Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on December 14, 2006

Did I get that Spice Girls song in your head? What? You don’t know what song I’m talking about? What the hell is wrong with you people?

So The Rahner told me I need to spice it up a bit. I’m not sure what that means. He said he wants to know more about Kristabella, or whatever I’m calling myself these days. And as I told him, the only thing spicy in my life is the burrito I ate last night.

So, The Rahner, this is for you. And hopefully this spices it up a bit!

My friend Shelly is having a little holiday get together tomorrow night. Just a few friends, some booze, maybe some snacks. That equals a good time to me. Plus, she lives close to me, so no driving. That is a running theme in my life these days. That is how much I hate driving.

Anyway, so one of the guests at said party is going to be this guy Jim. I’ve met him a few times. He went to school or something with my friend. I think they went out on one date back awhile ago and I still think he secretly is holding out for her, but that’s a whole different story.

So back in September? I think it was September. I know it was supposed to be fall, but it was this unusually hot, hot night for September. Oh it was September because I went to a bachelorette party the next night in Milwaukee (yes, I actually have been there a few times) and it was like 50 degrees. And we were on a boat. And I froze my ass off. Was not flip flop weather that night. But for $15, all you can drink and all you could eat tacos. And you know what? That “cruise” line went under. How? The world will never know.

Where was I? Oh, right. Hot night in September. But just weather wise. So it was a Friday night and my friend Shelly invited me out with some of her other friends. There was a German Festival in my ‘hood. See, my neighborhood is like totally German. There’s a Brauhaus and some other German places. (And a Potbelly. And they might have German Chocolate cake.) So they have 2 German festivals a year. This one in September is good. Because you buy this HUGE plastic beer stein for like $7 and you stand around and drink. How much better could a Friday night in September be? Unless it was my birthday. (Which is totally on a Friday this year bitches!)

OK, not to scale. But a lot of beer. Trust me.

So we hang around drinking. The damn festival closes at like 10, so we head to the pub down the street. Along with the rest of the festival apparently. We are having a great time. I’m teaching Shelly’s friends all about the subtle art of grabbing random guys’ asses and then striking up a conversation. It’s quite a pick-up move.

Then it happens. We’re sitting in a booth by the door and we see the waitress being pulled out the door by her hair by some skank. And then Waitress finally gets her ponytail back and is all trying to boot this chick out. Who is SO drunk. Drunk Chick needs a minute (before getting the boot) and has to sit in the booth for a second. To tie her halter top. And the bartender/owner/cute guy with an Irish accent, finally comes over the bar and boots Drunk Chick and her friends. And we? Had front row seats! Eeeeeeeee!

Then some other escalation starts in the back of the bar with Drunk Chick’s other friends, who apparently liked beer more than their friend. (Understandable.) And they start some sort of scuttle-butt in the back and again, we see a big tumbleweed of people heading towards the door. Right past our booth. Just as the po-po shows up. Again, eeeeeeeeee!

And that’s it. Bar closed. Lights on! Bright lights! EVERYBODY OUT! I, as per usual, have a half-full beer. And I’m in the drunk phase where that half-full beer is all that matters to me. I cannot leave without finishing this. (Ok, let’s be honest, this is my normal phase.) So that Jim-Dude and I just stand there. (You were wondering when he was going to come back into this, weren’t you? Two words. Full. Circle.) And we blend in with the decor. Somehow I stand quietly and finish my beer. (If you know me, you know this is a feat.)

And then, like the heavens opening above me, the lights go back out. Bar? Back open.

Obviously, there’s like no one still there. Because they pay attention when the police come and tell you to get the fuck out. But there is this creepy dude who lives in the Loop that came all the way up to The Square and decided to talk to me. He was a close talker. I remember that, and that he was from the Loop and that I kept saying “Why would you come all the way up here from the Loop?”

Creepy guy was the cue. To leave. So Jim-Dude and I take the cue and get the hizzy out of there. (After I swiped a cool 312 beer glass, of course.) I live a few blocks from The Square, so we hike it. He, being the nice guy that he is, decides to walk me home. And it’s on the way to the EL. He’s a really nice guy. Super funny. Although, he’s from Milwaukee. And not horribly ugly, surprisingly. (See, I told you it wasn’t everyone.)

