Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on February 15, 2007

Also could be titled “Why I Am An Old Lady” or “ncioewniovndkj”

So pub crawl was fun last night. They had quite the turnout and there were $2 Coors Lights. Nuff said.

But am old. I cannot go out until after midnight, drinking Coors Lights like they are water. (Wait, they are water.) And then be expected to get up and come to work. On top of that, I had to drive today because of meeting with client and company sponsored happy hour (AGAIN, with the drinking!) Which meant that I had to get my car out of its spot. Its spot with a two-foot wall of snow “guarding” it. (I must have looked like such a weirdo walking out of my house with my shovel in my hand.)  So I started to shovel. Which is an exhausting thing, for those of you who have never had to do it. Compound that with the fact that I think I might have been a teensy bit drunk still and had quite a headache, and you can see why I gave up the shovel and just gunned the shit out of it until I propelled onto the street. (Not recommended.)

And then there was an accident and you know what? It takes almost the same amount of time to drive 5 miles to current job as it took to drive 27 miles to old job. Stupid Lake Shore Drive! I love you for all your awesomeness with the views of the lake and how no one goes anything in the vicinity of the speed limit. But you during rush hour is not fun times.

I have to leave soon to go out to the burbs for that meeting. And then there’s a call. And then happy hour! With the booze! And fried food! Good for hungover belly. Just like the Chipotle burrito bowl I just ate. Which made me feel better. But now I’m back to being just all kinds of sleepy.

And seriously, we were hanging with a bunch of kids last night. All these 25 year olds. Including this guy I gave out my blog address to. (Am shameless self-promoter.) And they were going strong at 12:30. And thinking of going to another bar! I am far too old to keep it going that late. On a school night! I do not bounce back like I used to.

Obviously. Wordywordytalkietalkietypeytypeysleepysleepy-andallotherkindsofnonsenseandmustgonowandnappynappy.

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Posted By Kristabella on February 13, 2007

Before we get to our regularly scheduled post (ie the entertaining stuff) I would like to do a few housekeeping things. I’m having that completely overwhelming feeling right now. I feel like I have 100 things to do. Mostly it’s because tomorrow night is the Valentine’s Day pub crawl in Wrigleyville. Which means tomorrow night is shot. And then Thursday I have to drive out to Libertyville to meet with some client (who is a royal bitch) and then go to the company-sponsored happy hour. So Thursday night is shot. And I have laundry to do and packing and partying and traveling and have I mentioned I haven’t started running???? And I leave for Seattle on Sunday. So what am I doing? Obviously being productive and blogging and playing with my new phone. Which is sweet. Even though the fire red one would have been WAY cooler, and they decided to introduce it the day after I bought mine. Whatever. Free phone.

Whew! Just had to clear the air. Man I feel better. If only I could feel like I could get away with that as a post. But I feel you all would be cheated. See what I do for you?

So to continue on with weird stories about me, I thought I’d continue with another driving story. This one a tad scarier and could have had a bad ending. Thankfully I’m here to tell you all about it today. (Man, you’re really going to be disappointed. Am such a drama queen.)

Sometime back in 2003 (maybe? I’m so bad with dates.) I was minding my own business and driving to work down the El Camino Real in Northern California. This was the time when I lived in Menlo Park, so it was sometime between May 2001 and July 2003. I think. Again, bad with the dates. So maybe it was 2002. Who cares. So I was driving down El Camino right outside the Stanford Mall. As I was driving, minding my own business, I was near a light and some jack ass was driving slow. So I went in the lane next to him and passed him up. As I went to get back in front of him, the next light turned yellow. So I stopped a little suddenly, forcing him to stop. Whatevs. My bad, dude.

Apparently, he wasn’t pleased. I look in my rearview mirror and I see him making all sorts of wild gestures. I’m guessing he’s upset with me. Big deal buddy. Sorry I kind of cut you off, but I wasn’t about to run a red light just to please your green Ford Bronco ass. As I’m watching him, giggling to myself, I see him get out of the car. (Oh fuck!) I immediately begin to panic. I mean, I’m behind another car and it’s three lanes of traffic and OH MY GOD, I HAVE NOWHERE TO GO! So I do what any other self-respecting person does. I lock my doors. (Cause that’s going to stop a raging lunatic.)

He gets out and comes right up to my window, just livid as all fucking get out. Like veins popping out of his head. Steam-coming-out-of-his-ears mad. And he’s all flailing his hands at me. Banging his fists on my window. And dude! Calm the fuck down! He turns to leave, but before he does, he decides to jam his boot into the rear driver’s side door. Making a huge dent much like a crater on the moon. Full on noticeable in the side mirror. Like, he kicked a huge dent in my car door with his skanky ass boots. What! The! Fuck!! And then he gets back in his car. All the while, the light is still red and have I mentioned I HAVE NOWHERE TO GO???

(I remember looking at the faces of the other drivers. And the one lady next to me was horrified, looked at me and then inconspiciously locked her doors. I’ll never forget that. Thanks for the help.)

Finally he gets back in his car and I’m totally shaken. I mean, who does that? So as he’s following me (who does that and then follows the person?) I, being the super sleuth that I am, decide to write down his plate number and call the cops. I’m so smart I can read it backwards in the rear view mirror. Just call me Dick Tracy.

So I tell the cops what happened and that he’s still following me, give them the plate and basically stay on the phone with them until the officers are dispatched. We went through about five different towns because they are all small little towns up there in the Peninsula. (Small, but rich. And probably hold most of the wealth of Northern California in that small area. Jerry Rice and Steve Young live there, yo.) Finally the cops get ahead of us and pull me over and about 500 feet ahead of me, pull him over. The one cop stays with me, takes some photos and waits for me to ID the creep. Basically I have to drive past and ID him to make sure it’s the same wacko. And then I get to make a citizen’s arrest (weeeee!) (could so be Dick Tracy. Complete with fedora.) (Was also obsessed with Dick Tracy as a kid. I heart Warren Beatty for some odd reason.)

The whole time this ass was following me (mind you, I didn’t take any kind of straight shot to work. All kind of side streets. He was obviously following.) all I was thinking was “go ahead and follow me into the 49ers complex. I’ll make sure there are some big linemen waiting at the door for me.” Although, seriously, I wasn’t too upset because I knew if he followed me all the way to work, he was in for it. (When did I start talking like a character from a 50s cops and robbers show? And when was the last time I said robbers?) We had 24-hour security (not that they would do much) and the Security Director was an ex-cop (not that he could do much either.) Crazy McScrewloose wasn’t going to do anything once I got to the 4949. Which was good to know. (Later that day Garrison Hearst told me he would have saved me (my hero!) and wished he would have followed me to the complex. See why I wasn’t worried??)

Anyway, months later I got a note from his lawyer, telling me he was a nice guy and really didn’t mean to do it. (Yeah, sure, like Scott Peterson didn’t mean to kill his wife and unborn child.) The judge ordered him to take anger management classes and to pay me for the damages. The sleezeball lawyer even told me my estimate was too high and I needed to go to Mr. Crazy’s body shop. Um, yeah. I don’t think so.

Months and months later I got my check. And didn’t get my car fixed. (Cha-ching!) And months after that when I was rear-ended by some old broad in Stockton (not nearly as exciting. And what is up with me and car incidents??) and the body shop was replacing the bumper on her dime, the mechanic was all “I popped that dent out of that side door.” So I got a few grand in my pocket AND got the door fixed. Mostly. You can still see the dent, but not as bad as it was originally. See people, it is not good to be mean. Or to be a fucking nutjob.

And it’s all good because my car sits on the street and has already been sideswiped once. So I need it to look like crap. Then no one will bother it.

I’m also thinking maybe it’s a good thing I don’t drive every day anymore. Might not be a bad thing to have me off the street. Even though I’m always completely innocent. (Insert big, toothy grin)

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Posted By Kristabella on February 12, 2007

First, I would like to point out that Yahoo! blows. I’m officially taking away your exclamation point, bastards. (Sorry Kim, I know you like work for them and shit.) So you can have more than one e-mail address and they all go to the same inbox. In the words of the Guinness guys – Brilliant! Except, it never seems to work for me. And I ask the help desk, which takes THREE F’ING DAYS TO ANSWER, and they give me nothing. They basically tell me to do what I’ve already been doing, like I’m some type of retard.

What am I telling you this for? Because I set up an e-mail addy just for this blog. (It’s on the about page.) So in case some award-winning author or publisher ever wanted to contact me about writing a novel so I never have to work? Well, I wouldn’t have gotten the e-mail! So fuck you Yahoo. You’re on notice. I switched to Gmail. So if any of you want to e-mail, my new “blog” e-mail address is kristabella.wordpress (at) gmail (dot) com. And I do it that way to escape the spammers. Which there are a lot of. WordPress rocks and blocks them. And doesn’t make you all have to fill out those weird gobbeldy gook thingies to post a comment like Blogger. What the hell is gubrtsfy anyway?

And speaking of Blogger. (Dude, this so wasn’t meant to be an ALL OUT RANT for the love of Christ.) Why did they change their format and shit for commenters? So because I’m not on Blogger, my blog URL doesn’t show up when I comment. I love my Blogger friends, but please, I comment for traffic. What the fuck?

Apparently I did have something else to write about. Anyway, today Amalah like tagged the internet. And is making us all do this Six Things meme. And she’s all powerful. She is Queen of Everything. So I’m going to do it. Even though I’m pretty sure it isn’t going to be easier than just writing a post. (And Scarlet did a similar thing awhile back. But didn’t tag me. Didn’t tag anyone. And I thank her immensely for it. I don’t back down from a challenge. OK, maybe I do. Because I’m not a meme fan.)

Here goes. Six weird things about me. If only everything about me wasn’t weird…

1) When I was a kid, I was a total China doll. I broke my leg once, my foot once, my ankle once and my finger once. The first one came when I was 5 when my brother was teaching me how to slide tackle in soccer and slide-tackled his three-years-older-powerful-manly-leg into my shin. And snapped it like a twig. Cast number one. (He still, to this DAY, claims it was a rock between his manly leg and my shin that caused the damage. This is why he’s an engineer, NOT a doctor.) The second one was playing Jaws. Which is a game I thought everyone played as a kid. But apparently only kids in the Chicagoland area. Where you put two jump ropes parallel and move them farther and farther apart, making a kind of “ocean” which contains “Jaws” which you have to jump over to save your life. (Hey! It made sense as a third grader.) I made the jump. But broke five bones in my foot in the process. Cast number two. I broke my finger in eighth grade. At basketball practice. A girl rolled the ball to me in a drill. Jammed that pinkie finger right up. She rolled the ball to me. Rolled! That was just a splint. My finest moment was as a senior in high school. (I think. Maybe junior year?) We (and by we, I mean a bunch of high school-aged teenagers) rented out Discovery Zone for the night. It was one of those indoor places with the ball pits and slides, etc. Yep. We rented it out. For the night. We were nerds. So I had just gotten there and was like a pig in slop. All the slides! And the ball pits! Weeeeeeee! I went down one slide and got up. Simple enough. That’s how everyone else does it. As I took a step, I totally f’ing turned my ankle. It swelled up like a pregnant lady’s belly. Turns out? My tendon slipped off the bone and when it came back in place, chipped a small piece of the ankle bone. From walking. Yep. And that one was the most painful. Cast number three.

(Am I done yet?)

2) Continuing on the tradition of medical mishaps, I swallowed a calculator battery in the eighth grade. (I swear, my luck sometimes.) We had a substitute in English that horrible day. I was sitting there, talking, of course, when I felt something land in my mouth and slide the fuck down my throat. I think I tried to go in and “get it’ with my fingers. Yeah, like that was going to work. I immediately yelled “what was that?” Thinking everything BUT a calculator battery. Turns out I have perfect timing. Some douche chucked a calculator battery across the room and I was lucky enough to have it get in my belly. If only it was high school in the days of the TI-82. No way I could swallow a AAA battery if I tried. I can’t even swallow vitamins. I attempted to go to the nurse’s office but thought “what harm can a calculator battery do?” So I took a drink of water and went back to class. (Was dedicated student.) A few periods later, Ms. Monahan freaked out and sent me back down. (I still don’t know how she found out.) Everyone freaked out and called poison control because “Oh my God! What if the battery acid leaks out?” Me: “Battery acid? Fuckity fuck fuck!” I ended up in the emergency room, they took some X-Rays and we waited for it to pass. It did. And I’m fine. Did I mention the boy I had the BIGGEST crush on was the one who threw it? No? Yeah, adds to the embarrassment.

3) I love the Golden Girls. I watch re-runs of it on Lifetime all the time. And I’m convinced that Bea Arthur is really a man.

4) I gave my high school drivers education teacher a rock for a gift. From Rochester, New York. My dad was driving back to Rochester to pick up my brother from college near the end of my sophomore year and I wanted to tag along. I had to miss a crucial driving test or something in class. But I was a model driver and didn’t need the class time. The girl driving around with the parking brake on for an entire hour-long class, she’s the one that needed the help. (She’s getting married this weekend, by the way. My friend Shelly is standing in the wedding. I hope it’s long-sleeved, since it’s going to be 12.) Anyway, so he let me go to NY with my dad but told me he wanted a gift. And he felt really bad when I got back and gave him a gift. He was just kidding, he said. Until I gave him the rock. He might still have it. He had it still, three years later, when he had my sister in class.

5) Speaking of excellent driving skills, I drove through a fence when I was 15. I still had my permit and my brother, in a moment of stupidity, let me drive his baby. His 1973 Ford Gran Torino. The Starsky & Hutch car. It was a beaut. It was summer-ish and it had just rained a little bit. I went to turn the corner near my dad’s house and I lost control a little bit. And panicked. And was all “which way do I turn the wheels when you’re fishtailing? Opposite? Same direction?” Meanwhile, I never took my foot off the fucking gas pedal. I jumped the curb and went right through their fence. The pole of the fence. Which was cemented in. No damage to the Torino. But I’ll never forget sitting in the driver’s seat in their back yard. I thank my brother to this day (thanks Mike!) for taking the heat for that one. Now all I get is speeding tickets.

6) I was in love with Alberto Tomba, the Italian skier, during the 1992 and 1994 Winter Olympics. Like insanely obsessed. I may, may, have clipped articles about him and made a little scrapbook. Oh, my, am such a nerd. I only put that out here because my family threatens to tell people about it. Like future husbands. So THERE! I was weird and Tomba-obsessed during my youth. He was like the Jim McMahon of skiing. Or Bode Miller. Except he won medals.

Well, that’s that. Writing it all out on one page really makes me realize how batshit crazy I am. Crazytown. Population = one.

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Posted By Kristabella on February 11, 2007

I totally had plans to sit down and actually write some good, thought-provoking posts this weekend. Even start them and post them later in the week. But I’m sure you can judge by this title, that did not happen.

I really had all intentions to have a very productive weekend. My house is a mess. I need to do laundry. My closet and dresser need a good purging. And guess what I actually got accomplished? Well, I did laundry. And unpacked from my trip to San Francisco. And tidied up a little. And that’s about it. And? After all that strenuous work this afternoon, I passed out on the couch.

But it felt good. Because I haven’t had a weekend to do nothing in awhile. So it was nice. Although, I’m still pissed about my house being a tad on the disgusting side. And my dresser in shambles. But hey, what can you do? Sitting on the couch catching up on your TiVo is a much better way to spend the weekend. Duh.

To be honest, the real reason I did nothing on Saturday was because I was super hungover. And didn’t get to bed until after 3 on Friday. Which is pretty much almost being up 24 hours. So I slept until 2 on Saturday afternoon. And by that time? The day is wasted.

So what was I doing, you ask? Well, Friday after work I met mom mom downtown for a few beers. We work so close to each other and I haven’t seen her in awhile. And she had a bummer week. So we met at the bar near her work, which was only a few EL stops from my office. We hung out there for some time, having beers, catching up and eating pizza. At one point I got up to use the facilities  and when I came back, my mom said “I got propositioned.” And I’m all “whaaaat?” She said some black guy in a beret came up to her and told her his hotel room and wanted to meet her there. He said “meet me in room 1329” And my mom asks “what hotel?” And he says “I don’t remember.” So she told him OK because “it was better than arguing.”

