The Plague Hath Cometh

This is a completely nonsensical out of order blog post. You’ll have to deal with my fuzzy sick brain. #SorryNotSorry

I’ve been dying.

Since Monday, I’ve felt like death.

I’m also a moron who trudged her way into work for the last half of the day on Monday, even though I knew I was super sic, and then made my way to the bitterly cold Bears game thanks to my die hard Bears fan nature.

I KNOW.

But it was worth every minute of it. Because I was going to be sick regardless. And they only retire a jersey once. And it was Da Coach’s jersey. And I was there.

I was also freezing cold. And dying.

This was before the game started.

This was before the game started.

This was 20 minutes later. I'm in there somewhere.

This was 20 minutes later. I’m in there somewhere.

When I got home, my fever was 102.6. And I hadn’t had anything to eat all day. Tea, chicken broth, 7up and hot chocolate. No solid food.

And Brian seemed…upset.

Something about me. And stupidity. And health. And stupid football. Or something like that.

He doesn’t understand.

Then he kept waking me up and checking my temperature. I just wanted to sleep! Come to think of it, when he had bronchitis last week, I let him sleep!

Apparently, I forgot how debilitating the flu is.

And just a few months ago, I was talking about how silly the flu shot is and how I rarely get the flu anyways and how it makes you feel sick and I don’t think any of my excuses even matter anymore because I’m getting the fucking flu shot next year.

Brian got the flu shot. And he didn’t get my disease. Of course, he had his own bronchitis last week, which I didn’t get (thanks to my sinus infection and the antibiotics in my system).

Anyways, so I was off sick on Tuesday. Worked from home yesterday. Hopefully working from home one more day today to help me feel a bit stronger on my feet. I’m seriously like a child learning to walk. I tumble and stumble and fall all over our apartment. I’ve been walking like my 89 year old grandfather used to. And whining. A lot of whining.

I’m not a good sick person. At all.

Brian is kind of a saint for dealing with me. But only a little bit.

I just hope that the 4 hours I went into the office on Monday didn’t negatively affect my co-workers. Because I wouldn’t wish this shit on anyone.

Have you gotten the bronchitis or flu that’s going around? Are you dying, too? Or are you one of those lucky people who just didn’t get sick with half the free world?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Man-Wife’s Bitch Finds Someone New

Maybe that title was a little much. It’s not that I’m angry. Or jealous. I mean… it all worked out, right?

As this is the second in a to-be-continued…we can also call this “The Bartender- Part II.” But let’s be honest. My original title is way better. (And the security in my current relationship allows me to write about those feelings which I no longer feel).

After many months of dating, and not an ounce of jealousy on my end (which was relatively unusual for Chrissy…just wait until I tell you about “the crazy years” I don’t think Brian’s ready for that…), The Bartender went back to school for the fall semester. Things were supposedly progressing quite nicely…he had planned his schedule around mine, so that we could have more time to go out and spend together.

It was then that I started hearing about Kirsten (Keer-sten), which I think is the dumbest name on the planet. (I’m really sorry if you are reading this and your name is Kirsten. You probably think Chrissy is a dumb name. Which is okay… Meanie.)

Kirsten’s family had season tickets to the Bears, just like Mom’s friend has season tickets to the Bears. They apparently bonded over the fact that they were both going to the pre-season game that I was taking The Bartender to. As if you couldn’t already tell, I was a little jealous. But not a lot.

For his birthday, I took The Bartender to a Blackhawk’s game. Where we ran into Dennis Savard on our way to our seats. It was really fuckin’ cool.

But shortly after his birthday, The Bartender started getting weird. He was a little more distant and I could tell something was up. So we talked about it. And he wasn’t sure. About the us thing. He told me that I seemed so sure and he just wasn’t. I told him, truthfully, that I wasn’t sure either, but that getting there was part of the fun. At the time, I couldn’t imagine going through the dating scene again.

So, I fought. I fought for him, even though I hated the way he gambled. I hated the way he always chose Man-Wife. I hated that he almost never seemed to have anything interesting to say. I hated that he never listened to me when I offered help or made suggestions. I hated that he wouldn’t accept academic help from my physical therapist friends (his chosen future profession). I hated the way he got super pissed (like scary mad) when I kicked his ass at Scrabble. I hated his obnoxious commentary on the Cubs, just to piss me off. I hated that all of his conversations went back to horse races or gambling boats. I hated that he never wanted to just hang out and snuggle. I hated that I felt like I was so much smarter than him.

Then a few months later…(while I was treating him to a fancy pants dinner that the secret shopping company was paying me to eat) The Bartender told me that he might be able to buy tickets to the Packers/Bears game. Oooohh! Exciting! Oh…right…and that he wouldn’t be taking me.

He was going to buy them to take Man-Wife.

WTF?

He was going to buy them from Kirsten.

WTF?

So I got a little upset. Though I was reasonable. And the subject was moot, because he wasn’t sure.

A week later, I excitedly told The Bartender that I was getting FREE Bears/Packers tickets.

He still bought tickets from Kirsten. He still planned to go with Man-Wife. This time, I was not reasonable. I was really fuckin’ pissed, and sad, and upset, and confused, and bewildered, and a million other things that I didn’t even know how to verbalize.

After a pretty hefty fight, The Bartender finally agreed to give Man-Wife and his brother the tickets as an early Christmas present and attend the game with me.

It was at that game that I discovered several things:

1. Tiny little Kirsten and her tiny little girlfriend, both wearing pink Bears clothes (ICK), were also in the seats. Apparently, The Bartender was not only fighting with me to pay to see a game with Man-Wife…he wanted to pay to see the game with Kiiiiirsten.

2. Kirsten’s seats were just a few rows away from the seats I frequent. (This would later become a problem.)

3. I hated Kirsten.

Less than a month after that encounter…Just two days after New Year’s… (The New Year’s that my boyfriend refused to request off to spend with me)…My boyfriend dumped me. I should have known based on the fact that my boyfriend of almost a year gave me a DVD for Christmas…(and gave my parents an autographed baseball). But I didn’t. I had no clue.

But he did. And I was…surprisingly okay. I cried some. I drank a lot. I escaped to Peoria to spend time with my lovies. But for the first time in my relationship life, I was okay within a week. The crying just…stopped. Easily. It was like I knew all along that he wasn’t the one.

Being Dumped Didn't Stop Me From Rockin' Out

And it wasn’t totally easy… I mean, I still got super panicky going anywhere near The Bartender or his place of employment. Like physically ill panicky. It was bad. And when I had to watch the Bartender and pink-clad Kirsten making out at several of the following season’s Bears games, I was less than thrilled.

But when I think I saw The Bartender a few weeks ago, I was fine. (I could barely tell if it was him. But I think it was.)

Of course, I’m of the belief that everything happens for a reason. If it weren’t for The Bartender, I wouldn’t have felt that I was worthy of the amazing-ness that is Brian. I would never in a million years thought that I was good enough for him. But I learned from The Bartender that I needed someone smarter than me (OK, just as smart, but in different ways). Someone who liked nerdy things. Someone who would think my quirks were adorable. Someone who had endearing quirks. Someone who I could love unconditionally. Someone who just…got it. Got me.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

The Bartender

Good morning friends (I figure if you’re reading my shit, we’re buds now, right?) We’ve been playing this oh-so-fun Chrissy’s life blog for a while now… It’s time I started telling you about boys. I think I’ll work backwards and start with my last real relationship before Brian.

Let me preface this by telling you about my state of mind when I met The Bartender(Please see my post about nicknames). I had just left my full time job as a catering manager to pursue a master’s degree in education. I was on the verge of claiming bankruptcy, I lived at home with my parents, I had no job, no money, and didn’t exactly feel “on top of the world.”

I met The Bartender at a Jaycees event, where he was bartending. We flirted all afternoon, and he seemed so adorable, I couldn’t help myself. The fact that he was flirting with me, even though I was covered in chili and wearing a hoodie…spoke volumes.

When I met the bartender

I’m pretty sure I hadn’t washed my hair in a few days, either…

The day I met my ex-boyfriend

You can’t see it, but there’s a HUGE chili stain on that hoodie…

I walked up to the bar with a plan. My bestie, Lily, and another friend, Ana, were there at the far end of the bar cheering me on. I strutted my bravado over to the bar and called The Bartender over. He asked if I wanted another pitcher, but instead of replying, (mostly, because if I didn’t do it immediately, I would lose all balls) I shook my head “no,” and used my favorite pick-up line at the time, “So,” insert the most sickeningly sweet, unbelievably adorable, irresistible smile “If I gave you my number, would you call me?”

Now, I’ve used this line, dozens of times…and to be perfectly honest, this is the ONLY time it worked and the guy actually called. We chatted. We flirted. He asked me on a date. It was kind of cute.

