Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on January 22, 2007

I thought long and hard about starting this blog. I have a close friend that has his own blog and totally got me tuned in to the world of blogs. Before that, all I knew was that it stood for like weblog, and that didn’t help to explain it. People should have been all “it’s a web journal.” OK because that totally makes way more sense.

Besides Senor Beavis and his site, I found a lot on my own. (Boredom at work will lead you to a lot of creative ways to waste time. None of them productive. But still good, old classic fun.) A lot of them I read every day. There are a few that have similar life stories or write the same way I do or are just plain entertaining. It was the combination of all these things that led me to start my own “web blog.” You’d think it was a whim thing, but it really wasn’t. It’s quite an undertaking. I hemmed and hawed for months.

Every “blogger” has their own way of tailoring their site. It’s their site, they should be able to do with it what they want. For instance, on Senor’s site, all the Tourists (as us loyal readers are known) have nicknames. Senor and I go to brunch quite often and I still don’t know these people’s real names. And that’s how he chose to do it. And it totally works.

I chose to not do it that way. Mostly because I’m not all that creative with the nicknames and all. Senor has a wealth of knowledge about so many thing so it totally suits him. (There’s a golfer called KJ Choi? I had NO idea.) Seriously, I wouldn’t be able to come up with anything creative. And so I leave it to you to fill it out when you comment. But if your name is Shaniqua, more than likely, that’s how I’m going to refer to you in a post. (Man I wish I knew a Shaniqua.)

Also, some bloggers want to totally stay anonymous in their blog. But since I am not one to shy away from telling you my life story, I’m not one of those. I’ll post photos and stories and all that. And my friends and family know. In fact, now they worry. I’ve struck fear in all of them that they are going to be mentioned here in a bad light. (Mwah ha ha)

Let me clear the air. First off, I’m never going to post anything on here that you would offend to if I haven’t checked with you first (except maybe in this instance. We’ll get to that later.) And there are things that go on in the lives of my friends and family that I think would be excellent blog topics. But I usually check first. But mostly, it’s free game as to what I’m going to write about. If it happens in a public place, I’m going to write about it. This site is about me and my life and sometimes you are all innocent bystanders in it all. But I pretty much give you all fair warning when we’re out. If I scream at the top of my lungs “I’m so blogging about this” just deal with it because you ain’t talking me out of it.

OK, so disclaimer aside. I’ve really debated about writing this post at all. Because I’m a little afraid of the consequences. But I told myself that I’m not going to censor myself and I’m going to write what I want to write. It is my site, for the love of Pete. And if you don’t like it, then don’t read it. Or stay away from me when you hear me talking about blogging.

Here goes. So last weekend when Good Friend Rich was in town (and no, we’re not getting married) I invited all my ladies out to meet him. He’s pretty much one of my best friends. He is the only person I talk to every day besides my mom. Granted it’s on IM, but still. We’re tight. So I want people to meet him since I talk about him and he’s probably my most regular commenter, along with Scarlet and Senor and my mom. (You guys are awesome, by the way!)

(I would like to point out at this moment that I can’t believe I’ve gone on and on about something and haven’t even gotten close to the point of this post. I’m hoping you can sense my trepidation.)

(By the way, I’d like to take this time to shout out to one of my best friends, Cindy, who is preggers with her second child. She just found out it is another boy! And I’m SUPER excited for her and her family! And I can’t wait to go out and visit the new addition in AZ. I miss that I’m not sitting right next to her in a cube hearing all about it. Miss ya!) (And I’m so hoping she’s already told people! If not…hey everyone! Cindy’s pregnant!) (That’ll save you an e-mail, The Jens.)

Enough stalling. So last Friday me and some friends went to Howl at the Moon. I think I’ve mentioned before how much I love this place. We hadn’t gotten together since the holidays, so Rich being in town was a perfect excuse to get us all together! And who doesn’t love dueling pianos?

