Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on July 16, 2009

I an exhausted. I just got home from Pittsburgh after my whirlwind 30-hour trip. My flight was delayed because of a thunderstorm in Chicago. But thankfully I came home to my condo and ANOTHER FUCKING NOTE.

(Sorry it is blurry. Click to embiggen.)

At least it isn’t neon pink.

I’ve decided one of two things happened:

1) Everyone else was pissed about the sign and called the Property Management office to complain because the sign was fucking stupid and we had NO WARNING about this extermination and you can’t just spring shit on us like this a few days before it all goes down and expect us to be OK with it.

2) The Property Management office reads my blog.

Regardless, I’m glad they realized they are a bunch of idiots who thought they could put up a sign asking us to leave our houses open all day and that we would all be OK with it. And I’m also glad they addressed the pet thing, because I’m not letting you in to spray in my house so my cats can lick up poison and die.

And now, more that I think about it, and this clarification note, the madder I get. Did they think they could just pull the wool over our eyes? That we wouldn’t have issues with this? That we would have issues with deadly chemicals being sprayed around our pets? How dumb do they think we are?

Thankfully I don’t have to worry about them having keys to my place and accessing it at any time. But sadly, they just showed they are dumber than originally thought. I’m so glad I pay these people money to take care of my building.

And now it is clearly time to send my bitter, cranky, tired ass to bed.

Category: The Hizzouse | 12 Comments »
Tags:

Posted By Kristabella on July 15, 2009

I’m currently traveling for work. I’m on a one-day trip to Pittsburgh. I’m staying at the hotel that was built for Stretch Armstrong. And I’m very confused because it is an hour later here than it is in Chicago. And I keep looking at the clock on my laptop thinking it is still early and if I can knock this post out right quick, I can get to bed SO EARLY. And then I realize it’s actually an hour later and then I make a frowny face.

The sad thing is that this has been going on ALL NIGHT.

So this morning before I left on my journey, I read Metalia’s post about her most recent work trip. And then I laughed at her running through the airport, arms flailing and thought “that will never be me.” I also thought “remember to bring socks to the airport for the security line.”

And then fate decided to slap me on the ass like a newborn and teach me that laughing at other people is NOT NICE. Because I arrived at the airport today with 30 minutes to get through security and get to my gate. And WHY DO SO MANY PEOPLE TRAVEL ON WEDNESDAY AFTERNOONS?

I made it. Even had a half-second to get some Vitamin Water at the little market to re-hydrate myself from all the SWEATING I did while I sat in traffic praying not to miss my flight. WHY ARE SO MANY PEOPLE ON THE ROAD ON A WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON?

But I forgot about the socks. Which reminds me, I should wash my feet before I go to bed. Because ewwww.

Not only are there a lot of people traveling in the middle of the day mid-week, they are also all stupid people. And now I’m going to write letters to them to make myself feel superior to them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear People In Expert Travelers Security Line,

You are NOT experts. People go in this line because it is supposed to move quickly. Stopping asking the guy in front of you about his fucking laptop and just take your damn shoes off and move this party along. Some of us are running very late for their flights!

Sincerely,

Pissy Girl With Dirty Feet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Family Who is on the Moving Walkway  Because It’s Fun and You’re Lazy,

There are RULES to the moving walkway. Same as escalators. Walk left, stand right. Learn it, live it, love it. And get out of my fucking way. And don’t ask me “would you like to get through?” YES! Because this isn’t a damn carnival ride for your overweight daughter. It’s a device to get us from Point A to Point B FASTER than just normally walking. It’s not a damn airport ferry.

Move to the RIGHT next time, lazy people.

Angrily,

The Girl Who Used to Think She Was the Laziest Person on the Planet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Creepy Married Guy on the Plane,

Stop. Just STOP. Stop flirting with that girl. Mentioning your wife every five seconds does not make your shameless flirting OK. In fact, it almost makes it worse. It means you are actually thinking about your wife while you smarmily chat up that girl who is TOO YOUNG FOR YOU.

You’re welcome,

Girl Sitting Behind You Giving You the Evil Eye

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Asshat in the Seat Next to Me,

How hard is it to turn off your iPhone? No, really. I don’t understand why you couldn’t have it off for the 10 minutes it takes to take off and reach a safe altitude. Yes I know the rule is bullshit because we used to have our electronic devices on the whole flight during our 49ers charters. But still, the fact you are HIDING it means it is WRONG. Just shut the damn thing off. Turning it to airplane mode IS NOT THE SAME. The power is still on, genius.