So we get to my place and I ask him up. It’s probably well after midnight at this point. Time has no meaning to me. Especially after two 32-ounce beer steins. And how ever many I had at the pub. And he agrees. And me? I’ve got mad game! Snap!

So we sit on my couch and chat for a bit. My cat jumps all over him. (No, really. My cat. No euphemism.) I’m thinking “man, we really get along. This could be good. And I haven’t had sex in awhile.” (How’s that for spice, Rahner?) So after some time, he gets up to leave. It’s getting late.

(Small aside. I’m so drunk at this point, I’m seeing double. Brain capacity is crazy-town low.) 

So right before he leaves, I think I say something really stupid about him staying. Because that seems like a really good idea. (Duh!) And then he starts going on an on about how he always gives the girls the wrong signals and he’s not really that in to me and that this happens all the time with girls thinking one thing that he’s definitely not thinking. (Um. OK.)

And then I think he Road Runners it out the door and down three flights of stairs. Thank God, because I just wanted to crawl in a hole. Which, my apartment is not furnished with.

And tomorrow night, I will see him for the first time since this “encounter.” And it will be awkward as shit. And thank all that is holy and good that other people will be there. And that there will be al-kee-hall! And, therefore, I’m hoping, a really good blog post!

So, The Rahner? Spicy enough for you? No? Then watch the Spice Girls video so you can have it in your head too.

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Posted By Kristabella on December 13, 2006

That headline was for my brother. He told me it would be a good headline. So there you go, Brother P. Even though you don’t ever read my blog.

FINALLY! Finally. I got the offer letter today. I feel like the weight of an entire NFL offensive line has been lifted off my shoulders. (And that O-Line? Would totally include Matt Willig. Yum.) And to top it all off, I even told my boss this afternoon. And then promptly left the office early. Because I had to go shopping. To buy gifts for the office holiday party. For everyone. 28 different $20 gifts. So don’t ever ask me why I wanted a new job.

So the offer came in. And it was a GOOD offer. It’s a great pay raise. And benefits. And the opportunity for a bonus, which is completely foreign to me, unless it involves the playoffs. (And playoffs = foreign) So I? Am very, very excited. I can’t wait to start at my new place.

AND! I left a message for Big Boss guy in Seattle to officially accept and he left me a message later telling me how excited he was and that we’ll be in touch for sure between now and the 8th. And don’t hesitate to call him if I need anything. And new Boss Lady sent me an e-mail welcoming me aboard and said she wishes I could start sooner. How awesome is that? I feel like Little Orphan Annie. “I think I’m gonna like it here!”

(End Scene)

And? My boss didn’t throw anything at my head. He didn’t even try to talk me out of it. And he was calmer than I’ve ever seen him. Said he wasn’t surprised. He knew the commute was killing me. And I secretly think he knew I had nothing to do. And only mailed packages. And he was really nice and told me he was sad. And was really going to miss me. And it was going to be hard to replace me. (Awww.) (And, duh)

But then, in typical JT style (not Timberlake) he had to add in that one little jab. He told me that I have a lot of potential, but doesn’t think I’m serious about reaching it, yada, yada, yada because I party too much. And to be successful in business, I need to be sharp every day. And if I ever want to reach said potential, I need to really get serious.

Huh?

Whatever. Just another reason why I don’t need to be working there. And why I’m SO happy that I have this new gig.

Because mostly, now I can get back to real posts. I am sick and tired of this shit (as are you all, I’m sure.) And thank Jesus I can finally get some sleep tonight.

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Posted By Kristabella on December 12, 2006

Dear Internet,

Until I get my offer letter, I will continue to go on and on about this stupid situation. Please bear with me. It should end soon.

Thanks in advance,

Kristabella

So today was a stress-filled roller coaster ride. I had really, really, really hoped to have the offer letter when I came in this morning. Or by 9 AM. Because that was the time I had back-to-back meetings with my boss. And how perfect would it be to be all “no need to have this meeting. I will not be working here anymore. And I don’t care. Peace.”

