Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on November 27, 2006

Hallelujah, my prayers have been answered!

Today (well last night actually), Dirk Koetter was fired. (Heeeheee, after the football banquet. At least he got his last meal in.) He is no longer the head coach of Arizona State University.

And we beat U of A on Saturday! Gave them a nice ass whooping! Things are all right in the Sun Devil sports world. (The men’s hoops team actually beat Iowa on Saturday too, so really, not too shabby in the Land of Sparky)

In fact, I’m quite proud of my Alma Mater. Our new AD bit the bullet and decided that it was BETTER for the University to eat $2.8 million, than to retain Jackass McGee as head coach.

Lisa Love is a smart, smart woman.

With sites like this, there was no saving face. He needed to go. Love realized that keeping Koetter and the revenue lost from the loss of season ticket renewals, the lack of gifts, etc. that came with it was MORE than eating the $2.8 million left owed to him.

I fully agree and admire her cojones for doing it and not letting us accept mediocrity. I hate being mediocre more than I hate U of A.

Apparently all Koetter thought he needed to do was beat U of A every year and he was golden. While, I admit, it’s a good thing. But his 2-19 record against Top 25 teams and, even worse, his 0-12 record vs. California teams (dude, Stanford is one of these teams. STANFORD. How could you not beat Stanford just ONCE in four years. Gee-zus!), was too much to let slide.

So kudos to Lisa Love and ASU! And here’s to hoping we land the Herb Sendek of the football world. I hear Steve Mariucci is available. Maybe Dennis Erickson? Lou Holtz perhaps?

He’s Ouuuuut!

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Posted By Kristabella on November 27, 2006

This story dates back to 1996-97, during my sophomore year at ASU. And I really hope it translates as well on “paper” as it does when I tell it. If not, just ask me to tell it next time I see you.

Sometime in the spring, before I headed back to IL for the summer, I decided to get my car washed. A new car wash, one of those full-service ones that cleans the inside and outside, had just opened near my apartment. The lovely Sun River on Baseline.

It was a beautiful day outside, so I was driving with both windows down. One of those awesome spring days in AZ. I pulled into the car wash and the dude wrote down my “order” and what package I wanted done for my car. (Free air freshener? Sweet!) So, as I was about to get out, I figured I should probably roll up the windows, since I didn’t want the inside of my car washed. (Just vacuumed) No one likes to sit on a wet car seat. Anyone who has left their window cracked during a downpour knows the unpleasantness of this.

So I turn to my console on the driver’s side door to roll up the windows. They are of the power-window kind. So I’m pushing the buttons “up.” The driver’s side window goes up fine. But I keep holding down the passenger one, staring at the button, waiting to hear that “pop” of the window shutting, the suction of the glass going into the frame of the door. And I’m not hearing it. So I keep looking at the button. Jamming it up. Holding it down. Wondering what the fuck is going on and why won’t my window go up and this totally blows because I have no money and really don’t want to go get it fixed and God dammit I wanted my car washed. Woe. Is. Me.

At this point, in complete frustration, I FINALLY decide to look over at the window to see what the fuck the deal is. Seriously, why the hell isn’t it going up?

As I turn to look at the window, I see the head of the Mexican car wash worker. Just his head. Why? Because it is STUCK in my window! He’s being lifted off the ground by his temples as I keep shutting the window. On his HEAD! Holy Fucking Christ! This Can. NOT. be. happening! And maybe I should stop pushing the button. Closing the window. On his HEAD!

(And he was short. So I’m pretty sure his feet were dangling in the air. Outside my car. As he just hung there. Dangling. Silent. His head JAMMED sideways in my car window. As I continued to push the button. UP! NOT down! Which would have removed his head. From being stuck. In my WINDOW!)

So in complete shock, mostly because he didn’t say ANYTHING. Nothing. I mean, it didn’t even have to be in English! Any noise would have stopped me! I finally roll down the window. Mumbling apologies. Face redder than a third-degree sunburn. And I unlock the door, since that was the reason he was leaning in my window in the first place. To unlock my doors. To get in. So he could vacuum. To do his job. Which I impeded him of doing. By shutting his HEAD. In my WINDOW!

Needless to say, I never went back to that car wash. And tipped very well.

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Posted By Kristabella on November 25, 2006

I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. Mine was nice, very uneventful, which is a little abnormal for my family. There were no huge fights. No one ran out of the house, slamming doors all upset. For us, this is monumental.

Now, we did have our fair share of yelling. Or should I say, getting yelled at. But I can handle it. Probably because I brought it on myself almost every time.

One of my aunts reads my blog. She told me she’s learned a lot about me from reading. I asked her what she meant and she said she was kidding. (Although I don’t believe her) And here I thought I was being on my best fucking behavior. She did mention all the God damned swearing.