So we get there about 9 PM and the place is packed, as per usual. We find a spot near the bar in the back. It’s a good spot because we’re easy access to the bar and have a place to put our coats. Which, if you’re in a winter city, you realize this is a big deal. We’re not talking tiny coats here. We’re talking huge down coats with scarves and hats. Lots o’ room needed!

So going back to my SF days (Haro and Sharona, you’d be so proud) we put our coats in a ball on the ground near the bar. It was really the most logical solution at the time. There are hundreds and hundreds (OK, maybe not hundreds) of coats piled on the bar. (I’m like two pages into this story and already feeling that I’m losing you.) So me and Jenn and Schwerer, we put our coats on the ground. Done deal. Good to go. Where’s me beer?

I’d like to point out, that I was sure our other friend put her coat on our pile. Because, hello? Follow the group. This is not the time to venture out on your own and be a “rebel.”

So we’re having a good time at Howl. Good music. Good people watching. They’re even playing the Bears fight sing quite often. We meet a nice gay man from Lakeview, who, if he wasn’t moving to Miami, would so be my new best friend.

Meanwhile, back in Seahawks land, Rich texts me and tells me the team has landed and are finally at the hotel. (There was some snow that evening. Which can be a bitch to travelers, no matter where you’re from or who you are.) And one of the coaches of the Seahawks used to coach with the Niners and is one of my good friends. I mean, this man, when he got fired or “released” from his contract, called us into his office to drink some champagne with him to toast him on his new life with Seattle. And this wasn’t Safeway brand champagne. This was like circa 1970s Dom Perignon. Good shit. I’m not a champagne drinker but it was smooth. Especially at 2 in the afternoon. Love. Him.

Anyway, it was really important for me to see him. I love him. He’s a great guy. So at this time, Rich texts me that Coach is about to leave the hotel bar. So I’m all “bitches, we need to go.” So we decide to head out. We all go to grab our coats. The three of us, Jenn, Schwerer and I, we have our coats. We’re good to go. Our other friend? Hers is gone.

Let me preface with this. Just so you all are where we were in this whole coat situation. (Helps if you’ve had about 5 beers too.) If you read up above, Schwerer, Jenn and I put our coats on the floor. Our other friend was a little slow (as she is in life all around) in taking her coat off. We assumed she’d follow our lead. She didn’t. Apparently, she put her coat on GINORMOUS PILE OF 1,000 COATS. Oh, and did I mention? Her coat? A black, wool coat. Totally sticks out in a crowd.

So as we go to leave, she can’t find it. She starts looking everywhere, and we’re helping her look. But pile has totally dwindled and her coat is nowhere to be found. Among the THREE other black, wool coats. That aren’t hers.

So she gets hysterical. Like absolutely, fucking-crazy-hysterical. Complete with big, fat tears. About a coat. I try my best to calm her down. Because really? It’s a coat! And she has her purse, and her keys, and her ID and all other items that would be so much worse to lose. Silver lining, silver lining.

Now the reason I didn’t want to write about this is because this person tends to overreact. (Shocking as it may seem.) Yes, it sucks to lose your coat when it’s like 15 degrees outside. But we live in Chicago. There are cabs everywhere. They are a-plenty. You aren’t going to be outside that much. (I won’t tell you that my solution to all of this is “drink more since you won’t be feeling anything anyway” because it doesn’t go over well.) After some probing, we find that she’s had this coat for (wait for it, wait for it) FIVE YEARS! FIVE! Now, I love coats. I mean, I have about 12 of them. And being here 2 winters, I’m already tired of mine. And I’m so getting a new one next year. So for five years? I’m thinking you’re about damn due.

She tells us it’s an expensive coat. So we ask, how much? It’s a $200 coat. As you all know, I have no money. To drop $200 in one purchase is A LOT for me. I get that. When did she buy it? Five years ago. FIVE. OK, now you know me. I’m a stickler for money. I know what $200 means to an average Joe. But I also know that $200 spread out over 5 years is nothing. That’s like what we each spent at Howl at the Moon. In one night! And I get that she was all weepy (??) about having to buy a new coat when she recently totaled her car (and by recently, I mean mid-November. So like over two months ago.) and is going to have a car payment on top of her other bills. But, Jesus Christ. Go to Wal-Mart. Go to Target. It’s fucking mid-January. Get a cheap fucking coat to hold you over for two months. And then, if you have to, save up your God Damned money and buy a nice coat next winter. So. Not. The. End. Of. The. World.

