Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on June 23, 2009

The key to blogging is to write about hair or shoes, apparently.

So you guys have opinions about those shoes. Or should I say OPINIONS. I loved reading all your comments. There would be a lot of “hmm, maybe with capris or a skirt would be better” comments and then you would have a bunch of “NO! BAD SHOES!” comments. I’m also surprised at how many people have these same shoes and actually like them. Decision? To be decided.

I agree with a lot of you that it is a lot of foot. I don’t know why it bothers me more than a flip flop or any other sandal. The only thing I can think of is that these cover just the middle of the foot. And then like the whole end of your foot is out there! In the open! With the possibility of stepping in Chicago sludge!

I’m going to try them with a few different things – long shorts, capris and a dress (not all those at once, though), and see. I also got a pedicure tonight, so that should help. I put off the pedicure for so long because it was like in the 60s last week and I was wearing socks. Then all of a sudden it’s 91 and I’m wearing sandals and people are looking at my bare toenails! THE HORROR!

Also, a tan might help. But that won’t happen since I prefer the indoors and SPF 75.

So as I was getting my pedicure tonight, I started thinking back to when I wore toe rings. Did anyone else wear toe rings? Why did I feel the need to wear a ring on my toe? Why would I encourage people to focus their gaze on my feet? (Although, a player at the 49ers, John Keith (who only those of us who worked at the 49ers know who the hell that even is), he used to tell me all the time that I had pretty feet. And then I would say “thanks perv, now move along and stop breaking like a God damned China doll!”)

Anyway, I remembered toe rings during my pedicure tonight because I always took mine off for pedicures. Because it was FINE JEWELRY, apparently. And I would wear it on my pinky finger, like an Italian mobster, until the pedicure was finished. That’s classy right there. Klassy with a K.

I actually only kept wearing the toe ring for one reason – because Steve Mariucci, the cute, former head coach of the 49ers, he would always comment on my toe ring. (I’m also pretty sure I’ve mentioned this story before.)

See I was in charge of taping his informal media gathering after practice every day. And then I would go upstairs and transcribe it for the website. It sounds like a mundane task, but when I was first asked to do it, it was one of the first times a woman was ever allowed on the practice field. In like the entire history of the organization. This was in 2000.

So I jumped at the chance. THIS! This was going to be my in, this was going to be my way to break down all those rules and the glass ceiling! I am woman, hear me ROAR!

I was told to just tape and not say a thing. I am woman, hear me stand meekly with a tape recorder.

Now if anyone of you have ever met me, or read this blog, you might guess that being quiet is NOT an easy thing for me to do. But this was my chance! I would do what it took to carve my niche, to create my place in history with this franchise. So I stood, every day after practice and held my little tape recorder and stayed in the background.

I found out a few years later from my boss that Mariucci, he did NOT like me being out there. He was against it from the very beginning. And it was Mariucci, or Mooch as he’s known, who gave the instructions for me to be quiet. Kirk, my boss, he could care less about gender. He always hired good people who worked hard and did their jobs. He’s a younger guy, so the whole Old Boys Club of not having women around, he didn’t buy into it. I was very lucky to work for a guy like Kirk.

As the practices went by, as I behaved myself and stayed invisible (I think), slowly Mooch started to warm up to me. Since I’m not shy, and I am blessed with a quick wit and a big mouth, he probably regretted the day he first talked to me. Because then, once I was spoken to, I had to talk back. And I could make a living at talking back. I’m THAT good at it. And once I started, I could not be stopped.

Because the years Mooch coached the team (while I was there) were some of the worst teams in Niners history, he got asked a lot of questions by the media that he didn’t want to answer. When he didn’t want to answer, he would look at the ground. When he looked at the ground, he saw a bunch of ugly man shoes and MY FEET! Specifically, my toes. And, you guessed it, my toe ring.

He was obsessed with the toe ring. He couldn’t understand the purpose. (Nor do I, years later.) But he would bring it up all the time. For awhile, he would call me Toe Ring. If I ever had a note or something from him, it would either say “Dear Toe Ring” or “Dear Sun Devil” (he saw the tattoo later on.)

So one year I decided to get him a Christmas present. I went to Claire’s and found the girliest pink toe ring I could find. And I wrapped it up and made this heartfelt speech to him, telling him I really wanted to get him something or some other bullshit. He, of course, laughed his head off and LOVED IT! And it sat on his desk for the rest of his years with the 49ers.

On the day he got fired, I walked into his office to say goodbye, with tears in my eyes because I knew not only was I going to miss him because he was one of a kind, I also knew that all the years I worked at becoming one of the boys, getting him to see me as a professional, not as some WOMAN, some walking vagina, who wanted to sleep with players, all that was walking out the door with him. And I was going to have to start from scratch.