My mom was a little mad about this post and thought I was making fun of her. About her not taking us to the dentist as kids. And I wasn’t. It was back in the day when adding dependents to health insurance, especially dental, wasn’t the norm. What was she going to do? And seriously, I could have done a lot to make it better. You know like lying off the sugar and sweets. And brushing more often and better. I take full blame for that.

And believe me, Mom, you’ll know when I’m making fun of you.

My sister and I laugh the same. I think it’s a cute laugh. But Gram does not. And every time we giggle together, in stereo, we get yelled at. She always yells something about how we’ll “never grow up!” We think it’s great that we get along this well and are always having a good time together. But Gram cannot. take. the. giggling. Or she hates fun. I’m not sure which one it is. But we fight on for fun because, well, it would suck if we didn’t. And I’d probably stay home on holidays. Or curl up in the corner with a bottle of wine.

But then I pissed her off again because I was talking about saying grace. I brought up that we said it TWICE at our sales meeting in Orlando. Which I think is totally wrong. It’s a business setting, and it was 170 people, a lot of which we were meeting for the first time. I think it was inappropriate. As did a lot of people in attendance. So I mentioned this on Thursday and Gram (all very religious and Catholic) was not pleased with me. My mom, who has mastered the art of biting her tongue around Gram, was telling me to stop. But I, who will never master the art of biting my tongue, kept pushing. I think I said something about someone maybe being an atheist or something and being offended. I mean, being an atheist does not impede your ability to sell dirt. There’s no need for them to have to hear that at a SALES MEETING. Anyway, I finally shut my mouth to shove food into it, and we were good. Until we started laughing again. And then again with the yelling.

My mom wanted to show me something in the basement at Gram’s house. Let me preface it a little. If you haven’t already figured out, I can be a little opinionated. And back in the days before blogs, message boards, etc. I found it completely necessary to write letters to the editor. (I actually had pretty much forgotten about this.) I got three of my letters printed. (I actually probably only wrote about 5, so I was over .500 when it came to getting published.) Two of them were in the Chicago Sun-Times and the other was in Sports Illustrated. They were all about the Bulls – Jordan, Paxson and Phil Jackson. Anyway, they were pretty small (except for the Jordan one which was the “headline” in the letter page and about six inches). But it was so cool to see my name in the paper. And we’re going back to ’94, when I was in high school.

Anyway, long story long, my Grandpa had this medicine cabinet in the basement, which was where he spent a lot of his time. Anyway, my mom showed me the inside of the cabinet, where Papa had my three letters taped up inside. It was really cool and made me happy-sad. He’s been gone almost 10 years and we all miss him. A lot.

And finally, to all the vegetarians and people who hate the idea of us eating turkeys on Thanksgiving. This was in the Chicago Tribune on Thursday. Five things you didn’t know about the bird you’re about to eat. But I would only like to point out number one.

Domesticated turkeys can easily drown when it rains because they tend to look up to see what’s hitting them and their tiny, oval-shaped nostrils are “perfect funnels” for falling rain.

Anything THAT stupid deserves to be eaten.

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Posted By Kristabella on November 22, 2006

I HATE the dentist. Really do. It goes back to my childhood. Much like most of the things I hate – Halloween, Gandhi the movie (not the person), alcoholics, etc.

I’ll spare you the boring details, but essentially when my parents divorced when I was 8, I pretty much went TOO long without a visit to the Novocaine Man. And I eat A LOT of candy. And drank A LOT of Kool-Aid. Therefore, I had quite a few cavities.

One was so bad, that I had to have a root canal. And a crown put on. I was like 10, I think, at the time. Far too young to have such horrible teeth. (Although, I think a lot of it is hereditary because we all have bad teeth. But we all have straight teeth naturally, so my parents TOTALLY lucked out with that one.) So it was like 1987. Back when they just liked to see patients in PAIN!!! This was the worst pain I have ever been in. And I’ve broken bones, had stitches, monster menstrual cramps, fallen down drunk. You get the idea.

But, they like take the nerve out of your tooth and shit. To do this, you need to be N-U-M-B. Like take a jackhammer to my face and I shouldn’t feel a thing numb. So my crazy, perverty-boob-staring-at dentist, gave me a shot of Novocaine. Right in the cavity! The PAIN! Only time I’ve ever cried at the dentist. To this day, I tell people THAT pain has to be worse than childbirth. I have tears in my eyes thinking about it.

Since that time, once the root canal was done and all my other teeths were filled with good old silver filings, I haven’t had a cavity. I’ve had the silver ones re-done. I’ve had some more crowns. Mostly because, dammit I AM a Queen! (Actually, it’s because I grind my teeth like a madwomen at night and I need something stronger than enamel. Like porcelain.)