(Or ask your mom to get you one as your early birthday present, which is a little over a month away. Again, silver lining, silver lining.)

So, on top of all this, we go to leave Howl. We’re all in a single-file line leaving the establishment. Of course, I’m leading the pack. I have people I need to see. So I walk out and hail a cab. As any good City girl would do. As I turn around, I see only Schwerer. Somehow in the 10 yards of space, we’ve lost the other two. Without them saying “hey! Stop! We’re going to check for my coat at the bar!” (Yeah, good fucking luck with that.) (I want to add here that my friend is convinced that someone stole her coat. Not accidentally took it by mistake beacuse it LOOKED LIKE EVERY OTHER FUCKING COAT. But stole it. Because only bad shit happens to her. We all live totally harmonious lives.) (Did you get the dripping sarcasm? Did ya? Huh? Did ya?)

So back to the cab. I hail one. In a line of six. No shit. And I get in with Schwerer. We wait for a bit and cabbie is all “um, where are your friends? I’m totally getting honked at and harassed by these other cabbies.” He pulls to the side of the road because it’s one of those areas of the city where the cabbies come one after another after another. Which is why, after a minute or so (with the meter running) I tell him to take off. We are going about five blocks. The total fare was a little over $5 for the two of us. Schwerer, being the good person she is and NOT worrying about seeing the Seahawks coach, was a little worried about us ditching them. But I figured (being a little tipsy AND in a hurry) that “it’s not that hard for them to find us.”

So the “lost coat friend” calls to try and bitch me out for leaving her. But the fact is, my argument is better than hers and IT’S A FIVE DOLLAR CAB RIDE! So I tell her exactly where we are going. And they seriously get there maybe 2 minutes after us. Such a big deal. (I later found out that Coatless Girl was totally ripping on me to Jenn in the cab.) (And Jenn had no problem with taking the separate cab to the hotel bar. So if she had no problem, then I’m thinking it’s not that big of a deal.)

Coatless Wonder didn’t stay around long because she full-on FLIPPED OUT because the scarf her mom knitted her was with the coat. And it upset her so much, apparently, that she had to go home. And I get it. The scarf had sentimental value and was a nice scarf that her mom made for her. But, you know the saying? Shit happens. Unfortunately, that’s what happens in life. So you have to learn to roll with the punches. Because if you look back and really the only bad things that have happened to you are you losing a coat and a scarf, and not something worse like a parent or someone close to you, I’d say you’re doing pretty damn well. Because really? It’s a fucking coat. Yeah it sucks, but no one was out to purposely harm you. It was an accident. DEAL WITH IT. Go buy a new one. You are not the only one who has had to deal with bad shit in your life.

And that was our evening. I had fun regardless. And don’t feel like I did anything so bad. Yeah, maybe the cab thing wasn’t the best idea. But I’m the first to admit that I don’t always make the best decisions when I’m drinking. But I still will never, for the rest of my life, understand her overreacting to that whole situation.

So kids, the moral of the story is that you should always look at the positive side of situations. (Anyone else humming “Always Look On the Bright Side of Life” from Monty Python?) Not everything is negative. Every negative has a positive. And the sooner you start realizing and embracing the positive, looking for a silver lining, the happier you will all be.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

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Posted By Kristabella on January 21, 2007

So I have to tell you all that I’m blogging from the plane. Well, not really since I’m not actually online, but I’m still typing my entry. On the plane.

I haven’t been too active on here this week. It was a busy week at work. I think they’ll be busy from now on. But I feel like once I get the hang of things, the busyness won’t be as bad since I’ll know what I’m doing. It will be second nature. But I do enjoy the busy.

