Turning down beer! Because the line was long as shit and 30,000 sweaty runners cramped into a small space on a warm humid day in Chicago? Not. Good.

And now, hopefully, I can talk about more interesting shit than running.

Although I do have the 10-miler at the end of May. I’m halfway there, bitches!

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Posted By Kristabella on March 22, 2007

And the sun shines on the Bay. Do I want to be there in my cit-tay, oooooh, oooooooh, oh oo oh.

People, you are so lucky to be reading this. Because it was touch and go there for awhile. Tonight? My power? It went OUT! OUT! No light-o in my house-o.

I got home from work about 6:30 and decided that I’d go running outside today instead of at the gym. One, because it’s hot in my gym. And apparently running makes my body a big sweaty mess. It’s ain’t pretty. And it’s warm in there. And two, I figured I’d take advantage of the decent weather. Plus, I’m to be running in the outside in that damn race on Sunday, so I might as well get the fuck used to it.

(You totally thought that since I haven’t gone on and on about my running that I had given up. Didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU? ANSWER ME!!! Because I haven’t told you that I’m up to running 13 minutes consecutively. All at once. Which is over a mile. Even for me. Didn’t you?) (OK, I know you didn’t, but this seemed like a perfect way to talk about it and not go on and on about it.) (Seemed being the key word.) (Word.)

So I got home and went out for a run. So I did my running for 13 minutes straight (oh, did I not mention I’m up to 13 minutes straight and that out of the 30 minutes I ran for 28? Oh. Silly me.) As I was walking back up to my apartment (my cool down, bitches), I noticed that on the block of the main drag (I was going to write the street name because it’s a big street, but then with my luck I’d have a stalker or something.) (Oh, and I think something is amiss in the apartamento complex because I noticed a new sign right before you enter the courtyard that said “Private Property. Keep the Fuck Out Bitches!” So yeah, weird.) Anyway, on the block of the main drag in front my my house, the street lights were out. And then I turned the corner and all the lights were out on my street. And not a single light was to be seen in any building.

First thought: Weird. The power must be out or something.

Second thought: Nooooooooooooooooooo! Grey’s is new tonight! NEW! And Ugly Betty! The hooooooorrrrrrooooorrrrr!

Third thought: Um, do I have any candles? Of the non-birthday variety?

Yes, yes I did. But not a lot. And not enough to do anything more than stopping me from bumping into every piece of furniture I have. Which I guess is a good thing.

But you know what? It’s fucking boring to have no power. What on earth did people in this world do before TV? And the internet? I was without fucking power for like about an hour (and for 20 minutes of it I wasn’t even home!) and I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Rich’s suggestion was to go for a run or walk. Um, I just did that jackass. And brag all I want about my third-rate running skills, I ain’t about to go back out and do it some more. Over and above what online training program tells me to do. Hell to the no.

And then I really starting thinking (becaue what the hell else was I supposed to do?) Because we’ve had some instances in the very recent past where people have been without power for days. And then there was Seattle this winter after they had that huge storm and people were without power for over a week. What in the cotton-pickin’ hell did these people do with themselves?? 40 fucking minutes and I was ready to scream! Or something!

I mean, I read my book (again, not many options. It was book or pick my nose.) And I suppose no power when there is daylight isn’t so bad. Especially like in the summer when you could go to the beach, beeach. Or Wrigley. But if I was without power for a week and there was some sort of watering hole type of establishment, I would be there. All the time. I would turn into the biggest drunk. Well, maybe turn into isn’t the best word. “Continue to be” would be more fitting.

So thankfully the ComEd Gods decided to give me electricity back. If only for the computer. Because it gave me a post topic. And because now I can watch all my programs on the abc.com.

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Posted By Kristabella on March 20, 2007

I totally talk to myself. I’m not afraid to admit it. (How can you be when you’re around people all day so they catch you talking to your Goddamned self?) Seriously, I don’t even know that I’m doing it.

My office is wide open. No walls. It’s the Bullpen. It’s that whole collaborative feel. All that camaraderie crap and yada, yada. Nothing is sacred. I mean, when you’re on the phone, the people on the other end, they think that you’re at a party. I was on the phone today with a consultant in Seattle and our office was loud and he thought I was having a whole ‘nother conversation whilst pretending to listen to him. (Man did I wish.) Nope, we’re just fun. “It’s the bullpen,” I tell him. “The bullpen? We call it the hotel room,” he says. “The hotel room?” “You must call it the bullpen because you’re in Chicago. You know, because of the Chicago Bulls.”

