Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on December 19, 2006

I was thinking of this headline on my way home and I was like “damn, how creative of me. YET again!” And then I was like “wait, isn’t Insomnia that weird movie with Robin Williams? Where they are in Alaska and it’s always light out? That wasn’t a good movie.” And then I remembered I was thinking of Identity with John Cusack. Which was good. And then I broke into hysterical laughter.

And the headline of “Movie, Blah,” wasn’t really going to work so much.

So this insomnia thing is really starting to get to me. I’m so writing this post and then getting to bed. Hopefully before nine. Cross your fingers. But since I can’t put my book down, it will be 11 yet again. (Read it. Or borrow it. Either way.)

I think part of the insomnia is obviously all the job shit going on. But for the last 3 nights, it’s pretty much because right before bed, I’ve eaten either Taco Bell, real Mexican food (which included a shovel-load of chips and salsa) and cookies. Oh and corn dip. Which, by the way, is the BEST dip ever. Ever. So, you ask, what did I eat tonight? Hot dogs.

Yep, I made hot dogs. (Who cares?) Well, turkey dogs, really, because I need my pants to fit. And they don’t fit now. And I even bought tomatoes and onions to chop up for the hot dogs. (Just call me Rachel Ray. No, seriously, please don’t. I hate her. Does anyone else just want to punch her in the face?) It was like as close as I was getting, without any more work, to a Chicago style hot dog. Which, if you didn’t know, doesn’t have ketchup. (We do tomatoes instead. And relish. And hot peppers. And either cucumbers or pickles.) And I have to confess. I put ketchup on my hot dog tonight. Because, really, it was a turkey dog. And no poppy seed bun. And definitely no celery salt. So really, it was just a hot dog. So I’m still officially a resident. Right? RIGHT? Mayor Daley?

(Warning: Random subject switch) So as I was driving and thinking of the headline, etc. I had a thought. I come up with a lot of material when I’m driving. And I’m wondering how that is going to change when I don’t drive to work anymore. Although, I will be safer. You know not pulling out a notebook and attempting to write while driving. All the while leaning on the horn. Which honks every time I have an idea. Kinda like that whole thing about a bell ringing and an angel getting its wings. Every time my horn honks, it’s the sound of the proverbial light bulb going off above my head. Either that or some fucking jackass just cut me off! And was probably a Cheesehead!

(Yes. No commuting anymore will be a good thing. Very good thing.)

But if I pull out my notebook on the EL to write out something witty like “Insomnia: Movie, Good. Condition, Bad.” and laugh out LOUD to myself because I was really thinking Identity, will that draw stares? Scratch that. Stares, good. Because I’m sure it will lead to more notes. And more laughs. And more stares. Mwah ha ha!

So I think part of my utter extreme exhaustion, besides going to bed with a brick in my stomach, is (no not all the whole starting-a-new-job-thing) that work is soooooo boring. (Dude this post is all OVER the place.) Seriously. I read archives on blogs today. For two hours. TWO FUCKING HOURS! I mean, just send my ass home and pay me until the 29th. I serve no purpose. I didn’t even mail anything today. I turned my boring-ass, sit-around-and-read-blogs-all-day-and-mail-packages-job into four pages of notes of things that I’m currently working on and that need to get done after I leave. Although, I could get them done before I leave. But I have archives to read. Archives!

(Side note: In my archival duties today, I read this one post where they were talking about e-mailing commenters on your site. Now I pretty much know everyone that comments. Scarlet, just through the internet (should I totally have e-mailed you after your first comment? Now it would just seem silly. Especially since I have e-mailed you for the photo contests.) But the rest are friends and family. Except, this chick commented. And called me a glamour puss (?? Is that good or bad?) and I never contacted her. Thanks for reading, though, Fluidspirit! But fellow bloggers, what is protocol for that? And I guess it doesn’t matter since she’s going to see that I linked to her.)

But anyway, Big Boss Man from new job in Seattle called me on my way home. (Again…tangent, anyone?) (OK, that made me think of Tang. And I was at this party and we were talking about Tang. And then someone spilled a glass of punch. And I was all “Taaang!” The room? Erupted! In laughter.) (OK, and Wikipedia search of Tang came up with “poontang.” I obviously meant the drink. But still hilarious!)

ANYWAY, Big Boss called to tell me about the BIG KICKOFF MEETING! In January. That I need to go to. In Seattle. For a week! Because after said kickoff meeting, I have “new-hire training.” For three more days. Woo. Hoo. Free trip to Seattle! The week of the 21st, Amber and Rich. Free your schedules!

Do you think they’ll be pissed that after I get back from Seattle, I’m turning around and taking 2 days off to go to a wedding in San Francisco a week later? Oh well. They’ll have to deal with it. ‘Tis part of the package that is me.

OK, it’s 9:05. Off to bed, bitches! Before I go off in yet another random direction. Or talk about poon some more. (Must. Get. Sleep. Tonight.)

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Posted By Kristabella on December 18, 2006

For the past few days I’ve really been hit with the Writer’s Block Stick. I see this page and it horrifies me. (Why is there so much white space?!?!?) And most of the last few days, I’ve avoided the computer all together because I have not felt like writing. (And have been cursing myself and that damn NaBloPoMo or whatever it is. Although, this is why I started it so that I would force myself to write on days I didn’t want to. But seriously, what am I contributing by showing photos of my cats? Wouldn’t we all have been a little better off if I just hadn’t posted at all??)

And I was thinking about this last night on my way back from the ‘burbs. I met my friends out for dinner, and it’s kinda halfway, but not really. But it was a really good Mexican food place. (And that had nothing to do with anything.)

I was pissed when I got there. It took me an hour and a half. And it should take like 50 minutes. Tops. But 290 was JAMMED. My only guess is because the Bears game got out so late because of overtime (12-2 bitches!) and all the suburban tourists that were probably downtown shopping and were trying to get home at a decent hour. And all of us were on the road. At the same time!

We all know how I feel about traffic. I hate it. It forced me to look for a new job where I didn’t have to drive. Or at least not drive as much. (Well that and I’m bored and only mail packages (I’m up to 3 today!) and my boss is a bit of a douche.) So when I sit in 90-minute traffic on a SUNDAY, I get really irritated. Really quickly. No one else that came last night deals with as hellish a commute as I do on a daily basis. And I drive a stick shift. So on top of all THIS, my foot hurt! (Wah Wah)

So I’m sure I wasn’t pleasant company at dinner. I tried. I think I was good for the most part. But on the way home, going through the evening, I noticed I did have a bit of a short fuse. And just wasn’t my usual self. Which is weird. Shouldn’t I be so elated about the new job and everything? And it’s the holidays! It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Or something.

But somewhere on Lake Shore Drive, I realized that I’ve been on quite an emotional roller coaster ride in the last few weeks. I mean, I haven’t really slept in weeks, either stressing about interviews, or getting the job, or telling my boss. So that wears me down. I am not pleasant at all when I don’t sleep. Ask anyone at the Niners when I didn’t sleep more than 3 hours a night for like 6 months. They can tell you I was not a resident of Pleasant Town. (I was going to say Pleasanton, as a shout out to the Reynolds’, but then people might be confused because that is an actual town. And I’ve never lived there. But it is quite pleasant.) (I was, on the other hand, a resident of The Cats. On two separate occasions.)

On top of all that stress, I don’t look forward to coming into work. I mean, I haven’t for awhile. But now it’s worse. Because my leaving is the buzz in the office. And with the sales team. And I have all these voice mails and e-mails from people. And it’s really sweet because I’ve been told my resignation won’t be honored. (DD even told me he was crying and that he would beg me to stay.) But can’t I just be left alone and finish up my work? And doesn’t anyone else have anything exciting going on that they want to share? Anyone?

And then there’s the traffic. Which irritates me even more when I’m stressed. And haven’t slept. And know there is just eight more days of it. EIGHT! The end is in sight. And that should make me excited. Yes? But it just irritates me more.

So, yes, I know, woe is me. My life is so horrible. But it’s my blog and I get to share whatever I want. And I’m pretty sure, this is better than cats. And I wanted to explain the lack of interesting/exciting/funny/non-cat-related material here. Because it bothers me when I’m not 100% and can’t really explain it.

And remember, no gnews is good gnews with Gary Gnu.

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Posted By Kristabella on December 17, 2006

So since I apparently think that I am 22 again and was out until after 2 on both Friday and Saturday nights, you will get yet another lame post. (And I have book club on Monday night, so we might have another lame-o one. Be warned.) I am tired and just got back from dinner. And I need my sleep. Or this is about to be one cranky-ass blog.

So here we go. I have two cats. You’ve seen them here before. They don’t like it when I go out of town.

And yes, I’m so going to turn into that old spinster with 8 cats. I’m 1/4 of the way there bitches.

So I thought I would formally introduce you.

Simba is my mom’s cat I inherited. She couldn’t keep them anymore, so I gave Simba a good home. Her other cat, Tanny (who drools. Seriously), my sister gave a good home. Simba, or Cat Choi, is a good kitty. Very friendly. Loves people. Is quite needy. He’s a fan favorite.

Kitty in a basket!

Simba is a Chenier cat. My sister in law’s family has a greenhouse and they always had strays. And they so used to mate with each other. So, all the cats are somehow related. Because their mom slept with their brother or cousin or something. So they’re all a little off. 

My other cat is Willow. But I’ve never called her Willow. I call her Kitty-Kitty. And I got her in California. So she was the first kitty of my very own. She’s a big hairball, and seriously resembles a chunk of dryer lint. See? (Actually, my dryer lint usually looks just like this (minus the eyeballs) since she sheds like a mothafucker!)

Put the camera down, bitch! (And don’t I have a pretty duvet?)

So I adopted Kitty-Kitty from the animal shelter in September 2004. I picked her out easily. Mostly because she was the only one awake. That was my first mistake. I might have been a little better off with a sleepy kitty. Not a crazy one.

The shelter people tell you when you bring home new pets to lock them in a small room, like the bathroom, to let them get used to their surroundings and being out of a cage, etc. Because when you let them out when you first bring them home, they’ll probably go hide under the bed and never come out to eat or use the litter box. And we don’t want that.

Not Kitty-Kitty. She came home and immediately was running all over and sniffing and claiming it ALL AS HER OWN! Silly human! Mwah ha ha.

But that first night, I figured I should probably listen to the shelter people. So I locked her in my room with me, with her food, water and litter. That was my second mistake.

All night she was in the litter box. Flinging litter against what sounded like the side of the litter box. My third mistake. I woke up the next morning and there was the litter box. And a pile of litter NEXT to litter box. Needless to say, that was the last night she was locked in my room with me. And I also went out the next day and bought one of those litter boxes with a hood.

Oh, and she eats paper. Anything made of paper. I had my expense check on the kitchen table, and it had a little kitty tooth hole in it. Paper bags, wrapping paper, you get the idea. I have to hide the presents like I have kids or something, otherwise everyone knows what they’re getting. Since there are chew holes in the paper. Maybe she’s part dog.

So there you have it. My cats that are treated better than most humans.

(And what we like to call a completely lame, cop out post. But you’ll like. Because I said so!)

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Posted By Kristabella on December 16, 2006

Note to self: When you start drinking wine at 11 AM and continue until 3 AM, it will make for quite a hangover.

So I don’t have much to share from the gathering I went to last night. Mostly because, as you may have heard, I drank some wine. A lot of wine. A lot! And there are large portions of the evening missing from my memory.

I was celebrating! My new job! And the endless amount of wine at Shelly’s party!

And since you’re all wondering, that Jim-Dude was not there. So thankfully there was no awkwardness there. Although if I told you he was there, that would have explained the mass consumption of booze. But alas, that was not the case.

I still can’t believe we were out until 3 AM. On a Friday. I’m usually passed out on the couch by 10 on Friday nights. Usually while watching Best Week Ever. But I guess the early start at the company Christmas party helped. You know what they say here in Chicago, drink early, drink often. Or maybe that’s about voting.

OK, now I’m off to watch my friend play in her new band. But I had to write something to keep up the whole posting everyday thing I stupidly brought on myself. And I pretty much just got up.

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Posted By Kristabella on December 15, 2006

So I’m trying to keep up my streak of writing every day. And I don’t have a lot of time today because I just got home from our work party and am off soon to Shelly’s get together.

First off, I would like to thank ya’ll for reading. Because yesterday I hit an all-time high with views to my site in one day. At a whopping 199! Which is huge to me. The previous high was 153. And no one but me cares about that.

Another stat that WordPress gives you on your site is how people find your blog. Be it from another blog I comment on, or a link through an e-mail, or through a Google search. I get hits with some of my subject lines. A lot for One Minute Inside a Woman’s Head. Or weird things, like thongs. From these photos. Or skanky Fergie.

But the most interesting hits I get are when people Google Paraag Marathe. Today, in fact, I had someone search “Paraag Marathe Kristabella.” I’m hoping it was Teri because I told her about it last night. Otherwise, I hope it’s a writer or something. Because I’m wondering if the Forty Whiners came across it, what the odds of me getting in trouble are. I know what you’re thinking. How the hell could I get in trouble from some place I don’t work at anymore. Well, when you sign a certain agreement after you get the boot, you’re 1) not supposed to tell people about it (whoops) and 2) to agree to not say bad things about the team in the press, etc. (Which was actually hard because after Kirk got the boot, I really wanted to defend him in the paper, but it was less than 6 months later and I didn’t think that was a good idea. Because I spent the money. And had no job.) (Not that I didn’t want to defend Kirk.)

I appreciate the readers. I just don’t want to get busted or anything. But I think there is a limit on that kind of stuff. A statute of limitations or something. Like a year at the most. And I’m past that point.

And most people probably don’t do Google searches for themselves (I have, but there’s like a billion of me out there), so it’s probably not Paraag. But with how much he blows at his job, he very well could be seeing what everyone else has already learned. Paraag, you’re a douchebag. But I can see Jed York or some other douche there Googling to see what is being said. We used to do it in the PR department with Lexis-Nexis. Google’s pretty much the same thing.

Because, really? Who the hell else has any idea who Paraag Marathe is outside the Bay Area?

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