Thursday, I spent most of the afternoon out of the office. I went out to see some clients. And we had to head out to the ‘burbs anyway because we had a happy hour with the consultants on my account that night. It was super fun. I’m sure a lot of you thought consultants would be so boring and so not people that would be fun to hang out with. (I wondered this after I found out more about our consultants. And that they are all IT consultants. And all techy and shit. And not really consultants as much as program and project management consultants. They are hired to go in on IT projects and do specific work. Like fix the back end of the Java-Linux operating system. (I have no idea what in the hell that means, but how savvy did I just sound there? Face it. You’re impressed.) So they are in there for specific skills on specific projects. Like really well-qualified temps. So totally not the Office Space kind of consultants.)

So these guys (and some girls spread few and far between) are really fun people. The 12 or so that came out on Thursday night were a lot of fun. And just solidified the fact that I really love this job!

Last night I babysat for my niece and nephew. Which wasn’t so bad. Noah is so big and smart now. He’s almost five, so he’s like this real person. As evidenced by the fact that he told me about how much his Daddy (my brother) loves Sudoku. Seriously. A not-even-five-year old telling me about Sudoku. And he also told me about Sat-er-un, the planet with the rings. He’s super into planets right now. He’s so smart.

And my niece Skyler is just as cute as ever. And crazy as ever. I really think she gets that part from her Auntie. And I swear, she’s really close to saying Auntie. Not really, but I like to pretend that in Skyler language, she’s already saying it.

So last Friday, me and two of the other people in my office who are going to Seattle, we decided to switch our flight for today. Because with our flight leaving at 12:30 PM, we’re going to land in Seattle, just as the Bears game will be ending. So we check our options.

Option #1 – Leave on 7:35 AM flight with plenty of time to land in Seattle, get to the hotel and watch the whole game.

(Um, this option wasn’t even considered. By any of us. 7:35 is damn early.)

Option #2 – 10:15 AM flight that puts us into Seattle about 1 PM, missing just about an hour of the game. And we all decide we’ll leave the gate and head to the nearest airport bar. The change fee and all that was too expensive, but I did find out on American you can do preferred stand-by. Which means for the low, low price of $25, if you call 3 hours before the flight you want to get on, you’ll pretty much get a seat if it is available. Which is what we all did.

So I get ready and leave. I’m already running about 10 minutes late, but figure if I skip Dunkin Donuts and just get some coffee at the airport, I’ll have plenty of time. Right?

Hell. To. The. No.

Did I fail to mention it was snowing? And on a Sunday morning, no plows or salt trucks are getting their asses on the road. And why would they? No one should be up that early on a Sunday morning.

So I get there at about 9:25. I’m still within what I thought was the 30-minute rule to check bags and check in. It takes me forever to park and the damn tram is running late too. Why the fuck does everyone else have to run late when I’m running late? Damn you universe!

I finally, FINALLY, get to the little e-ticket check-in kiosk at 9:42. Guess what? It gives me a fucking boarding pass and then decides I’m too late to check any bags. And with the stupid liquid rule, I either have to toss everything and buy new stuff in Seattle, or try to fly stand-by on my God damned original flight. And the line to get all this straightened out is not short. Why do people stand in the real line anymore? Kiosk is the way to go bitches.

So as I’m standing in line, the heavens open up and make it colder outside and snow is falling. And moisture is freezing. And? My flight is delayed 10 minutes. Which means? I’m now within the 40-minute rule and they’ll check my bag! Woo to the Hoo!

So then all I have to brave is the security line. Which isn’t that long. Seemingly. There are only 2 lanes open. And lots of people. But this is where blogging gets good.

I’m standing behind this disgusting couple who have their hands all over each other. They are neither young. Nor cute. It’s disgusting. As we get to the X-Ray machine, we’re all taking our shoes off, putting them in the gray bins, moving along like drones in a feeding line. As we get closer, dude asks the TSA lady about the mouthwash he has in his bag. The lady begins to tell him the same old line that has been true for months now, that you can take small travel sized things of liquids and gels in a clear Ziploc bag. (I don’t travel that much, but it amazes me how oblivious people are. Back in November, less than a week after I got back from Orlando and a few days before I was leaving for Arizona, my friend IMs me to tell me that I can’t take any liquids on a plane. My first thought “Duh. I just flew to Orlando.” My second thought, as she told me how they threw all her liquids away and let her keep her expensive perfume, was “how in the hell did you have no idea, almost two months later, that this is a rule?”) Apparently, she isn’t the only one.)

