No. I have not been drinking. Today at least. Which I am thankful for. Because it is all catching up with me. And I need to rest up for big celebration. To celebrate Kristabella’s 365 days on this Earth. What have we done without her for the rest of our years? It’s like living in times without cell phones, laptops and DVRs.
That also means this post will not be as entertaining.
And since the first anniversary is the paper anniversary, I’m going to drink lots of beers in honor of Kristabella. Because the labels on Miller Lite are made of paper.
So Kaleigh tagged me the other day. Another one of those memes where I go to the recesses of my brain to pull out the craziest, weirdest shit that I can think of. To see if you’ll still keep coming back.
I did just do one. Of 8 things. But because she took time to tag me, and sometimes linking and all that blogging, techy shit sucks, I will do her meme. (Even though she did give me a get out of jail pass.) And you will find out seven more crazy things about me. Let’s see if I can top the one about drool.
Anyway, the rules are:
1. Link to your tagger and post rules.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself, some random and some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of post and list their names.
4. Let them know they were tagged by a comment on their blog.
So here we go. There are a few themes.
1. I only worked with Jerry Rice for two seasons. But since he left the Niners for the Raiders, he was still in the Bay Area. And since my friend Sasha was always working with him, I feel like he was around more often. Yet, I have really only one really good Jerry Rice story. That you’ve all probably heard. But you try coming up with seven more batshit crazy things about yourself.
So one morning I walked into the kitchen at the 49ers facility to grab a banana for breakfast. (Yeah, we used to get fresh fruit every day, bagels, doughnuts, English muffins and oatmeal. All free. I miss free breakfast.) Anywhootie, Jerry was in the kitchen, toasting up something, and was talking to one of the guys in the scouting department. So I just walked in, grabbed my banana and walked out. I didn’t want to interrupt.
So as I’m walking down the hall I hear Jerry yell “Kristi!” And I think to myself “well, he’s talking to a dude, it’s a one-way hallway and I didn’t see anyone come in after me, and really? Kristi is pretty close. It’s only missing one letter. He must be talking to me.”
After thinking about this for about 10 minutes, I finally turn around and go back in the kitchen. Since I figure he must have something very important to tell Kristi.
So he says “Kristi, did we spend the night together last night?” So here I just stand, mouth open, thinking of what the fuck the right answer is to this question. Because, well, he’s got a bit of an, um, reputation. With the ladies. That aren’t his wife.
I say “no.” Thinking this has to be the safest and correct answer to this question. And then he just gets that big sexy grin on his face and says “well, good morning then.”
And then I giggled like a school girl and melted into a damn puddle right there in the kitchen.
He’s still the only person I let get away with calling me Kristi.
2. My brother and sister-in-law got married in 1998. (It will be 9 years this coming Wednesday. Happy early anniversary.) Since the first anniversary is traditionally the paper anniversary, I decided to give them a sheet of looseleaf paper. Wide-ruled. No, I diin’t.
Actually, part of my job when I first started at the Niners was to send out the form letters to people who wrote in for birthdays, Eagle scout celebrations, graduations, etc. So we had a form letter (on PAPER) for anniversaries. So I printed it out and got Garrison Hearst to sign it. I’m pretty sure that still to this day I think it is way cooler and more clever than they ever did.
2a. Garrison was my all-time favorite. When he was let go, I actually cried. That was the only time that happened in six years. And a LOT of players and coaches left the team in that time.
3. At my brother’s wedding in 1998, I was a bridesmaid. And was enjoying being of legal drinking age for about a month and a half on their wedding day. So if you think I’m bad now with falling and free booze and black tongues, you should have seen me then.
They had a big gap between the ceremony and the reception. And they rented a party bus. And brought coolers. Filled with beer and champagne. And there was no food to be found. Unless we decided to take advantage of hunting season and kill something. (It was in the UP of Michigan.)