So I immediately laugh and pull out my blog n0tebook. She thinks he’s still in the bar, but we don’t see him anywhere. Later that night, this black guy comes in, wearing a beret. So I ask my mom if that’s the guy. She said no. Beret Man is sitting at the bar with a friend of his, and they’re all chummy and drunk and old and hitting on me every time I go up to get drinks. Asking me about Jimmy Durante. Beret Man has no teeth. OK, fine. He has like three. But he’s missing more than he’s got.

A few minutes later, Toothless Joe takes it upon himself to come up to our table and start talking to us. (See what I get for being nice and knowing who Jimmy Durante is?) (And I wasn’t about to tell them the only reason I know who Jimmy Durante is is from Pee Wee’s Playhouse.) And he’s all flirting with my mom. Except, he didn’t think it was my mom. He thought it was my co-worker. And then starts apologizing because he tried to pick up my mom when she was with her daughter. Which just makes me start laughing more. Because my mom got hit on by a guy with no teeth. NO TEETH!

I’m trying to get out of this situation, but I can’t. I try all these things to get him to go away, but he doesn’t. So I go up to the bar and grab some random dude that I met for a second while getting beers and I ask him to save my mom. Which he does. Which pisses Toothless Joe off to no end. But seriously, I’m pretty sure my mom isn’t going home with some homeless dude with no teeth. But he made some snide comment to me as he walked past. And I yelled back “don’t get mad at me because you can whistle with your mouth shut!” (No, no I didn’t.)

So with mom saved and out of that mess, we sit talking to Jack, the dude that saved my mom. Who has teeth. He’s a nice guy. Works across the street at the Chicago Symphony Center. I continue to go on and on about that guy having no teeth. Things like “how is that possible?” Or “if you have a job, you should have all your teeth.” And “save your beer money and go to the dentist!” And on and on and on. I tried to take photos of him on my camera phone, but I couldn’t get him to smile. I think I even told him to give me a big “toothy grin.” Nothin. I think I may have pissed him off. Or something. Whatever. You have no teeth. And I do. I win!

Turns out he’s a regular in that place. He told us he lives in Springfield and works for a travelling jazz ensemble. Later that night, someone asked me what he told us he did because he’s always doing something different. And if he lives in Springfield, how does he know everyone in the bar? And how can he be a regular? So he’s a liar and has no teeth!

That was the extent of our evening. I hung out after the bar closed with the owner, the hottie bartender and a few others for an hour or so. Nice to drink free beer with the owner of a bar after last call. They were cool people.

Oh, and I forgot to mention. Which actually makes me laugh. Just from this story. This guy tried to steal my coat. It was sitting on my chair, by my bag and he tried to steal it. And he was a big fat man. And when he did find his, his was a short coat. Mine is a long coat. And his looked nothing like mine, except it was black.

I think I may have pissed him off too because I told everyone in there that he tried to steal my coat. Maybe I shouldn’t go back to that bar.

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Posted By Kristabella on February 8, 2007

People. Pee. Pull. Grey’s. Meredith. Stop reading if you haven’t seen it. Holy. Shit!

My jaw hit the floor. More than it hit the floor than when the crazy Hanso Foundation, or whoever, had a bus kill Juliet’s ex-husband and then fucking showed up in the morgue with FUCKING ETHAN ROM! (That still gets me. Because he? Is all kinds of creepy.)

So what the fuck? WTF???? Like someone mentioned over at MamaPop, she’s not going to die. I mean, it is called Grey’s Anatomy. Not Yang’s Anatomy. And that little girl? She’s all kinds of Ethan Rom creepy!

(I swear, I think I had a post tonight, but I’ve seriously sat here with my mouth open. For almost half an hour. Shocked. SHOCKED!) (I’m also one of those people who doesn’t mind Meredith. She doesn’t annoy me, like some people I know. Some people who thought it was funny when she fell in.)

Totally did NOT see that coming. At. All.