So Dude pulls out his mouthwash. IN A WATER BOTTLE and asks “is this OK?” And TSA lady is all “no, it needs to be travel size in a Ziploc bag.” When you know damn well she’s thinking “dumbass!” And it gets better. Then. THEN, he pulls out a jumbo sized bottle of Paul Mitchell shampoo and is all “how about this?” And that TSA lady tries really hard not to laugh. And tells him no, but he could go back and check it. He decides not to and dumps the giganto bottle of shampoo. (Question is, do you use the shampoo? Because you and your wife don’t look clean.)

So we move through X-Ray and his bag is holding things up a bit. I’m thinking “he’s probably got more shit in there he thought he could get away with.” And boy howdy, does he. Finally they pull his bag off the manually check it and I go through. As I’m putting my shoes and belt on, I notice what all he’s got in his bag. It didn’t stop with the shampoo. He has a large can of shaving cream. An industrial sized bottle of “cologne” that may or may not have been Brut or Old Spice. I didn’t look to close. I don’t like to stare that long. But it was the funniest thing I have seen. I can only imagine the other stuff those TSA people see and what people try to get away with. I’ll admit I got through with a small thing of hand lotion in my purse. But if they found it, I would have thrown it out. Am not an idiot. But if you’re going to try and push the limit, leave the 72-ounce bottles at home, Rusty.

And did I mention that all of this? Making me late for my plane! Even though I still had time to stop at Dunkin Donuts for coffee and a bagel because I was starving. And it was such a good thing that I decided to rush to the gate. Because my plane sat at the gate for over an hour. De-icing or something. Because the plane came from Philly. But they de-iced it three times and even the pilot got on and said “I don’t know what they’re doing. And why it’s taking them so long. But we’re still sitting.” Well, at least it bothers him too.

On the plane, there is this big fat man sitting across the aisle. The girl in front of him, who I work with, her seat is broken and when she leans in it, it leans back. Big Fat Man doesn’t like this because then he’s all wedged in. He got so disgusted that he went to open his Diet Coke bottle and the damn thing exploded all over him. So Big Fat Wet Man asked the flight attendant for a napkin or a sheet to wipe himself off with. Which he did. But I noticed later, that he was messing with the napkin again. Apparently there was some sort of slit in the cloth napkin (probably one of the ones those first class assholes get) and Big Fat Man was trying to button it to his shirt. I don’t even know what else to say. Besides fucking hilarious.

Nothing else too exciting. Just glad to be here. Especially since we’re probably going to miss the whole game anyway. Plane’s supposed to land at 1:35 Seattle time, so we might be able to catch a quarter or more. Better than nothing. Gives me something to do while I wait for my bag that probably isn’t on the plane anyway.

Editor’s note: We made it to the hotel in time to catch most of the second half. And I have my bag. And? And? AND? THE BEARS ARE GOING TO THE FUCKING SUPER BOWL!!!!! BEAR. FUCKING. DOWN!!!

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Posted By Kristabella on January 17, 2007

A couple of random thoughts on this Wednesday evening.

First, it is bloody cold in my apartment. That means it’s butt ass cold outside. Which it is. I don’t control it. Big Brother does. And apparently Big Brother doesn’t think it is cold enough in here. And I don’t have to pay for heat, which is good. But come on radiators! Turn the fuck on!

Some days, taking public transportation sucks. Like when you wait 15 minutes for a Red Line train. That are supposed to run every five minutes. And the fucking track closures aren’t supposed to start until April. My calendar says January 17. Please, let me know if I’ve been in a coma for three months. And please tell me why it’s 10 degrees in April for Christ’s sake!