Also, PUT YOUR SHOES BACK ON, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! And if you’re going to take your shoes off, DO NOT CROSS YOUR BARE FOOT OVER YOUR LEG IN MY DIRECTION! I DO NOT need to see your gross, dirty bare-ass feet. I also DO NOT need to have them anywhere close to me. We are in a confined space. IT IS TOO CLOSE. DIRTY, BARE FEET TOO CLOSE TO MY PERSON! ABORT! ABORT!

Grossed out and thankful you didn’t crash the plane,

Kristabella

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Pittsburgh,

Stay Classy.

Love,

Kristabella

Category: Travel | 23 Comments »
Tags:

Posted By Kristabella on July 14, 2009

Tonight I came home from work, exhausted because I didn’t sleep well last night. Why didn’t I sleep well last night, you ask? Well because I decided that since it was cooler outside last night, I didn’t need to turn the air conditioning on. Which was very green and Earth-conscious of me.

What I realized is that having your windows face the parking lot + living in a building with a bunch of assholes = Waking up 17 times throughout the night due to the jackass blasting his LOUD Indian music as he pulled into his parking spot at 2 AM and the douchebag who has the world’s most sensitive car alarm that goes off all. The. TIME. This from the girl who has slept through four-alarm fires and earthquakes. So sorry Mother Earth, the A/C goes back on tonight.

(I should add that I had not one, but TWO, fans going. That is how loud my fucking rude neighbors are.)

As I was saying, tonight I came home to this sign pasted all over the damn condo complex.

Someone likes to bold, italicize and underline things at my property management office!

I have so many issues with this, the least of all it being neon pink.

1) WHAT are you exterminating? HUMANS? RATS? VAMPIRES?

2)What kind of infestation do we have in this building that I’m not aware of (i.e. it ain’t in MY unit) that we need an exterminator for?* What kind of fucking New-York-and-Company-pants-stealing critters infest this building?

2) Why do you need access to MY HOUSE? The one I OWN? Do you honestly think I’ll leave the house that morning for work and just leave the door UNLOCKED? Like, so anyone and their mother can break in? Like you do realize you put the NEON PINK sign up where the mailman can see? And any other visitors? LET’S ADVERTISE THAT EVERY FUCKING UNIT IN THE BUILDING WILL BE UNLOCKED ON FRIDAY! That should increase the property value!

3) And then I wonder “they don’t have keys do they?” Like this isn’t a fucking apartment complex. The only person with keys to this unit is ME. WHAT IF THEY DO? I come home to exterminated cats?

I am not comfortable with this at all. My door will be triple locked when I leave the house on Friday morning. And I’m leaving a trail of mouse traps along the floor, and maybe a fucking bear trap, so that if you do enter my house, it will be the last time you make that mistake.

Please tell me this is NOT normal for condos.

*On a separate note posted today, regarding our condo board meeting later this month, one of the agenda topics is Early August Extermination. Clearly this is an issue I wasn’t aware of. Until I walked down the stairs to go take a photo of the neon pink sign and stepped on an ant.**

(Also on the agenda – a special assessment for lawyer fees (news to me), repairs to the front doors and Dish Network. The meeting is the Sunday after BlogHer ends, at 6:30 PM. I suppose I should go, only because I have Dish Network and I’m not taking my dish down after I just signed a 2-year contract. Then we’ll be talking special assessments for lawyers when I sue your ass.)

**And now since I’ve been thinking about critters and exterminators, I constantly feel like bugs are crawling on me. WAY TO GO CONDO FUCKERS!

Category: Rants & Rants, The Hizzouse | 24 Comments »
Tags:

Posted By Kristabella on July 13, 2009

This past Saturday I went to the Cubs/Cardinals game with my mom. She’s a nice lady and buys tickets to Cubs games and takes me as her date. And we usually have a great time, unless she falls down the stairs and embarrasses me. That only happened once and I think that me constantly reminding her of it will make sure it never happens again. Right, mom?

My brother and his neighbor were going to be at the game too. So we made plans to meet before the game for a few beers and then hang out afterwards and drink more beers. Because what else do you do at baseball games in Wrigleyville? NOTHING, I TELL YOU!

I had a great time! I love my brother and it is always fun when I get to hang out with him sans kids. I’m so happy that we’re so close and have a good relationship.

So after the game we were out and had quite a few beers. We chatted and determined that my brother has very limited knowledge of music and if it isn’t played on this one station in Chicago, he’s probably never heard it. Which is fine because at least he’s still listening to pop music and not classical, like the old man he is.

At a little after 10, he and his neighbor Rick left to catch their train back up to the ‘burbs. Since it was late, I took a cab. I’m not that far from Wrigley, but I don’t like to take the EL later at night, especially when drunk, because that’s just asking for trouble. And I didn’t want anyone trying to steal my new purse.

