I recently checked my OU account and in addition to an email from Mark Major, I found I have recently been named sorority president at OU.
Apparently someone gave out the wrong email address, because I am getting messages like this:
Hey Lyndsey, Last night when we named off the women who still owe money a lot of people around me were very uncomfortable. Then when I was thinking about it I realized that I too would be upset if my neglagence was announced to the entire chapter. I think Katie F. used to send private e-mails to just them and that might be more appropriate. A lot of younger members were sitting around me and they seemed a little freaked that we did that.
and this
Lynds- I was wondering if you had sent out a contact list of the officers. I need to get ahold of some girls, and I was wondering if they had made up a list yet for LC. Please let me know if you can.
Now the dilemma. Do I....?
Yes, yes I do.
Lauren, I'll have that contact list out right away and Gravelle (wtf?) you're right, private emails would be more appropriate. Which girls looked worried? I need names.
I promised myself I'd always answer all fan letters personally.
In other news, the new job and the promotion and the loads of extra cash are all transitioning well into my life. Ha! Seriously though I like my new beats.
and I've changed my name to Teter Bot both as a tribute to my former place of employment and to avoid embarrassing google searches.
These people seem a bit more user-savvy when it comes to the world wide web.
Don't worry. Disclaimers remain posted.
For the record, tomorrow is Maybelline's first birthday. Perhaps we'll get her a high chair and a cake and pose one of those typical first year pictures with the chocolate smeared all over the face and the party hat, etc.
First: old men. They make me cry. If one tear is shed....It's over. Throw in the towel.
I interviewed two of them today. One, a Pearl Harbor Veteran, who got out with his ship just before noon, shooting the whole way out of the harbor. the other, a bona fide codebreaker, whose code of silence prevented him from telling his wife until 1996. She died shortly thereafter.
They are both in their 80s. When talking about Iraq and their wives and the media and the liberal "fuzzyheads" who carve out public opinion, both cried.
One was missing an eye from the shrapnel. The other had a catheter and did not understand the internet.
In my car, upon leaving, I bawled like a little baby. I will never be able to explain this to you. I just need you to know it happened, and that I might love Dubya and the USA. maybe.
"Torture...you don't know torture until you've///
Other things. Other things.
It's back to Obsess-O-Tron 6000, where nothing matters but the learning of the beat. Much is learned, but not much is written in these weeks. The marriage suffers. The gyno says "are you sure you're not anorexic?"
Ultimately, I want to raise a cow on a farm and then slaughter it for dinner.
Cat, as many of you know, has occupied the Coveted First Slot in theteet.blogspot.com's link it up section for several months. She has continued to provide us with timely, insightful life blurbs. We can all learn from the way she blogs.
A new kid has recently emerged, and although he has been blogging only one day, I feel this kind of pressure might keep him in the game. It's like giving the lifetime achievement award alongside best new artist. No pressure, newbie, but you better blog well and you better blog often. Congrats on your achievement! I doubt you know how valuable a position you are in.
You will now join the likes of greats like Mae and Catherine...just saying the names back to back like that makes me pee a little.
Check newbie out at the right. some of you are closer to him than others.
i was drinking bloody marys in the south -- at a bar room in New Orleans -- rinsing out a bad taste in my mouth.
i love that.
anyway, this weekend brought a trip to porkopolis, thanks to the help of many friends. similiar credit goes to the many friends who worked together to keep me there.
Word from our Honda Civic Division shows in addition to the gas cap that no longer pops open when you push down on the button (regardless of how far below empty you are...) we are experiencing a flatness of tires.
The verdict is still out as to whether said tires were slashed or we drove through a nail field.
I'll let you know if they find anything, so that you may direct your hatred toward either a nail or an unknown offender.
I was paralyzed and bitching about it when a friend on the other side of my cubicle wall mentioned she had also planned to attend the southeast engine concert in Cincinnati. A perfect coincidence. I rode with her. It was extremely pleasant. We ate Taco Bell. We probably talked about you.
After paying $10 at the York Cafe, Mae and I left pre-10:30 because of excessive noise and smoke inhalation, but not before I got to hug Leo and his tousled red mop and make awkward eye contact with Rem. I think he still remembers. The money was not a loss because the event was a benefit for the young lady who died. You would know her by her laugh.
I was a bit disturbed to finally make the connection. the phone call I received in september on the way to find the other dead girl's body informed me of this one's accident. too many bones.
While Mae and I were chatting peacefully on the bar sofa, the manager yelled at us for ignoring the plight of the baby-wielding family and "the cripple."
If you ask me, if he was so worried about them having a seat, he should put more tables at his restaurant. And for the record, the wheelchair guy did not make use of the couch after the manager chased us away.
The story here is that we cut out early, bought some adult beverage supplies, goat cheese and some strawberries, and went back to her place for movies and...you guessed it.
foot rubs.
don't judge us. she's good. I can't get service like that anywhere in columbus, ok? it was everything I wanted it to be, plus waffles!
IT is Sunday and we just got back from our Mennonite Bible study. We are both swearing in a bad way.
The subject of the chapter was Palestine/Israel.
Seth cursed at the man who used the phrase "The U.N. could solve this overnight if the religious community would push them to do so."