And then I hung up. Because he? Is the stupidest person ever.

(Man do I wish!)

So everyone is all up in yo biz-nass in my office. Which, again if you know me, I luuurrrrve! Because I’m one nosey motherfucker. And I can totally listen to one conversation and have my own. Well, I could before I got TiVo. And now it’s a wonder I remember to zip my fly. Or put on deodorant. Or go to work at all. Every day is Saturday!(In my head that totally was all in this high-pitched girly-man voice. Kinda like Homer when he does his girlie voice.) (And there it is. It all comes back to TV.)

But that kind of atmosphere works really well in our office. Because we are all cool. And are very funny. And we do it because it’s a Seattle thing and they own us. But even our managing director, who has the only office, wants to be out with the commoners. Again, because we’re funny and all up in yo grillz.

(I can go on all day with this bit, boyeee.)

So anyway, I don’t make any personal calls. Thank God e-mail is quiet. Unless you type all loud like I do. But that seems like I’m working and am just mad fucking busy. When in fact I’m usually trading IMs with someone about gossip.

But some days I miss the cubicle walls. They aren’t much different that the bullpen. It’s not like those walls drown out any noise. If you know me, I’m one loud ass motherfucker. But at least people aren’t staring at you, full on knowing that you are not conducting business.

And apparently? I make faces when I work. And I have no idea. I mean most of them are “what the fuck?” faces when something goes wrong. Or mi no comprende. I mean I have a fucking wrinkle on my forehead from doing my “what the fuck?” face so many times. So many stupid people.

And I talk to myself. But that is not new. Ask any person I have ever worked with. They all got used to it. (I’m hoping this gets The Jens to comment. She knows. She also knows how loud I type.) I used to have a desk by the intern at the 49ers. He would get so irritated for like a month because he always thought I was talking to him. Finally, he figured out that he’ll know when I am talking to him. “Just listen for your name Quinn. You’re so pretty.”

Then I moved to the cubes and it took Jo Bag and The Jens awhile to figure out. I talk. Again, if you know me, not really a news bulletin. It’s what I do. I yell at the computer. I talk back to emails. What kind of workplace would it be if we didn’t? We don’t live in Russia, people!

The girl I work with now, who sits across from me, we face each other and get to stare deep into each other’s eyes (thank God we just got monitors!) We’re like Mike Brady and Mike Brady’s co-worker at the architecture firm. Except the desks aren’t slanty. And neither of us is gay. Or has a bad perm. Anyway, she talks to herself too. She calls out the name of the person before she calls them. So she’ll look at her phone and say “Dennis Badonkadonk” and then call him on the phone.

Today I was talking about something. I don’t know what. It’s a good thing I even remembered to get up this morning. Let’s not get into the details. (And no, I don’t want you telling me that maybe drinking for 8 hours on Saturday led to not remembering.) (Actually, go right ahead. I won’t fucking remember anyway.) And our di-rector came out of his posh window office and was all “you’re doing it again.” And I’m like “what? Making faces?” “No.” “Snoring?” “No. “Typing too loud?” “No.” “Knitting?” “No. Talking to yourself.” “Oh.”

At least when you do it in the car you can pretend you’re singing.

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Posted By Kristabella on March 19, 2007

I know that’s what ya’ll were thinking. Seeing no new post coming out of the weekend. Which happened to include my second favoritest holiday, behind my birthday of course. Any holiday where you are encouraged to drink beer and dress casually is a great holiday to me!

So yeah, I didn’t end up in a ditch somewhere. I just was a tad bit under the weather on Sunday to sit down and write more than dnivo’dwklvnfdko. Because that’s about all I could muster. In fact, I think Rich might have a voice mail that sounds pretty similar to that. And I left it at 9:30 PM in the afternoon. Yep. That’s what I said.

Our St. Patty’s pub crawl amounted to mostly a Pub Sit-In. We got to the first bar (a non-Irish bar. Unless the Louie that Bar Louie is named after is like Louie O’Callahan) about 11:30 AM. I was the first to arrive (shocking!) from my group. I was a tad bit leery to take off my jacket and reveal the shirt when I first walked in. Apparently, Bar Louie hosted some sort of little St. Patty’s Day party for families. With lots o’ kids. And I don’t think my “Drink Up Bitches!” shirt was going over well with the parents. I didn’t feel so bad with the toddlers, but when I saw the 12 year olds, I felt a little bad. And then I drank a beer, and said fuck them. And promptly handed them all beers and pointed to my shirt. Don’t disobey the shirt, people.