So I took a cab. I’m pretty sure we all know where this is going.

For those of you new here, I seem to have some sort of connection with cab drivers. And it isn’t just in Chicago. Ask her and her, who had the pleasure of witnessing my drunken interactions with a cab driver in San Francisco last year. A cab driver that I told to take me on a date to Burger King so we could dine and dash through the drive-thru while I offered him Cheetos that I stole from a party. I’m nothing if not KLASSY, people.

Anyway, cab drivers love me for some reason. It’s like I’m the Patron Saint of Cabbies, or something. Usually it ends with them asking for my phone number, and me giving it to them, only to ignore their calls later. One time it ended with a guy asking me for a huggy-huggy. I don’t count the time I got a bump on my head when my cab driver got into an accident with me in the car. The cabbie got my number that time, but not for any good reason.

So back to Saturday. I’m feeling good, I’ve been drinking for about 9 hours and of course I’m chatty. So I start talking to this cab driver. I should point out, I never go into a situation in a cab expecting him to ask for my number. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. I’m always SHOCKED when they do. Even though IT KEEPS HAPPENING! I just am chatty, especially when I’m drunk. And once you’ve passed the 10 beer point, it’s not like you’re checking Twitter on your phone on a bumpy car trip. Unless you want to be puking in the back of said cab.

The funny thing is that my cabbie mojo has been way off lately. I’ve taken plenty of cab rides in the past few months and nothing. I talked to a nice man once, but there was no asking of the phone number. I was beginning to think I lost my luster. Thankfully, after Saturday, all is right with the world. The cab drivers of Chicago are once again in love with me. Huzzah!

I don’t remember much of the conversation with the cabbie on Saturday. I am pretty sure his name was Adnan. It was probably Adam, but I want to be like Britney and have an Adnan. We chatted about something. It’s not a long conversation. I live like 4-5 miles from Wrigley. The ride probably took 10 minutes. I’m sure I was my charming, funny self, which makes it hard for anyone not to fall in love with me.

I remembered we talked about how we were neighbors (not really. He lives close-ish to me). I think we talked about where he was from (not the US and no, I don’t remember where). I remember that I laughed, he laughed. It was a grand old time. And once he pulled up to my place, I was ready to pay my fare and be on my merry way to eating string cheese and passing out in my Cubs jersey. A typical Saturday night in Kristabellikstan.

But then he asked for my phone number. And I tried to play it off while I got my money together to pay him, joking “why would you want my number?” And then he’s all “blah, blah, you’re cute and funny, blah, blah.” So then I give him my number. BECAUSE I’M A FUCKING IDIOT!

This time I learned a little. I gave him my land line number. The one I never answer. But of course as soon as I gave him my number, he’s all “OK, I’m going to call it.” And because I AM A FUCKING IDIOT, I’m all “oh, hahahahaha, that’s my house phone.” So he says “well take my number then.” And instead of being smart and just throwing my money at him and leaving, I’m all OK! And then I reach in my purse and I remember that my phone is dead! I’m SAVED! Huzzah!

Until he says “write it down. Do you have a pen and paper?” And AGAIN, because I AM A FUCKING IDIOT, I’m all “yep! Right here! What’s your number?” And he told me and I wrote it down. Well I thought I wrote it down. Upon looking at it the next day, it’s just like three numbers and a bunch of scribbles. It looks like Skyler got a hold of my pen and wrote a soliloquy in my little notebook.

And of course Adnan called on Sunday. It figures when you meet a guy you like, you can’t get the guy to call for shit. But meet a cabbie and stupidly give him your number and he breaks all the rules and calls the next day. It’s a good thing I don’t answer my home phone. Because hopefully Adnan will give up.

I Twittered yesterday about him calling. And I wondered aloud why I am UNABLE to lie to cab drivers. Why can’t I just say “oh, I’m flattered, but I have a boyfriend”? Or “I’m sorry, I’m married”. Or “thank you, but I’m not interested”. Or “I have two cats”. Why do I feel the need to be so honest with cab drivers? I mean it is nice to be hit on, even by some weird dude named Adnan. But that shouldn’t preclude me from telling a small white lie. Should it? WHY AM I SO NICE?

And what is it with cabbies hitting on very drunk chicks? I mean, unless you take us out right then, how often are we going to wake up and think “oh, right, giving my phone number to the cab driver was GENIUS! We will be married in two weeks! Two words – SOUL MATES.”