But he told me that he was taking the toe ring with him and it would be displayed on his desk the next place he ended up. Although I’m quite sure it ended up in the circular file. But I still have my memories!

Category: All Things Blogging, Forty Whiners | 26 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on June 22, 2009

Internet, I have a question for y’all. (Can you tell I was watching Kathy Griffin visit Paula Deen before I wrote this?)

I bought these shoes a few weeks ago at Target.

I was looking for some black sandals/flats and I thought “Hmmm, these are different. I’m going to get them. Because I always get the same damn thing. And different doesn’t always mean bad.”

But then I brought them home and I couldn’t figure out if I really did like them. So I’m doing what any normal person would do, I’m polling the internet.

I even have additional exhibits.

Exhibit A

(Yes that is the string still holding these shoes together. I’m serious when I say I’m not sure if I should take them back or not.) (Also, I need to clean the mirror.)

Exhibit B

Exhibit C

These are pants I would probably wear them with quite often since they are too short for heels. I was also thinking I could wear them with capris, maybe? Or shorts? Or a dress?

I DON’T KNOW! I need your help, smart, fashionable people of the World Wide Web! What is the verdict on these shoes? Be honest, please. You won’t hurt my feelings. Well, you might hurt them a little bit, but I’ll just keep the crying on the inside.

But really, I’d rather take them back if the internet says so, then have them sitting in the closet gathering dust. I could do a lot with $20. That could buy a lot of cheap wine and Swedish Fish.

So bring your opinions, I know you have plenty, and leave them in the comments!

Category: All Things Blogging | 50 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on June 21, 2009

I had a very grown-up weekend. I showered. I put on make-up. I WORE A DRESS. And then I drove the entire state of Illinois in my beat up car that has no air conditioning. And did I mention, it is summer now and it was 90 degrees and humid while I was doing all this driving? And that I now have a sunburnt left arm to show for my troubles? Good thing I’m a different shade of pale, so that arm will go back to being stark white in a few days.

Saturday I had a hair appointment in the morning. After my hair appointment, which is basically in Indiana, I had to drive to my friend Jenn’s bridal shower, which was practically in Iowa. All during the heat of the day. Did I mention that I don’t have air conditioning? BECAUSE I DO NOT HAVE AIR CONDITIONING IN MY CAR!

(It has a leak. I fill it up with coolant and it usually lasts for about 2 weeks. But I haven’t filled it up yet this year because we’ve not been having summer like weather for all of June. Until now, of course.)

Needless to say, once I got to the shower, I needed a drink. Good thing I did my recognizance and found out there would be no booze at this shower. So I came prepared with a flask full of vodka. (Hi Jenn! Yes, I brought a flask to your shower! But I didn’t get out of control! I bet you didn’t even notice! Love ya!)

I made sure that it was indeed OK to bring a flask to a shower by doing what normal people do in this situation when you have perplexing question. No, not asking the bride-to-be. I asked Twitter.

Twitter responded with a resounding YES! And Nic was overruled! Which is OK because she’s just mad that she has to buy her alcohol from the state and pays more and can’t get it in the grocery store. I still love her, though. And her bid to turn me sober. If she had witnessed Drunkabella in action, she would reconsider.

There was actually champagne for a toast at the shower. And punch. Which I added the vodka too. Which later was a bad idea because there was citrus in the punch and my stomach was being ripped to shreds after a few glasses, so I switched to water. All in all, it was a decent shower. I won’t go into my thoughts about bridal showers (HATE THEM!) and what I will do at mine, in the event I ever get married, which isn’t likely (BOOZE! NO GAMES! NO PRESENTS OPENING! MORE LIKE A BACHELORETTE PARTY WITH CHINA AND PIZZA STONES!). But Jenn did a good job with the gifts. Her and her soon-to-be-hubby (I always spell fiancee like finance) Jerry were very fast and efficient. And the food was excellent and it was good to catch up with friends.

Anyway, that was more time that I planned to devote to the shower. I had to rush out of the shower to sit in traffic and drive back from almost-Iowa so I could be home for my blinds to be installed! REAL BLINDS! No more fitted Red Sheet of Brothelville! I was going to wake up to normal colored light and no longer think that I was living life in rose-colored glasses. Literally.

They took all of 10 minutes to install them. This is why I paid people to do it. Because 1) they did it right and 2) it would have taken me three hours to do it myself. We even bonded over the fact that they too had no A/C in their car. Weather – the Great Equalizer.

After they were installed, we had a ceremonious folding of the Red Sheet of Brothelville.

The red sheet now goes to join his other compatriots in the Box of Sheets and Towels Which Has Yet To Be Unpacked. Before we put the Red Sheet of Brothelville away, I made sure the cats gave it a proper salute.

Kitty Kitty, of course, wasn’t convinced that Red Sheet needed all this pomp and circumstance.

Whatever CAT, you are now afraid of BLINDS! Add that to your fucking list, you pussy.

But aren’t they pretty?

Wow, yet another post about my cats and about blinds. I can’t believe I don’t have suitors knocking on my door to ask for my hand in marriage. I’m sure Jason would agree.

But hey, then at least that’s one less bridal shower I have to sit through.

Category: Crazy Cat Lady, The Hizzouse | 20 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on June 17, 2009

Last night I got a taste of what it would be like to have a newborn and have to take care of her/him myself (which is a very real possibility because if I never get hitched, I’m having a baby somehow.)

See, it was very hot in my house last night. According to the thermostat it was about 79 in my tiny shoebox of a condo. And since it was storming and pissing rain outside, all the windows were closed. (Good news, though, no more leaks!) So I felt like I was suffocating. I thought about turning the air conditioning on, hesitating only because it was only about 60 outside and really, if it is that cool, the A/C is a tad unnecessary, no?

But I was sweating and I knew I wasn’t going to sleep well. So then I slapped myself and was like “hey jackass! Isn’t this why you wanted a place with central air in the first place? Put on your big girl panties, stop worrying about it and just turn the damn thing on!”

So I was all “you’re right self. And boy, you sure pack quite a punch! Have you been working out?” And myself answered “no, this is the arm I use to lift all those glasses of booze to my mouth, so it gets a lot of use. Who needs a gym when you can get these guns from drinking?” And then I laughed “oh self, you’re so witty.” And myself was all “stop fucking stalling and turn on the damn A/C!” “OK SELF! Don’t be so fucking pushy! GEEZ!”

At first I thought just the fan would be OK. But I’m not too sure exactly what that is. Is it just re-circulating the hot air in my house? Is it pulling air from the outside? It wasn’t that cool anyway, so the conversation I had in my head about where this air was coming from (the upstairs neighbor’s bathroom?) was moot.

It was like sweet, sweet nectar blowing out of those vents when I turned on the air conditioning. All those years of suffering in that apartment, with only a window unit, were so worth it. Being cold when I sleep, in the summer, and not having to worry about a puddle of water on the floor from the condensation is a beautiful thing.

That is until I heard an oddly familiar sound.

“MEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW. MEEEEEEEEEEOW!”

Kitty Kitty has this meow that is only reserved for when she’s scared or hurt or SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT DAMMIT! I am quite familiar with this meow. It’s the meow I heard when we drove across the country in my Nissan Sentra and she spent the entire trip under my seat, never eating or drinking for three days. It is the sound she makes when we go to the vet. It is the sound she made when we moved into the condo and she lost her fucking shit and peed on EVERYTHING!

I do not like this sound. Not one bit, I tell you.

After hearing this meow, I went to find her. She was cowering on the bed. I picked her up and calmed her down. She seemed to be OK, so I put her back on the bed. And then there was that MEOWING again. She was frozen in one spot. She would not move out of the bedroom. Because outside the bedroom? The CLOSET OFF DOOM!

(Right outside my bedroom door is a closet with the heating and air conditioning thingys and the water heater. See below.)

I tried everything. I showed her the inside of the closet “see Kitty, nothing to be afraid of.” And then I forced her outside the bedroom, which was quite comical and she ran past that closet like her tail was on fire. I gave her treats. I told her it would be OK like she was a human and that would help! I TRIED EVERYTHING!

So then I said fuck it and I went to bed. She wasn’t leaving the bedroom, actually she wasn’t leaving the window sill in the bedroom, so I figured we would be fine. She seemed to have calmed down a bit and the meowing was at a minimum.

Some time after I got in bed, the a/c went off because it had cooled off enough. She clearly got comfortable with this and was like “whew! That was one horrible fucking nightmare! Thank God that is over!” And then she proceeded to go to bed.

And then 2 AM rolled around. “MEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWW! MEEEEEEEEOW! MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

The a/c kicked back on. And she was taken back to that horrible place! Where things made noise! And “OMG! HUMAN! Are you hearing these things coming out of that closet? The whooshing? And air blowing? WHY ISN’T THAT OTHER CAT AWAKE? WHY IS NO ONE SCARED THAT WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE? I MUST WAKE THEM NOW! MEEEEEEOOOOOOWWWWWW!”

So I woke up. Because that shrill screeching? Like an infant crying. It’s impossible to sleep through it for any length of time. I got up and I called her over and I petted her and I tried to calm her down. And then I told her to fuck off because I needed my sleep and it was a fucking air conditioner for pete’s sake.

Tonight it is cooler in the house and not raining, so I don’t need it on. But the next time I have to turn it on, you best believe I’m recording that ear-piercing howl with the new voice memo function on my phone so you can all FEEL MY PAIN.