Does anyone else hate the auditions on American Idol? So. Many. Bad. Singers. I can only take a little of it. I usually TiVo it, but then don’t watch until Hollywood. Because there are still bad singers. And OH the drama with making people work together in groups! (Yes, Senor, we know you hate American Idol.)

So today was the first day in my 8 days at my new job that I actually kinda sorta wanted to be working at my old job. I know what you’re thinking. “How could you bitch about a place so much and now you miss it?” or you’re thinking “you are an insane bitch. Am done with you.”

Well, person number one (poop on you person number two and your hateful comments and I don’t want you as a reader anyway.) (Wait! Wait! Come back. Please don’t go. I want readers. And am a whore for the stats and the comments.) (Am starting to think I am really insane. Maybe you should all just walk away.) Anyway, I missed the old job for all the nothing that I did. All the time I had to sit around and read blogs, and news stories, and comment on blogs, and watch videos on blogs and all the e-mailing! Now? I fucking have work to do! Like, all the God damned time. What is wrong in the universe?

I do like it. My days fly by. Before I know it, it’s 5:30 and I’ve already worked late. (But not really because I roll in about 8:40. But still.) I like that I’m starting to get things to do. And I’m totally starting to get it. A little. Good times. But I miss my blog reading. I try and catch up at night. And I read a few during lunch,  but it’s not the same. That little fucking screen on the laptop is really straining my eyes. Maybe I can get a doctor’s note or something?

(This so isn’t what this post is about.)

So the big kickoff meeting is next week in Seattle. We had our weekly Business Development call today (first job I’ve had where business development actually develops business.) (I just realized every full-time job I’ve had has had a business development role. Weird. Two words. David. Goldman.) (I wonder if I’ll get any Google hits for that one.) And they talked about this questionnaire I had to fill out. Well, not just me. I’m cool, but I’m not that cool. Everyone has to fill one out. It’s a getting to know you kind of thing. Part of me thinks this is going to come back and haunt us sometime during this meeting. This questionnaire came in an e-mail from the CEO. Personally. He was excited to meet me. That’s kind of cool that the freaking CEO e-mails me personally. Apparently from what I hear, he’s that cool.

So I open this puppy up. All seven pages of it. And I now know what it was like for all those professional football players that I forced to do questionnaires all those years for the yearbook. Not so easy, as I stupidly assumed.

A few samplings of the questions:

Imagine you lived in a mansion on a big circular drive. What would you put in the center of the drive for everyone to see as they came to your house?

My answer? The big statue of Harry Caray that’s outside Wrigley. Which, if I’m in a mansion, I’m rich and don’t have to steal said statue.

What would you do if you were independently wealthy?

The “sample” had answers about solving poverty, giving money to charity. My answer? Buy the Cubs and finally get some good pitching. And give some to the needy and shit.

If your life was a movie, what songs would be on the soundtrack?

I came up with a few. But I put down I Got Five On It, which is a song about weed. But I put it because we lived on the fifth floor of the dorm. And it was our theme, bitches. I also put First of the Month, which is by Bone Thugs n Harmony, so must also be about weed. But we always sang it when we had to pay rent. I think of college when I hear those two songs. And no, not because we smoked so much weed. I actually never did in college. Seriously. I wouldn’t lie to you internet.

People wouldn’t believe that when I was growing up, I:

I think I wrote about broken bones and being a New Kids on the Block fan. I don’t remember being a kid. And why would I want to share awkward period with co-workers?

You just won a gold medal in the Olympics, what event was it and what bonus song would you play after the national anthem?

Um? The TiVo marathon competition? With all the button pushing. I said luge. With Ice, Ice Baby as my song.

If you had to change your first name, what you change it to?

Lolita

OK, I guess it’s not that bad. But it’s different when it’s work people. I found myself starting to get a little snarky with a few, but changed my answers. I still managed to sneak in some clever comments. They had the one about telling three things your co-workers don’t know about you. And I wanted to say I had a blog. Oh, but I can’t. Not that I’ve said anything bad, but I like that I’m able to say whatever I want here about my work, good or bad. This is my place away from work. No one at my old place knows I have it either. Mostly because of the DD stuff. And because I rip on people. That think I like them. Heeeee.

And now, I must go. It’s Lolita’s bed time.

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Posted By Kristabella on January 16, 2007

No, not really.

But I did get some mail today. Including…(drum roll please) my first paycheck! And can I tell you I feel 100 times better? (You totally thought I was going to tell you I got a check from Publisher’s Clearing House, didn’t you? Dude, that is such a sham. Only took me 8 years and 17,817 magazine subscriptions to figure that shit out. Am dumb. And a slow learner. So expect a Cat Fancy subscription for your next birthday.)

I didn’t realize how stressed I’ve been because of this no money shit. I never have any money, so that’s not new, but the whole in-between time is killer. For me and my checking account. (Good for my bank though. They love when I overdraw. They get dollar signs in their eyes like the cartoons every time I keep taking out money that I don’t have.) When I’m stressed about certain things, I tend to get very blah in my life. I don’t do much of anything but sit around. Dishes pile up. Laundry doesn’t do itself. The cat box grows legs and walks down the stairs. With the cats following. Until they remember I am One With Food.

I always chalk this up to being busy at work, etc. But I tell ya, I got that check (which was only for a week, but since I had -$200 in my bank account, really comes in handy. Yes that’s a minus.) and I was Girl Possessed. After I opened it, I did the dishes in the sink that have been piling up for over a week. I did two loads of laundry. I emptied the cat box. I cooked dinner. And I even took out the two bags of trash that were sitting outside on my balcony. For over a week. (Good thing it’s cold. Well, good thing for the neighbors.) And then I spun two plates on my head while balancing myself on a log, holding three dozen eggs all while solving differential equations. And knitting. And I felt so much better. (Must have been the complex math.) I must keep this up. (Must being the operative word here. Truth = no chance in hell.)

I have to say, I’m already loving this job. The people are great, but seriously? It’s all about the Benjamins. I like money. To pay bills. I mean, one week’s pay is almost damn near as much as I was making in 2 weeks at the old job. And I’m totally exaggerating. Because they didn’t double my salary. But don’t I wish!

I now know what to expect on pay days. And that’s nice. You can kind of calculate it in your head, but you never truly know how much taxes they will take out. I totally underestimated my first paycheck with the Niners and really had to question that $1000 rent check I wrote out each month. To live in the GHETTO! (But no, I never asked who the hell that FICA person was and why he took all my money. I figure he’ll get his. Karma is a bitch.)

So now, I think I’ll sleep better. And I don’t have to borrow any more from Mom. Life is good. I was really sweating it, too, with the trip to Seattle coming up on Sunday. I mean, I doubt I’ll be spending that much since it is a company sponsored event, but you never know.

Speaking of Seattle, I’m going to miss the entire NFC Championship Game on Sunday. The one time I wish I was flying Jet Blue with all their DirecTV goodness. Oh well. I’m not feeling too confident about our chances. Maybe me not watching will be some sort of good luck charm. I only hope if Rex has a meltdown like LT, I get to see it live.

On another completely random note, I want to point out to all of you that you need to set your TiVos for I Love New Yorkon VH1. NOW! That woman is all sorts of drama. (She’s the one Flav booted twice on his reality show and now she has her own Bachelor-type show. Please, keep up people.) And the best part? Those men are bigger drama queens than her. I have to say, not a big fan when she was on Flavor of Love. One or two. She was good TV, but too much all up in people’s business. And what did it get you? Not Flav. Once or twice. But she’s not as annoying when she’s not competing for someone’s attention. (Yes, she’s still annoying. I said less annoying. Less.) These men are crazy. And she kind of let them pick their own nicknames. And one is named Pootie. (And the giggle factor alone on that is exponential.) (I read the dictionary today. Shut it.) And he’s got some bats loose in the belfry. Pootie Tang throws himself down a flight of stairs next week.

Must. Tune. In. Or I may just have to hop off this log for a second, put these plates down, stop the knitting. And kick your ass.

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Posted By Kristabella on January 15, 2007

I’m baaack! I feel like when I don’t write every day or damn near every day I have let you people down. My loyal readers. And the randoms. Who don’t comment. Hiya!

And! AND! I’m not watching the Golden Globes at this minute so that I can write. For those of you who know me you can attest to this, this is a HUGE deal. I luuurve me some award shows. The glamour. The fashion. The endless mocking that comes along with it! And the Golden Globes are the best because it’s TV and movies. And they’re drinking! During the show!

But thanks to the wonders of TiVo (and the fact I hate commercials) I’ll catch up eventually. I’m not worried. Now this way I can fast forward through the dumb awards, like mini-series and foreign films and bullshit like that.

I had a bit of a busy weekend. Well, mostly Sunday. I worked the Bears game. (Nothing like spending almost 10 hours at Soldier Field on a Sunday. Stone cold sober.) (And no, Cindy, the Bears don’t have beer in the press box postgame.) My friend works in their PR department and needed some help with the media. Normally I’d say I helped in the press box, but I wasn’t even that lucky. I was manning the auxiliary media center, which was a cement room under the stadium, near the locker rooms. (Not near enough, so no, I didn’t see any players.) And we watched the game on TV. Like I would have done at home. Except I would have been in my PJs. But my friend needed someone down there that could get the job done that he could trust (or so the story goes and what he has to tell me to make me actually get up early on a Sunday and work a Bears game.) He wanted to not have to worry about the overflow press and handle the main press upstairs.

This is the second game I worked. The first one was a preseason game that I only did to A) get out of work early and B) to get my photo taken with Mike Ditka for my Christmas card. And it was preseason, so we didn’t have anything to do. And Roger has way too many press box workers. Five or six can easily get the job done. There is no need for 14. Even during the playoffs.

It doesn’t make me miss sports. At all. I mean, I love football. Love it. And I enjoyed my time working in the NFL. Don’t get me wrong. But sports has a high burn out rate and I was tired of it. It was time to get out. I wasn’t enjoying life. And if I want something that is going to kill my social life, I’ll have kids.

But it was OK to work. There were all these young “kids” working that just envied the shit out of me and my experience, and that’s kind of cool. And I figured out there is one thing that I miss. I miss knowing what the hell I’m doing and being responsible for stuff. I miss the fact that I have about 10 years experience dealing with media and running press boxes, etc. And I’m good at it. And I forgot that I was. San Francisco left quite a bitter taste in my mouth. (Firing will do that to you.) But I do know my shit. I can deal with pushy media and I can hold my own. I was good at what I did in the NFL. Damn good!

And it took a wide-eyed 22-year old chick to clue me in. She wants to get into the NFL and she was asking all these questions and picking my brain. And I was really trying to help her out because she seems like she’d be awesome with any team. Very bright, go-getter, very ambitious. Not much unlike myself at 22. And some very routine thing happened with a media person and I didn’t even think anything of it. Until she said “that’s what I need to learn and be better at – dealing with the media. You have so much knowledge of what it is like dealing with them and what they can and can’t get away with.” And I thought “you’re right. Now go get me a sandwich!”

Like I’ve mentioned before, I didn’t leave on my own from that team. Believe me, it was right around the corner. I was so donezo. But it wasn’t all bad. And I seriously think it has taken me almost 2 years to figure that out. I did learn a lot. I was really good at my job. And I had a great time, most days. And I have to look back at that experience (am finally able to) as such a great learning experience. And all the cool people I met. And all the connections I still have. And all the things that can help you at any job down the road.

And Rex Grossman is a pompous ass. Seriously? Just be happy that you won. I do not feel bad at all about the shit you get in the media. And they obviously do affect you, no matter what you say since you’ve never followed up a bad game with a good game.

And now, the shinyness of the Golden Globes are beckoning! Ooooooooh, shiny.

And Jesus Christ, Cameron. You’ve been single less than a week and this is how you expect to get a man?

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