I brush well. I even started flossing every day, like 5 years ago (better late than never, bitches!) I think I have pretty good oral hygiene. Mostly because I never want to go through that pain. Again. Ever!

(I went to the dentist this morning, can you guess??)

I like my dentist now. She’s young, talks a lot and reads trashy magazines and likes to drink beer. (She talks a lot and tells you everything!) The hygienists, on the other hand, I DON’T like. No one’s teeth are going to be spotless when you come in for check-ups. I mean, why the fuck would I get cleanings in the first place then? For the joy of it? Hell to the no!

So the hygienists in my dental office are all foreign. I think they are all Eastern Europeans. Which now makes me realize why the hell they are so fricking MEAN. I mean, they scold you. Like beat you down kind of scolding, about flossing and brushing.

I admit, I get lazy. Especially lately. I haven’t spent a lot of time flossing in the last month or so. I get busy and that’s like the first thing I get lazy with. I don’t know why. In my crazy head, I am convinced that if I don’t floss at night, I can get to bed like 15 minutes earlier. In reality, it takes like 2 minutes. But I’m insane. In the membrane. Insane. In the brain.

So today, Crazy-Before-the-Wall-Came-Down-East-German-Hygienist was yelling at me about flossing. And I was honest and told her I’ve been a little lax. I mean, she made me feel like I was about to get the electric chair if I didn’t start flossing more. I saw a whip in her pocket. And I just don’t like to feel that bad first thing in the morning. Who the fuck am I kidding? I don’t like to feel that bad EVER!

So I’m sitting there, feeling like shit, waiting for this fucking appointment to end, waiting for McDentist to make sure McDictator McHygienist cleaned my teeth up good and shiny, wishing I would have just flossed more! Then McDentist comes in, all cheery and shit, says my teeth look great. I’m a good brusher! I have GREAT (yep, kids, she said great) oral hygiene.

So shove it up your ass, McDictator! And give me my free toothbrush and little tube of toothpaste before I stick my big, old Democratic foot up your ass!

Oh, sorry, it’s like the holiday season and shit. Have a great Thanksgiving tomorrow!

Drink it up!

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Posted By Kristabella on November 21, 2006

In honor of nothing really being on TV right now (Gilmore Girls just finished and I won’t even go into the utter stupidity of that show. Lorelai and Chris are STILL MARRIED?!? Seriously?!?! NOT a good move. And Logan’s an ass) and since I’m watching the American Music Awards, let’s talk about Fergie, shall we.

No, not this Fergie (and by the way, props to her and the whole Weight Watchers thing! Keep it up Fergie!)

I’m talking about skanky Fergie. From the Black Eyed Peas. Who for some odd, stupid reason, has a solo career. Where she raps. This Fergie. Who, yes, I know doesn’t look all that skanky in this photo.

Ahh, this is more like it.

The one who pees her pants on stage. And not from laughing. Like at funny things. But because she’s coked or methed up and nasty. Or something. Whatever. She’s clean. And not being a former or current drug addict personally, I’m not all that familiar with what happens when you REALLY have to go. But you don’t see anyone else pissing their pants on stage. And we all know she’s not the only one hopped up on something. I mean, seriously, the Peas can go on one second without you while you hit the head.

But why I am really doing this post is because I don’t get it. I mean one Google search of Fergie photos gives a lot of scantily clad and semi-naked photos (see above). Do guys want to see this? I don’t get it. And I’m not trying to be all bitchy because I’m secretly jealous of her. (Although, those abs are to die for.) I really think she’s unattractive. That face? Yikes! And she makes stupid songs.

Like, London Bridge. Which, whatever, kind of catchy. But then all these people ask about what “letting your London Bridge down” means. And she’s all “I’ll let you all figure it out.” Giggle. Hair twirl. Because you don’t know, Fembot. You sing what they tell you. (That totally sounded all bitchy-jealous, but I swear. It’s just for the abs. And maybe the money. And her man.) And what’s with the “rapping”? I mean, the girl can sing. She can carry a tune. I have no problem with her going out on her own, as say compared with Paris Hilton. Fergie can sing. Like melodies and shit. So what’s with the rapping? She CANNOT rap.

And don’t get me started on Fergilicious. Because A) when you have to tell us, you’re not and B) ewww. And again with the rapping. And bad spelling. Anyone else notice they spell tasty, T-A-S-T-E-Y, so that it like fits within the beats and shit? (Probably not because you don’t actually listen to the song when it comes on. Or haven’t heard it enough to know all the words. Shut it. I have 3 hours in the car a day.) So. Lame.

And I so don’t even want to discuss how SHE lands him. The injustice of it all. She must go all Ferglicious on his ass in bed. It’s the only reason. Or she’s a beard. I’ll gladly be that beard any day.

Yummy. I need more…

And now? I can go to bed happy. With my dreams to keep me company.

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