One of these times, I’m going to get a repeat offender. That should be interesting. I’m hoping for the huggy-huggy guy. Because he didn’t ask for my number. And who doesn’t love hugs from strange cab drivers?

Now who wants to take a ride in a cab with me? Anyone?

Category: Taxicab Confessions | 21 Comments »
Tags:

Posted By Kristabella on July 9, 2009

I meant to write this post on Sunday. But then I was too tired to put together any coherent thoughts. So I’ve been pushing back writing this post for days and days. Which is stupid, because I’m more tired as I get closer to the weekend than when I start the week.

So this past Sunday was July 5. It marked an anniversary of sorts for me. Because 10 years ago on that day was my first day working for the San Francisco 49ers. Ten years. I can’t even believe it. Man, I’m getting old.

People always thought it was odd to start on July 5. But it was a Monday. And also, when you work in the NFL, usually the 4th of July is your last opportunity to take any vacation for the rest of the year. Because training camp starts just a few weeks after that and it is time to get focused and get ready for the season.

(Side note: I once went home mid-July, very close to the opening of training camp, because my sister had just had a baby. My nephew was born on June 26 and I HAD to go see him before the season started. I wasn’t going to go a whole 8 months without seeing my first nephew. And believe me, I got a rash of shit for taking vacation so late in the summer.)

I can remember almost every single thing about my first day. I remember exactly what I was wearing. I have a perfect visual in my head of me standing in the Public Relations office, knowing that at that moment, life couldn’t get any better.

I was so nervous. It had been awhile since I had started a new job. And this was my first REAL job. And I was living all by myself, in a state where I didn’t know a single soul, 3,000 miles away from my family. And it was the fucking San Francisco 49ers for Pete’s sake. There were Hall of Famers walking around me all the time! It was nothing like working in college sports or in minor league baseball when you could say you knew those stars before they were famous.

At the time of my first day, I was staying at a hotel around the corner from the 49ers facility in Santa Clara. It was all very new to me. I had just driven up that weekend from Arizona (I had to pick up the rest of my stuff from college that I had stored) and couldn’t move into my apartment until later in the week. My friend Connie caravaned up to California with me from Arizona. And we splurged and went to Togo’s for dinner and sat out on the lawn of the hotel and watched the fireworks being set off from Great America on the 4th of July.

My friend Teri, who is the wife of my old boss at the Niners, she always makes fun of me about that first day. She always makes fun of me for many reasons, but she used to always joke about me on my first day. When I got there, when I asked how I was doing, I apparently said “I’m nervous. It’s my first real job.” Which, hey! I’m just being honest. But Kirk must have told Teri and she laughed because she’s old and she doesn’t even remember her first job because it was so long ago. (Actually she probably does. And if  you get her drunk enough, she’ll tell you all about it. And she’ll probably serenade you with Paradise By The Dashboard Light by Meatloaf.)

Most of the day was a blur. Frozen in my memory is the image of me standing right by my desk, the one I would sit at for three years, trying to look professional in my blue dress shirt and black pants, hoping I wouldn’t throw up from the nervousness.

My one memory that will stand out from that week was as I was sitting at my desk with my head down, proofreading the media guide probably, someone came up to me, stuck his hand out and said “Hi, I’m Bill.” And as I looked up, I was staring into the face of Hall of Fame coach, the LEGEND, Bill Walsh. And I think I told him my name. And probably shook his hand for an inappropriate amount of time. And kept it to myself (until now), lest Teri make fun of me for something else.

Working there was an experience. It is an experience I wouldn’t change for all the money in the world. It was hard work. I struggled with so many things. I made a lot of mistakes. But I also learned a hell of a lot. I am the worker and the person I am today because of the six years I spent working there. I made friendships that will last for a lifetime. I had to be strong because I was literally all alone when I moved there.  I grew up. A LOT.

I think back to my almost-22 year old self and I almost wish I could be her again. I wish I could have that rampant ambition, that slightly less jaded outlook on the world, the feeling that the world and thousands of opportunities were just waiting there, at my feet, waiting for me to take hold of them and run as fast as I could.

I wish I could shelter her from a lot of the stuff she is going to go through. I wish I could tell her to worry less and enjoy life more. I wish I could tell her that having a big mouth is no longer endearing in the professional world.

But I can’t. And that’s OK. Because she survived, she grew, she learned, she enjoyed life. She had to go through these things. She had to learn, had to get knocked down a few times to learn how to brush herself off and move on. She had to experience LIFE.

And I wouldn’t tell her to do anything different because I think we’re both pretty happy with the way it has all panned out. No regrets.

Category: Forty Whiners, Worky Work | 17 Comments »
Tags: