Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on December 23, 2006

You know when people ask you “What’s your pet peeve?” and you kind of sit there and rack your brain? 

People who bring 12 items into the 10 items or less line at the grocery store? Annoying, but not really a peeve, per se.

People who stand in the middle of escalators/moving walkways so you are not allowed to take full advantage of the motorized-ness of it all? Hmm…..possibly.

People who are incapable of knowing the difference between it’s and its? Your and you’re? There, their and they’re?

YES, God Dammit! That’s it! Nails on a chalkboard.

Anyone who is a writer, or a PR person (except Fitz, clearly), or a high-ranking business person, or really anyone who seemingly should have passed the eighth grade should be able use correct grammar when it comes to the English language. I really don’t think it is too much to ask.

It is also like nails on a chalkboard to me. Have I mentioned that before?

I recently got an e-mail from a certain person I know, who happens to be getting her doctorate (yes, DOCTORATE!), that made me want to pull my hair out. Things like “…understandable if your busy…” (your busy what? Your busy schedule that precludes you from joining our party?) Or “…hope your able to make it…” (My GOD it just hurts me to type! And the spell check is going to go bat-shit crazy!)

My mom, who I thankfully (thankfully) inherited all my good grammar and spelling from, and I traded e-mails about this grammar nightmare of an e-mail. My mom also mentioned something about this person responding to my mom in ALL CAPS and mom was all upset with the YELLING. So I mentioned she probably didn’t know she was YELLING when she did it. I mean, she doesn’t know the difference between your and you’re. Here is what my mom e-mailed back to me. Knowing full well it was going to make me cut myself with the letter opener.

“Your probably write she didn’t no it was yelling.”

Good one mom.

My ex-boyfriend used to do this in e-mails too. Sometimes on purpose, but most times not. And it wasn’t that he didn’t know the difference. He did. He was just lazy. He once told me that, since he was so seasoned in the work world (yeah, okay. He was 25 and had never had a full-time job and works as a bouncer at The Ghetto Club downtown) (That’s really the name too), he stopped correcting people’s grammar because blue collar types don’t like it. So apparently, I’m an elitist ass because I get irritated by people’s incorrect use of the language. Fine. I’m an elitist ass then.

First off, I don’t correct people to their face. Just behind their backs. And usually I don’t say anything. I just sit there and quietly seethe. Unless it’s something that is going to be printed or seen by a lot of people, etc. I am a proofreading Nazi, so I want things to be correct. But I get e-mails all the time with incorrect grammar and I don’t say anything. And I’m talking work people. My friends have better spelling and grammar than people I work with. I just let it slide and sit there knowing that I am indeed better than you. (Kidding, people. Gee-zus!)

I full on admit that when I speak and when I write e-mails and on my blog, I’m not Ms. Perfect Grammar. I think the difference is that I know I’m doing it. I’ll say/write funner, ain’t, etc. But I know that these are not words. (See, not totally an elitist snob.) I know. That I use. Fragments. But it’s like so much funner to do it that way. For the point of emphasis. For emphasis!

And you know what? I’m going to just buy myself this shirt so you will all know how I feel.

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Posted By Kristabella on December 22, 2006

So this morning I went into work late because I went to see my nephew Noah in his Christmas pageant at school. And it was so cute!

Noah is in pre-school. He’s 4 and a half and the smartest four and a half year old I know. Seriously. And the funniest. Kids do say the darnedest things.

(For example, the last time I saw Noah, we were at Gram’s house. And Gram has a bar in the basement, so we play pretend bartender with Noah. You know pretend serving him drinks while we take pretend real sips from the bottles. OK, maybe only I do that. (Aren’t we all such good role models?) And I asked him why I got no tip as a bartender. Did I not give him good service? And he said “There is one thing. See, I was at the store the other day shopping for my mudder (he actually said mudder) and when I came home, my fish got stabbed in the neck! Twice!” No idea where he comes up with this stuff. Or why that meant no tip for me.)