Oh! And my friend sent me this story from E! and Watch with Kristin (she must be a genius) that Denny is coming back. Denny! Who is dead. D-E-A-D dead! Which has started all sorts of theories. Beavis said he’s going to come back as a ghost and lift the car off that dude. And he needs to be wearing a sheet and say Boo! I think Meredith is going to heaven and will hang out with Denny and the other dead ex-Seattle Grace patients. Or, before tonight’s episode, I said that Burke (because he’s a crafty one) is going to invent a time machine and go back to that night that he got shot and Denny died. (Ok, he didn’t die that night, but Burke will be not seriously injured and Denny will live. Ok?) And Meredith isn’t going to sleep with McDreamy. And it’s going to be all shits and giggles.  And maybe Chris O’Donnell is coming back? I should totally write for this show.

Really, that’s more exciting than what I was going to write about.

I was going to write this morning because when I logged on when I got in, I got some comments on the blog and my typical spam. And then I got a note telling me that someone named Foot Watcher added me as a contact in Flickr. “Cool,” I think. “Maybe he’ll become a new blog reader.” I didn’t even think about the fact that I took photos of feet and shoes.

Holy fuck that was creepy. I opened his Flickr account and in the split (split) second I looked, it was bare feet with cute painted toe nails. Lots of them. (Hey, at least they weren’t ugly feet.) And then I got the heebie jeebies. And then I had a meeting. And came back and was even more disgusted. I seriously didn’t think these people existed. (OK, I did, but never thought I would cross paths with them! Eww, eww, ewwwwwwwwww!)

I already don’t like Flickr. Kodakgalley.com is way better. But I don’t think they have a way to send a link without having people sign in. I need to look into it. With Flickr, you can put titles and descriptions in, but can’t see those when you do the slide show. (I accidentally just typed slide shoe. Maybe I’m a Foot Watcher!) (My mom’s a Wheel Watcher!) So my mom did the slide show and was wondering what those light show pictures were from the Bay Bridge. She probably wondered what half of them were, but I don’t think she questions much with me. It’s much better to smile and nod.

So yeah, that was it today. My boss lady was out of the office today, so I didn’t have much to do. It goes in waves. When my client does something, they like to do it all at once. Andithastobedonerightnow! So I bought my new cell phone today, ordered a new CTA card because mine has f’ing crapped out on me. Which sucks because I don’t have any cash and I’m not loading $20 on one of those normal cards when there is $40 on the one that doesn’t work. (It should be here in 5-7 days. Cue the tiny violins.)

Oh, and I found a reason to be thankful for the cold weather! Seriously! We went to this AWESOME deli for lunch, which had a ton of snarky people working there, busting your balls at every chance. (I say balls because the guy was so nice to me and gave me 2 stamps since it was my first time there. Awwwww. But he totally ripped on my co-worker loudly to the entire place that he was boring because he asked for boring yellow mustard. They even told him “hope you don’t fall asleep with your boring sandwich.” Awesome!) They have the best turkey pastrami next to Max’s in California. It was so good! And they give you a 40-cent discount if you work in the neighborhood. Hey, I’ll take it. But. But! They had soup for 5 cents because it was 5 degrees outside. How sweet is that? I’m really hoping for a cold one tomorrow!

(This post is all over the place, by the way.)

And Anna Nicole Smith died today. How crazy is that? I do have to admit, we all cracked jokes in the office that it was due to too much TrimSpa. And then I commented about her poor new baby girl. Until one guy in the office pointed out that she’ll probably be a lot better off. Which? Is probably true. Because Anna? She was the epitome of batshit crazy. Although, if Howard K. Stern is the father, I do feel even sorrier for her.

I really wanted to start this paragraph with And or So. But I swear if I looked, most of what I write starts off like that. (See how clever I am to get out of that one?) My kitty-kitty is sick. I think. She’s puking. A lot. She’ll go through spells, but mostly it’s because she’s a long-hair cat and eats hair. On the ground. I do not lie. But she’s like dry heaving. And I’m starting to get worried. Normally she pukes and then goes right for the food bowl. But she hasn’t eaten or anything. And I’m not sure really what to do. I guess I’ll keep an eye on her. But I’m a little worried. Ok. Mostly I’m worried about her puking on me during the night. Because, ewww.

And by the way, Rush Limbaugh says I hate white people because I hate Rex Grossman. No, douchebag, I hate bad pompous ass quarterbacks who completely tank it in the biggest game of the year.

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