I dated The Bartender for a little under a year. But I knew for the better part of that year that I was, in fact, settling. As evident by the fact that I am no longer with The Bartender, it all worked out as it was supposed to. But at the time, I really would have stayed with him, for fear of never finding someone else to love me.

Except that…my quirks weren’t adorable. They were annoying. His quirks weren’t endearing. They were ridiculous.

The Bartender lived in this weirdly fucked up situation that I didn’t quite understand at first. He was in his early 30’s working towards his bachelor’s degree and bartending. So we were both in school. We were both poor. I lived at home with my parents…

He lived at someone’s home with that someone’s parents. Who? You might ask… Well I called him Man-Wife. Man-Wife was an older gentleman…I never discovered Man-Wife’s age, but for all intents and purposes, let’s say he was in his early to mid 40’s. Man-Wife and The Bartender shared a room. Two queen sized beds in one grown up room. I should have run screaming. But The Bartender was nice. And I needed a little nice in my life.

The Bartender was a sports fan (Bears, Blackhawks), but he was also a Cubs fan. This, I’ve discovered, tends to be a deal-breaker. It would have been fine, if The Bartender had ceased the obnoxious ranting on and on with stats about the Cubs. I couldn’t have cared less.

Now, the bartender was also a Bears fan… I even took him to his very first game. Lucky Bartender. He bought me a Bears jersey for my birthday. My first real-ish (non-Walmart) jersey. Of course, he informed me later that the only reason he could afford that fancy pants present was because he had won big at the boat. This was not endearing to me.

I really don’t like gambling. I went through a brief phase in my life in which I would spend a few dollars at the boat in order to procure free hotel rooms in Peoria. This seemed reasonable. But if I lost money, I was always very mad at myself…and I missed the shoes that I could have bought with that money.

Man-Wife loved gambling. Man-Wife, his mom, his dad, his brother, and The Bartender all loved gambling. That was their thing.

That and being crazy. The Bartender let Man-Wife and family dominate his world. This is probably a testament of The Bartender and I not being right for each other, but if The Bartender and I tried to make plans or he wasn’t going to be home when he said he was, he would have to call for permission. And sometimes Man-Wife would bitch at him for being late. For not coming home to cook dinner. For not going grocery shopping as a family.

Man-Wife. Noooo thank you.

The Bartender lasted for a good percentage of my adult life to date…so he warrants a two-part story…

To be continued… The Bartender Part II

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

A Born Fanatic

Thank God my mother raised me right.

(Preface: If you’re not into Jesus or politics, keep reading–I promise I have a point)
 

I was *NOT* born to be a religious fanatic

My parents instilled a strong belief in God, but more importantly they allowed me to believe (as I did and do) that good people who lead strong, genuine, and caring lives will be rewarded, regardless of their faith. While I believe that there is a God (and a forgiving, loving God, at that), it is not my place to push Him on others. It is not my place to HATE others for believing in something different than what I believe.

As a child, I had heard in various adult conversations that only Catholics shall go to Heaven. But as many children, I questioned in honor of my pals. But what about my friends who aren’t Catholic? I thought to myself, that if they are good people, they will be okay. You know why? BECAUSE GOD LOVES US. /end Jesus talk.

Don’t get upset, Mom, it’s a real bible verse!

I was *NOT* born to be a political fanatic

I have tendencies for both sides of the main court. I suppose that makes me an independent. I was educated by my parents to watch, listen, and learn, but also to see what was going on behind the scenes. Politics is heavily swayed by the media, so it is my duty as a voting citizen to do my own research.

Whether or not someone says one thing, they may very well do another. To be the most informed voter that I can be, and remain as unbiased as I can be, is the only way that I know to do my part. I truly believe that in our current society that I am more often than not voting for the lesser of two evils, and not for the better leader.

 

Anyone? Anyone? *Crickets*

I was, on the other hand, born to be a sports fanatic

When I was a baby, Mom would whisper in my ear, “You love the White Sox. You hate the Cubs.” and the all-important, “You love the Bears. You hate the Packers.”

This picture is the sole reason that I believe it is perfectly acceptable for little girls under the age of 2 to wear sports gear in pink as opposed to in team colors. I asked if this was my brother. Mom told me “no.” Until I pulled the picture out of an album and looked at the back that said, “Christine 1984,” I didn’t quite believe her.

You think I’m making this shit up, but I’m not. At all. I come from a family of sports-crazed chicks. My grandmother (Dad’s mom, one of my namesakes, who I never had the joy of meeting) Regina (Jean) jumped on the White Sox bus with a ball and made every player on the bus sign the ball before she got off. What a spitfire!

My mom, a die-hard, White Sox loving, Bears loving lady, has a list a mile long of her exploits in the sports world. From kissing baseball players to stalking football players, my mom’s done it.

In fact, when I asked her for her wild sports stories, she e-mailed me this (I literally cut and pasted for entertainment value–OK with a few modifications…my mom has little regard for typing quotations and doesn’t quite get the difference between all caps and normal type–sorry Mom! I love you! Really folks, Mom’s got impeccable grammar–she’s defo one of the reasons I’m such a grammar Nazi… it’s just the typing thing):

#54 Tom Hicks Bears…1980…I was working at the phone company, and answered the phone,
“This is Miss Nudd, how can I help you?”
The man on the phone says to me, “Hi Patti, this is Tom Hicks”
I almost died and had to put him on hold and said, “Tom Hicks knows my first name!” He had gone to the same high school as me, and knew my sister; I knew his little brother.
Scott Fletcher White Sox Winning ugly playoff team 1983…Working at phone company again…
“This is Mrs. Woj, how can I help you?”
“I’d like to install a new phone.”
“Ok..what is you name”
“Scott Flectcher”
“Uhmmm Scott, you play baseball?”
“Yea..you a fan?”
“Oh boy! Am I?!…I stayed out all night pregnant* for playoff tickets.”
I then proceeded to install his phone.
 

*For the record, friends, she was preggo with yours truly.

White Sox 1988?…White Sox playing Yankees. Dad and I were waiting after game near the Sox player parking lot…I saw George Steinbrenner (Owner of the Yankees.) About 15 people were standing with us…I yelled
“Mr. Steinbrenner!”
He walked over and talked baseball and signed autographs for 10 minutes..great guy..bad reputation.
 
Derek Jeter: Another Yankee…Great rep…bad guy
Dad and I were on the field after winning a contest with Old Kent Bank. It was Derek Jeter’s birthday.
He walks by I say” Hey Jeter…Happy Birthday”…he gave a me a nasty glare and without a word, walked away.
many more will continue in an hour or so.

Mom never finished, but I figure that’s plenty of tales, considering the list goes on and on and on… so you can see why I feel it is absolutely necessary to continue the tradition of training die-hard sports fans… I give you exhibits A and B: my niece, Princess B, and my godson, Little A.

Baby sports fan in the making. My niece at 2. For all intents and purposes, we’ll call her, Princess B. Note the pink Chucks on her feet.

My only claims to fame (other than the childhood encounters that my parents got us into because they owned a bar-and I have pictures of me with a bunch of White Sox greats whilst wearing a New Kids on the Block tee-shirt) are a couple of slightly embarrassing encounters and one awesome wave. Getting hammered with my pal Marissa behind home base (in Scout Seating), I yelled over to Ozzie Guillen, “Hey Ozzie!” waving frantically in order to grab his attention. Drunk Chrissy was convinced that mom would have done the same thing. Of course, we were losing at the time, and he looked at me, annoyed, and gave a little half wave back.

“Hey Ozzie!!!!!”

Then there was my first Bear. To this date, I have only met one Bear. The newish punter, Adam Podlesh, was at the Chicago Auto Show in February, and I was determined to meet him. Cletus and I had planned a lovely afternoon downtown to check out the zoom zooms and more. Podlesh was at the Toyota display taking pictures and signing autographs. I walked up there with my picture to sign and Cletus with the camera ready…and the only language my brain could muster was a dulled, awkward, starry-eyed “hiiiii.” He looked at me a little funny and asked if I wanted to take a picture first or sign an autograph first. “um…surrrre” I said. Wow, quite the verbal mastermind, I was that day…So we took the picture. It was awesome. Then he asked if he should sign the autograph to someone, I said, “Um to um Chrissy. *awkward pause* Um. That’s me. *awkward smile*” He smiled at me like I was a little goofy, but hopefully endearing… “Thanks, uh duh *grin*” I told him. Then I asked if I could hug him. And he said it was okay. So I hugged a football player. I like to think that I made his day by being a crazed and dazed fan…

But the best time was when I was at training camp in Bourbonnais, and Robbie Gould waved at me. No, seriously, he waved at me. I yelled out, “Hey Robbie!” and I was planning to snap a picture. When I clicked the snap button, I quickly realized that WHAM! I was video taping it!

 

That’s right. Famous.

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!