So at the show this morning, everyone wore these cute costumes. There were sheep, shepherds, Mary & Joseph, the baby Jesus, some camels, what I think was supposed to be a donkey (looked like an armadillo or aardvark) and the three kings. My little guy Noah was one of the kings. (The best King, if you ask Auntie.) He got to carry myrrh. I asked him what myrrh was. (Which I totally had to Google for the spelling. Thought it was mirh. But that would have been too easy.)

“Myrrh is fancy gold, Auntie.” (Duh.)

And then I asked him what the other Kings brought.

“One king brought gold and the other one brought Frankenstein.”

A natural comedian. Just like his Auntie.

And how cute did my little King look?

I give this show one thumb up. That Frankenstein kid is bringing us down.

“Jingle Bells, Batman smells…”

Am King and get to ride camel. Not a donkey like those Mary & Joseph people. Who do they think they are?

What? You want to see my niece too? Since she’s such a cutie? Oh, OK.

Because she was there as well to watch her big brother and in a pretty little Christmas dress. (I mean, as long as we’re doing a lame post.)

Is this going to go on for years? You always with the camera?

Oh! And yet more from today! (I know. You didn’t think it could get any better!) And another reason why I should always have my camera with me with the batteries fully charged.

As I was driving back to work, I passed the Volo Auto Museum. No big deal, really. I pass it every time I go by my brother’s. They always have some cool car out front, like cars from movies and TV shows, or really old cars. And I even knew that the Grinch and his sleigh were going to be outside. What I didn’t realize is that crime was so bad in Volo.

Someone. Killed. The Grinch!

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Posted By Kristabella on December 21, 2006

Whose stupid idea was it to write two posts in a day? TWO? That person is a dumb ass.

I’m out of ideas. I was on such a roll. The coffee maker post was like one of my favorites. I made myself laugh out loud while writing it. Am so funny. To myself. (And the many crazies setting up camp inside my head.)

And now? Nothing. Nothing exciting happened at all to me. And it’s all rainy and dreary. And I had to go out at lunch. For gas. And a gift card. And for lunch. (What an idea!) (I had Panera. Thanks for asking.) (And yes it was tasty. You’re so polite imaginary internet person I’m pretending to have a one-sided conversation with right now.)

I did some work today. I’m still bored out of my skull. (Yet, thankfully, have not drooled on myself yet. It is a feat. Believe me.) But seemed to be a wee bit productive today. And am now racking my brain to remember what it was that I actually accomplished. Must have been nothing.

Do you remember that Full House episode when Michelle gets away with everything because she’s a Princess? And then Danny Tanner totally has to punish her because he does let her get away with everything? And she’s in her room in the “corner” and she’s all “This is no fun. No fun. Looking at the wall.” (And in a cute before-those-twins-grew-up-to-be-hobos-and-skanks-with-eating-disorders sing-songy voice.) (And don’t deny that you haven’t seen every episode of Full House. Classic TV.)

That’s how I feel every day now. And I swear, people, for the love of all that is good and kind at this most wonderful time of the year, don’t call me a short timer. Anymore. Any. More! A year and a half at this place is not short. Is long. Looooong!

Oh, and I’m not jumping ship either. Am smart. And leaving. Before I turn into a bitter old hen like the rest of you. Or slit my wrists from the commute. Or turn into a vegetable from not using brain. Because I mail packages! You’re all just jealous. Jealous I tell you! (Shakes fist in their general direction, but not in enough of their general direction for them to ask questions.)

And apparently I actually won’t be bored. (Miss being bored already.)

I just got an e-mail from my boss. RE: Newsletter.

“Can you write most of it next week?”

Um, is “no” the wrong answer?

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Posted By Kristabella on December 20, 2006

You, loyal readers? Have hit the jackpot. Two posts. In ONE DAY! Hoo-Ray!  

I’ve had this post ready to write for awhile, but want to make sure I devote enough time to it. And it has been saved as a draft forever because I thought of this clever headline and yet again marveled at my extreme wittiness. And then proceeded to give myself another standing ovation. A. Nother.

So have you seen My Boys on TBS? If you haven’t, set your TiVo bitches! It’s a good show. It is like watching my life in TV form. (And for a TV junkie as myself, it’s a dream come true. Dream. Come. True.) (Except, I’m not getting any royalties or anything. Therefore, not so McDreamy.) (See? Another TV reference.)

Let me give you a bit of a background. The main character, P.J. Franklin, is this woman sportswriter for the Chicago Sun-Times. She’s a beat writer. FOR THE CUBS! So the show is about her and her guy friends, who like hang out all the time and drink beer and play poker and watch the Bears. And basically, she’s one of the guys. So the show chronicles her life with said guy friends and her love life.

(By the way, totally thought they said P.J. Fleck the first time. Which I thought was awesome and another Chicago nod, since he’s from this area. Kind of. And he is cute! Until I found out he’s now working for the Buckeyes. Oh, P.J. What happened?) (By the way, I ran into P.J. Fleck as I was walking running out of the building the day I got fired. Tears streaming down my cheeks. And P.J is THE nicest guy ever. And in typical P.J. fashion was all cheery and all “Hey Kristin!” And I smiled and was all “Hey P.J.” I later found out that he felt SO bad (see? nicest guy ever) because he didn’t know. And he didn’t. Just love him to pieces. Did I mention how God dang cute he is?)

Where was I? Right. The show. It really is a great show. Probably more of a chick show, but good. There are some things that bother me, though. Number one, they don’t actually film in Chicago. They try and pretend that they are in Chicago and a big city, etc. But it’s clear that they never are. I mean, one time they are sitting like in front of some office building with marble steps (???) and having coffee from a coffee cart (???) and you can see an attempt at that red Picasso statue that’s by Daley Plaza in the background. (It is Picasso, right? And it’s by Daley Plaza? Who cares. Hardly any of you actually live in Chicago anyway.)

OK, so that’s really the only thing that bothers me. But it could be thing one, thing two and thing three that bothers me. (And apparently I just went all Dr. Seuss on your ass.) Chicago is a great city. Film here, people. I did hear that she’s supposedly going to actually be at Wrigley in an upcoming episode. We’ll see.

Why is she like me, you ask? You need more than Cubs? And “drink beer?” Gee-zus, people. Well, I have been a tomboy and a huge sports fan my entire life. I mean, before mulch, I had worked in sports pretty much my entire adult life. I worked in the ASU SID office in the athletic department. I worked summers as an intern for the Kane County Cougars, the single-A affiliate of the Florida Marlins (now Oakland Athletics.) I worked for six years in the National Football League. (It sounds cooler if you’re thinking of Chris Berman saying it.) I went to like 13 Cubs games this year. I LOVE sports.

Working in sports as a woman is never an easy thing. Unless you’re working in the WNBA, I would guess. Otherwise, you’re always the chick. So they treat you differently. You work really hard to not make them treat you differently. No, I’m not a gold digger. No, I’m not a groupie. I WANT to work in sports. Because I like SPORTS. (Now don’ get me wrong, seeing professional athletes in no shirts every day and getting paid for that, is not a bad deal. But that’s not why I was there. I’d work for the WNBA. If it wasn’t so excruciating to watch such bad basketball.)

So in the first episode of My Boys, P.J. meets Bobby, who is a friend of one her guy friends. Bobby also happens to cover the Cubs. So they take a shine to one another and make out and fool around. (Not like me there. I’d NEVER make out with a co-worker. Or make out period.) The next day at work, she’s all weird to him, pretending they don’t really know each other. And in a conversation with her ONE girl friend, she utters the best line ever.

“I’ve just gotten to where they’ve forgotten I’m a woman. And I want to keep it that way.”

I think I yelled Hallelujah! Or rewound it on my DVR. Or both! That is what I worked so hard to do at the Niners. To be one of the guys. And I was successful. They swore in front of me. They told nasty-ass dirty jokes in front of me. They sexually harassed me on a daily basis. And that’s how I wanted it.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking exactly what P.J.’s friend said. “You have strange goals.”

Maybe. But don’t we all just want to fit in? I just wanted to fit in in Testosterone Land. And I did. Captain Estrogen totally conquered Testosterone Land. (Yeah. I know. Took that way too far. Apparently I’m much funnier during the day.)

I mean, the same is even true in my job now (minus the sexual harassment.) It’s all dudes. And I am one of them. I’m the one up late drinking with them on the road. I’m the one smoking stogies with them, shooting pool, just being one of the guys. I just get along better with guys. They are so simple. And I can talk sports!

But regardless of the fact that she’s the only girl, these people are great friends. And that’s what draws me to the show. That and it’s showing everyone out there that even though you’re “one of the guys” you’re still just as clueless as any other girl in the world when it comes to the opposite sex. Liking the things they do doesn’t make it any easier.

Just makes you a better friend. Which is what Gram always tells me. That I’m never going to find a man because I’m always just friends with them. Just like P.J. Rock on girlfriend! We can be spinsters together. You in fake Chicago. Me in real Chicago.

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Posted By Kristabella on December 20, 2006

OK, so I missed my one-month blogiversary (I made up a word) because, um, well, I don’t know. It was around Thanksgiving? And I was bound and determined (bound. And determined, people.) to recognize month two. (Which is the paper blogiversary. Didn’t you know? For that honor, I’m picking myself up some toilet paper. Or paper towels.)

Two-month blogiversary? Was yesterday. Shall save these streamers and balloons for January 19.

So the coffee maker here at work is not allowed to be turned on. Know why? Because said coffee machine is on same circuit as new server. Which means? When said coffee maker is on, brewing loverly, necessary-for-me-to-be-able-to-stay-awake-and-work-I-mean-read-blogs-all-day coffee, it blows the circuit! And server, goes off. And computers? No workey. And no e-mail, and no internet make KJ go something, something.

Go Crazy?

Don’t mind if I do!

(Those of you who got The Simpsons reference, you’re my new best friend(s).)

But then nice man here, decided to go out and buy 2 coffee makers (regular and decaf. Why would you drink coffee without caffeine? And in the morning no less? Those are crazy people. KRAY-ZEE!) So we do have coffee. What we don’t have? Is the HOT water that comes out of that little spout that I use to make oatmeal. Because it’s instant. And instantly good. And instantly in my belly. Because I? Have no patience.

So I’m all “FINE! I’ll make instant oatmeal the old-fashioned way. In the microwave.”

So I do. I add the water and then go to put said oatmeal in the microwave. (What’s with all the “saids” today? Seriously.) As I do this, I apparently come down with an instantaneous case of vertigo because before I realize it, half my oatmeal is all over the inside of the microwave. Dammit!

So I clean it up. Put cup back in the microwave (and by the way, totally almost spill it AGAIN) and proceed to heat it to its desired warmth. After a minute, I pull it out. It does not look good. But it’s oatmeal, it never really looks all that appetizing. Oh, and it’s as hot as a mother fucker!

So it cools. And I take a bite. Well, not even a bite before I spit it back out. Apparently, the stuff that spilled? Had all the flavorfullness in it. (the maple and brown sugar flavorfullness) And when that spills out, it makes oatmeal turn into tasteless sticky goo. That doesn’t even taste like oatmeal. Blech!

I would also like to point out (has nothing to do with coffee or oatmeal) that no one tells you that you won’t want to do any work AT ALL when you know you’re leaving. In seven days.

Today: “Can you make a poster?”

Me: (Grumpity, grump, muttermuttermutter, heavy sigh) “What for?”

I don’t want to make a poster. I definitely don’t want to make a poster that Mr. High-On-Himself-Marketing-Director is just going to ask me to e-mail to him so he can “tweak” it (which means, make one word ALL CAPS instead of small caps) and then claim as his own. Definitely not.

Why? Why are you asking me to do things? Waaaaaah!

OK. Now I have to go into a meeting with my boss to tell him all the eleven million things that I’ve been working on and that I definitely won’t be able to get to before next Friday. Because now? I have to do a poster.

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