Needless to say, I consumed my fair share. And was fucking plastered a good majority of the day. While we were standing on the beach, champagne bottles in hand, waiting to take a lovely drunken photo with the sober couple, I was standing with my groomsman. Who was one of my brother’s friends that I knew well. He was standing behind me. And had the glass champagne bottle up to his mouth. Instantly, I had a brilliant thought that I needed to share RIGHT THEN, so I turned around to tell him. Except when I turned around, I led with my elbow. Which had some sort of magnetic attraction to the champagne bottle. That was in his mouth. That was glass and heavy. Right near his teeth. Do you see where this is going?
I chipped his damn front tooth. And we still had photos to take! It’s a good thing he is an easy going guy. And probably, being a few years removed from college, had plenty of experience with drunken co-eds.
4. I have only recently become a wino in the last 5 or so years. My first ever exposure was in Santa Barbara when we went wine tasting before a friend’s wedding. We went to Sanford Winery, which was one of the ones from the movie Sideways. It’s the one where he drinks the spit bucket. But once I tasted the grape fermented goodness, there was no turning back. I now know my future is full of shit-stained tongues and homeless people teeth.
5. Steve Mariucci used to call me Toe Ring. Or Sun Devil. I was never really convinced he knew my real name. The fact that I wore a toe ring intrigued the hell out of him. But provided quite a diversion when he wanted to avoid answering tough questions from the media. So for Christmas one year, I bought him a neon pink toe ring. And he loved it and kept it on his desk. And I feel like I’ve told this before.
6. In keeping with Steve Mariucci. The summer before his last season, he threw a big staff party at his house. He did one every year, usually only for the coaching staff and a few others. That year I was one of the few others. And then some squeaky wheel got wind of it and bitched about it and he had to invite every one in the entire organization. Because that’s how awesome he is. But I do remember that I got one of the fancy personalized invitations. And that was all I needed. Just knowing I would have been going regardless.
Anyway (jeebus woman, long-winded much?) this was before I liked wine. Steve Mariucci likes wine. He’s Italian for Christ’s sake. He had a phat wine cellar in the basement of his house. So after the lame people left the party, he invited the rest of us down to the wine cellar. (And if you haven’t figured it out yet, if free booze is involved, I’m always going to wear out my welcome.) But because I didn’t like wine, I decided to drink Bud Light. In his wine cellar. He took a photo. And I am pretty sure that’s the only time Bud Light was in that cellar. And I kick myself because you know they were drinking some good shit.
7. One of my early years with the Niners, we signed Rick Mirer as a back-up quarterback. In my youth, I was like the BIGGEST Rick Mirer fan. Still am. I loved him at Notre Dame and I always wanted him to do well. When I met him, it was like a bigger deal than meeting Jerry Rice for me. Because I’m that big of a dork. And because, well, I hated Jerry Rice growing up. He didn’t play for the Bears. And seriously, he fucking caught everything. He could catch a falling star and put it in his pocket.
So Rick Mirer is from Goshen, Indiana. Very close to Notre Dame. So when I first met Rick, I figured I’d tell him the only joke I had every heard about Goshen, Indiana. Figuring he had heard it 100 times before, but NOT CARING. My dad used to always say “there are three oceans. The Atlantic Ocean, the Pacific Ocean and the Indiana Goshen.” (Kinda works better if you say it out loud.)
So I regaled Rick with my witty joke. He had actually never heard it before. And he laughed and said he’d have to tell some fellow Goshentonians. And then I giggled like a school girl and crawled under my desk.
And since you probably don’t believe me about how big of an ass I am when I meet celebrities, I give you exhibit A.
Somebody help! Cheryl Burke is being attacked by a crazy, cackling idiot with 17 chins with the biggest damn shit-eating grin ever seen on a human being. And are her teeth purple? Swarm, swarm! Save Cheryl. Stat!
I’m not tagging anyone. But if you are so inclined, please do it! And link it in the comments. So we can all read. And I’d like a meme-free few months. Because seriously, I’m all out of stories. And I have to save something for next month. When I have to blog EVERY DAY.
Happy blogiversary to me!
(Photo credit: Elizabeth Fraiberg Photography)