(The shirt was actually a big hit. Especially in the line for the bathroom. I had people from all over the bar coming up to me to tell me how awesome I was. In my shirt. If only that led to free beers. Asses.)

Finally, around 1ish, the ankle biters left the bar and it was just us add-ults. I scored us a great table right near the bar. So we sat. And sat. And played Pass the Pigs (which we turned into a drinking game. Natch.) And drank. And ate. And watched basketball. And sat. And our fist stop on the pub crawl turned into our only stop on the pub crawl. Mostly. We finally left around 6ish (no idea what time it really was. It was light out, so it was before 7ish.) We went to another non-Irish bar. Which had a longer than line that the Irish places. But really, if you’re in a bar on St. Patty’s Day and you’re wearing green and drinking a cold beverage, all is right in the world.

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So I had a comment by the guy who started this blog. Which I think is totally hilarious! He found me from my Dave Krieg post. What a genius idea. Any time you can get Mark Rypien to pose with a Dave Krieg trading card (is that what the kids are calling them these days?) is awesome. And now I’m even a friend of Dave’s! Yay me!

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I have given up on the tourney, mostly. My bracket is pretty much screwed. My work pool, you get your $10 back if you finish last. So I’m pulling for Southern Illinois or Butler to win it all now. I’m all about the upsets now. (Shakes fist at Texas and Wisconsin!)

I am still in Matty’s Survivor pool. At least one of my entries is. So I’m hoping for some luck there for even a share of the purse. I can pick anyone except UNC, Memphis and SIU. So I’m in pretty good shape.

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And finally (because I am a lazy whore and didn’t want to put all of these items into separate, well-written posts), Amalah is going to dye her hair. Any color that the internet chooses! Let’s help her out! And get rid of fucking cancer. Do it for her mom. Do it for Kim and her mom. Do it so that no one else’s loved ones are ever affected by this horrible disease ever again.

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Posted By Kristabella on March 15, 2007

Look at me, here, writing two posts in one day! Woot to me.

Although, I think the highlight of my day was that story from the EL ride. I should quit while I’m ahead.

Here’s pretty much a timeline of my day today

8:15 AM: Almost push smart-mouthed mother fucker off EL platform.

9-9:30 AM: Finish all my brackets. And make my picks for Matty’s Survivor pool.

9:30-10:30 AM: Get irritated with the new system we just launched. It gives me such a headache.

11:something AM: Tourney starts!

1 PM: Am officially out of tourney, more than likely. Who the fuck picks Stanford? I’ve never been loyal to the Pac-10 in the past. Why the hizzy did I start this year? Am dumb. Ass. (And yeah, I even picked them to get to the Sweet 16 in one pool. D’oh!)

1:45 PM: Go to lunch at Lucky Strike. They have lots of TVs.

3ish PM: Get back from lunch. What? It wasn’t that long. The service was slow!

4 PM: Talk about plans for St. Patty’s Day. A group laugh, again, about my cool shirt. And how it is so me. Bitches.

6 PM: Leave work for gym. More running.

7 PM: Leave gym for home.

7:45 PM: See a possum (or is is opossum??) on my street! A possum! Just walking down the street. Nasty! That’s probably what eats my garbage that I leave out on the back porch. For days. Too bad for the possum it’s probably usually taking a big bite of cat litter.

9 PM: Grey’s over. Izzy! What. The. Fuck?!?!?

9:25 PM: I just found out Dooke lost. To Virginia Commonwealth. Heehee. (That one I actually picked.) (I always pick Duke and U of A to lose in the first round.)

9:40 PM: Go Gonzaga, G-O-N-Z-A-G-A.

9:42 PM: There’s this new commercial for Miller Lite. Talking about how it’s won all these beer awards. Like “Best Beer” awards. Now, I like Miller Lite as much as the next guy. It’s way better than Bud Light. But what kind of fucking beer competition was this? Best light beer brewed in the Midwest? With Midwest being Wisconsin and Missouri? Best light beer from Wisconsin? Best beer that spells light Lite? Did the taste testers have taste buds? Did they have tongues? I’m calling false advertising on their asses. Anyone can raise a “Best Beer” flag. In their own fucking brewery!

9:50 PM: Realize that I do WAY too many of these kinds of posts. That aren’t even interesting.

10:05 PM: Time for bed, bitches. Before I sit idly by while my bracket gets even more screwed up.

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