But I didn’t. I still don’t have the letter. So I had to pretend in these meetings. Pretend. And LIE! Which, I am not good at. Have you heard?

The first was a conference call. Before the conference call, he’s asking me all these questions about the trade show booth for that show in January. And I’m thinking “I’m not going to be here. I don’t care.” When actually I should, because it does need to be done soon.

And then, we had a “catch-up” meeting. Because I don’t think he’s really talked to me in a few months. At least since he hired his new bitch, the new Marketing Director (who I don’t like.) So my boss starts this meeting off with all these questions. How am I? How are things going? Do I have enough to do? How am I getting along with everyone? General things. Not specific project things. Because when I did bring up specific projects, he’s all “I want to know how you’re doing and how things are in general.”

Good thing I’ve perfected the shifty-eye moves and looking in whatever direction it is that clues people in that I’m lying. Cause that’s what I did. Until he finally got down to business. The business of assigning me all these projects. And writing letters for mailings. And bringing me in on this big “initiative” that is going to be “great”. And I need to be active and take a big chunk of this project. And this whole time? I’m freaking. And maybe sweating. And I know my heart is racing and my blood pressure is through the roof. Can’t I just tell him???

I get out of the meetings and I have a voice mail and e-mail from Recruiter Chick. What day can I start? Turns out, New Boss is going to be out until January 8th. Can I start January 8th? And oh my God, is it getting hot in here and why can’t I breathe and oh my God who cranked up the fucking heat in this place? (Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths)

Then my mind starts reeling. (See if I had a job where I actually worked, I wouldn’t have nearly this much time to think.) Do I want a week off before I start? Can I afford that? And when do I tell my boss now? Our Xmas party is Friday and I don’t want to tell him before that so he can get all liquored up and talk shit in front of EVERYONE.

(My God. Could I go on and on any more about something so stupid? I swear, I’m getting there.)

OK. So my last day is going to be the 29th. Because seriously, I don’t want to come in after the 1st of the year. And how awesome would that week off be? And I asked Recruiter Chick when she thought they would have The Letter (it is its own entity now) to me because my boss is going to be out of town next week (true) and I need to let this God damned cat out of the bag, for the love of all that is good and holy!

She said it’s with the HR chick and I should have it Wed.

Thank the Lord because I’m pretty sure you all? Never want to hear about this shit. Ever. AGAIN! I know I don’t. And holy hell I just need to shut the fuck up.

Now back to your regularly scheduled snark.

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Posted By Kristabella on December 11, 2006

Whatever, I’m going to hell anyway.

(On a side note, still haven’t gotten the official offer letter yet. One more day of this and I’ll have an ulcer. Actually not really. I’ve gone into full on senioritis mode. I am not doing shit. Today, I looked for a new work bag. And watched Dennis Erickson’s press conference online. Which by the way is very surreal. It’s weird to know the ASU head coach so well. And he’s bringing two of the assistants I know really well. Good luck, The ‘Rickson!)

This post is actually about Lost. The show. Have you seen it?

So last spring-ish, I started watching the first season of Lost on DVD. I was immediately hooked. I have NO idea what the hell is going on, but I pretend like I do, so I watch. One night, I swear, I watched 7 episodes. In a row. That’s a lot of f’ing TV. Even with no commercials.

Now I’ve moved on to the second season. I Netflix it, one DVD at a time. (I made Netflix a verb. Awesome.) I’m through the second disc. Again, I have to watch one entire disk in a sitting. (I couldn’t figure out which way I liked to spell disc/disk, so I gave each a turn.) I’m hooked. I HAVE to know what is happening. Even though I have no idea what is happening.

So I got to thinkin’. What would I do in that situation? (Let’s forget the fact that how does a whole mother fucking plane go missing for 48 days (I’m in the second season, people) and NO ONE finds it?!?!?!?!?) (Yes, Cindy (Cindy on the show. Not The Jens) just explained to me that they were off course and they lost radio contact. But puh-leeze. It’s a fucking JET! Did no one in LA wonder where an entire plane went??? In 48 damn days, you could comb the Earth.) (Did anyone else just picture that scene from Spaceballs? “We ain’t found shit!”)