I can’t wait until the first time I have to dog-sit for my brother and introduce these stupid cats to Bella the Pug. But how could they be afraid of this pug’s mug? Seriously.

Category: Crazy Cat Lady | 20 Comments »
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Posted By Kristabella on June 15, 2009

On Sunday afternoon I was out running errands, like I do most Sunday afternoons. I generally put everything off until the last possible moment because I’m a lazy motherfucker. But this week, I had an excuse. I was gone all day Saturday, literally from the time I woke up until 11 PM, so I didn’t have any time to go grocery shopping or do laundry or any of the host of other things I usually cram into my Sunday afternoons.

One of the errands was doing my weekly grocery shopping. As I was driving home from the grocery store, I got into a bit of an altercation. I will preface, I’ve got a bit of The Rage when I drive. I may have been known to give people the finger, or lay on my horn until it stops working (true story!) or follow people who piss me off, just to make them shit their pants. I do realize this is the STUPIDEST thing to do and that one of these times, I’m going to get shot. But I am getting better. I used to be really bad. Until some dude fucking kicked my car door in at a stoplight.

Anyway, on Sunday there was a street fest near my grocery store. Which meant most of the east/west streets were closed and everyone had to take the ONE east/west street that wasn’t blocked. It took me like 30 minutes to go 2 miles on the way to the store. So on the way home, I figured I’d go further south before I cut back west. It would have taken longer, but it didn’t matter because it meant I would not be sitting in traffic. On a Sunday.

So I was driving south, planning ahead of time to turn right on a street named Lawrence (like my dad!). But I grew impatient with the stop lights and stupid people, so I figured I would turn right sooner than Lawrence, to get on the side streets. I came up on an intersection and the light turned red, so I screeched to a halt stopped. I figured now was as good a time as any to turn right. So I checked the traffic and figured it was OK to turn.

BUT, as soon as I turned the corner, I realized I was turning onto a one-way street and I was GOING THE WRONG WAY! Since I made some weird-ass wide turn onto this one-way street and didn’t want to be hit head on, I decided the only thing to do, the safest thing to do, was run the red light and continue going back South. There was NO traffic on that one-way street, so I did not put anyone in harm’s way.

I was really shook up about it. I am a rule follower. I don’t do things like that, especially things that could end up hurting people. I am as impatient as a toddler, but I can WAIT at red lights. I abide by the rules of the road.

As I continued South to Lawrence, I was freaking out and talking to myself saying “I can’t believe I just did that. I can’t believe I ran a red light. OH MY GOD! THANK YOU JESUS! I’m so glad no one was hurt, including myself!”

I pulled up at the light on Lawrence and it was red, of course. So I waited for my chance to turn right. When all of a sudden I hear someone shouting over the music coming out of my radio. And it isn’t me singing along with Kelly Clarkson. It is something entirely different. And then I do something stupid, I turn toward the shouting.

Next to me, on a major street, at a major intersection, is some asshat who has decided it is HIS business to tell me that I was wrong for going through a red light. NO SHIT SHERLOCK. And he scolds me. And tells me about how people could have been hurt and I could have been T-boned by the traffic. Complete with hand gestures to show me what that would look like if my car was his one hand and an imaginary car was his other hand. T stands for TOOL. To which I should have said, “not possible jackass. The only way I was going to get T-boned is if someone else was going the wrong way down a one-way street. I ran a red light to avoid the possibility of being hit HEAD ON. WORSE THAN BEING T-BONED, FUCKWIT!”

I didn’t say any of these things. I was still so shaken up byt the whole thing that I apologized profusely. Along with placing my hand to my chest, showing just how sorry I was and that I honestly didn’t mean to do it. I’m a poor excuse for an aggressive driver.

And then the motherfucking cocksucker WAGGED HIS FINGER AT ME! And then the light turned and he continued on his merry, pretentious way in his stupid Mercedes. And he’s lucky, considering the part of town we were in, that he didn’t get a gun pulled on his ass.

I was SHOCKED. Between the red light running and the jackass and his finger wagging, I got ANGRY. I was so mad at myself for letting that asshole talk to me like that. Like he’s fucking Barney Fife and making a citizen’s arrest. What good does scolding me do? What’s done is done. If he was paying any lick of attention, he would have seen it wasn’t intentional. Fucking people, you know?

I’m glad that I didn’t do anything in retaliation. Like I said, not the best part of town, even during the day. And while Pretentious McWaggyPants  looked like a royal douchebag, he totally could have been packing heat in the back of his pseudo SUV. So it is for the best that I just call him names on my blog and Twitter.

At least it makes me feel better.

Category: A Day in the Life of Me, Transit Tales | 19 Comments »
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