Any-who…I would not last. On The Island. I would sure as hell hope that I was in the front of the plane with Jack. I mean, he looks good in a sleeveless shirt. But he also is a good leader. And a doctor. And did I mention he’s a cutie? My, how Charlie Salinger has grown up.

But me? I like showers. I mean, I hate having to get out of bed to take them. But after a day or two, in sweat-inducing-make-you-feel-all-sticky-and-shit humidity no less, I’m going to want a good shower. Not bathing in the ocean. In front of people. With, I’m just taking a stab here, NO SOAP!

I also like food. And don’t like fish. I would have eaten all that shit in the hatch. Hurley is a better person than I. But how does he stay so fat?

And I also don’t know how to use a rifle. Or probably wouldn’t feel comfortable with a knife. Besides using it to eat a steak. (I like how I said probably. Like I’d ever feel comfortable stabbing someone/something. I mean, I’d “chicken” out of Michael Jackson’s Beat It knife fight.) (That totally made me just laugh out loud!) And I ain’t getting no steak on The Island. Unless they have cows there too. I mean, there are polar bears. IN THE JUNGLE. There could be cows. A little more believable J.J. Abrams.

And right now, with this second season, I am not enjoying it as much. Because I do not like Michelle Rodriguez. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of all the DUIs. (You’re rich! HIRE SOMEONE TO DRIVE YOUR DRUNK ASS HOME! And, you should still be in jail.) Or that she likes to lick her armpits. But I am glad that I know that she gets killed at the end of the second season and I don’t have to watch her stupid ass anymore. Thank Jack Jesus for that. (So. Going. To HELL!)

So to sum up. Lost = good TV. Me stuck on The Island = recipe for disaster.

In closing, I would like to say that I just saw Matt Willig. On my TV! (Not in my dreams like normal.) Matt! F’ing! Willig, people! (I realize some of you have no idea what this means. Sorry.) He’s in this commercial for Verizon. That I can’t find on You Tube! You’ll just have to believe me.

Excuse me while I swoon.

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Posted By Kristabella on December 10, 2006

So I just wanted to let ya’ll know that I’ve cancelled my stupid MySpace account. Finally. I really don’t know why it has taken so long. I mean, I never go on to check it. But it was like I felt the need to purge myself of this stupidity.

I don’t get it. I don’t get the draw and what the point is. I mean, I can see in a few instances where it really works. Like authors, or bands or film makers. It’s a great way to network, etc. You can find a lot of people with similar interests, free help, get the word out about your next gig. I get that part of it. But that’s where it stops.

I tried to get it. I went on, uploaded photos, wrote witty little blurbs about myself. But I never went on to check it. And I would get pissed when I got those e-mails about a “friend request” or someone commenting. Just send me a fucking e-mail people. And if I don’t know you, why would I want you as a “friend”? I mean, I’m sending out over 100 Christmas cards this year. I have enough f’ing friends.

I know a lot of people who are insane about it. They are on it all the time. Meeting people, etc. But I have yet to know someone who has met anyone of quality on MySpace. I originally started it because one of my internet friends told me he was going out on all these dates. And then he started to tell me about all the crazies that he was dating. I have an excellent nose for finding the crazies as it is. I don’t need to spend endless hours online to do that.

It’s like being back in junior high school all over again. How many friends you have. How many comments people make. It’s just stupid. If you want to get a hold of me, text me. E-mail me. Call me. Why would you leave a comment on my MySpace page? Stupid.

So I would like to officially turn in my Young Person Card. I am old. I don’t get MySpace. And if not being on MySpace makes me old, sign me up for AARP, dammit!

(Oh, and I full on get the stupidity and unoriginalness (it’s a word) of this post. But I haven’t slept all weekend because I’m stressing about breaking the news to my boss. Who is going to blow his stack. And talk tons of shit behind my back. And to my face. So I’m batting less than .500 today. So instead, look at cute pictures of a baby. The cutest baby ever. EVER. Must have inherited Auntie’s good genes.)

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