I cursed at the thought that christians in palestine are probably not sitting in a circle discussing how best to solve the problems of Columbus.
We are both angry yet have still done nothing to help anyone here.
I just wanted to chime in on the "What to say to a racist/queer-hater in everyday conversation" conversation. I work in a town that has not evolved far from its village roots. When a public official says something obviously racist, it's hard not to remain silently petrified -- which, I regret, I have done. However, here's an example of a time things worked.
old fart: "...talking to his lawyer won't help you...he's black, too..." me: "will his comments be inaccurate, or...?" old fart: "no, it's just...you know how blacks all stick together." me: "do you think he'll agree with him because he is also black?"
call it a poor example, but I think the key here is a) he did not find in me the comfort he sought and b) tone. Rather than saying "Is that a problem?" in an offended/accusatory tone, for me, it works to take a curious tone. This is often natural, as I am genuinely curious to find out why people are leery of queers or blacks, etc.
It may be considered a wimpy reaction, (part of me thinks I should just stab my pen in his eye...) but ultimately, I think people respond better when they are forced for a mille-second to back-up and examine their own opinions.
Not to say the old fart went home and shed himself of his prejudice, but.
I know I learned a lot from a professor of Black Media who asked me (or "the class") questions about my privilege as a white chick.
We are all at different points along the scale. We probably say things that are "obviously ignorant" to minorities or gays all the time.
As for the gay thing, the old farts will never get it.
In other news, yes, Cat. Promotions sans pay raises still count.
I've been telling everyone I got a promotion. I like to think it is. I've been assigned a different beat on the northwest end of town. Bigger paper, later deadlines, timely news coverage...people actually reading. It's a reporter's dream. I'm preparing to take down 51 years of success when they hand me the reins in a few weeks.
or do I mean reigns? You decide.
Anyway, congratulations to Cat. If nothing else, it gave me the perfect opportunity to talk about my own achievements!!!
Hey guys, we have run the gauntlet and thrown down the gamut this weekend.
First, from our Good News Bureau, we broke the cycle of lies and finally treated ourselves to a movie. In the theater. For the first time since the year 2004.
King Kong was the winner.
Why King Kong? Because the only advantage of the theater is the giant screen and the deafening noise. We determined a movie about a giant monkey on a rampage would best be served in this environment. So, for the price of an entire month of Netflix, we went to a talkie. It did not disappoint.
Seth said I ruined it with my banter.
I admit to the taboo of occasionally commenting on the ridiculousness of the plot line during the film, which!
although King Kong is about a giant monkey who falls in love, I believe I am allowed to ask questions like "what is his motivation for getting in the taxi and having the monkey chase him? That seems like it would just cause more trouble..." and "why are they out-running the dinosaurs?" -- I believe these questions are valid and it is not at all irresponsible to comment "this is so unrealistic."
If Peter Jackson would have given us a break from a) Naomi Watts' expression and b) cheesy acting, while at the same time tweaking some of the more ridiculous plot lines just a bit, it would have been the best movie ever. Everyone hopes monkeys have feelings.
All the same, Seth was impressed by my stamina. At home, I tend to "get bored" during a movie very quickly and somehow ruin it for both of us. Here, for three hours, I sat in my chair and watched. I did not leave my seat once!
If you have read so far and decided I am the worst date ever -- you are more right than you know.
Now for life.
From our Bad News Bureau, there is a dark cloud. and there is no way to not say this, despite its unfortunate order behind the silliness above, but my sister-in-law lost her baby over the weekend. It is very strange and sad and impossible to know how you feel about something so small until you lose it, I guess.
I assumed the baby would be like Jacob. It would grow and I would feel her belly and it would be born and there would be celebrations and pictures and Christmas. And I would have a niece or a nephew to increase my baby envy ten-fold.
But this baby had a genetic misstep, and wasn't able to develop any further than it did before it died. The good news is that should they want to, they can try again.
Seth said, I didn't know I loved it, but I did. and I think that works best here. Apparently, this sort of loss happens a lot all over the world, but this is my first second hand experience with it. It makes me quiet.
Remember Freshman Chris? The seemingly sweet and surprisingly competent boy from our childhoods? The same Freshman Chris who sat on our living room floor in Montrose, singing praise songs to the baby jesus? Oh yeah. That one.
whelp. hmmp. Look at him now. Scooping his sister in christ. The nerve. I will throw my bible at him.
For the record, I had a barber story, too. But it won't come out until Wednesday. And oddly enough, it's about a different guy from a shop down the block. How strange. A barber exodus. Anyway, such is the story of the weekly reporter.
and damn, the 'burg is ugly...to the point where driving through makes me physically ill.
There is nothing more disturbing than a Quik Lube or a Mac Donald's or a So-And-So's Auto Parts sign slathered atop a squatty brick base. Parts of old power lines have been shoved underground but their remains creep to the edge of the street.
Barf-a-roni.
No multi-million dollar streetscape phase one or to or ten will cure what ails you, baby 'burg. You are doomed. Get a bulldozer.
And the same goes for you, Whitehall.
In other news, don't tell the burglars, but seth will be attending a farm conference in NashVegas this weekend. He said he "told me," but I don't believe him. I'll be flying solo until Tuesday.
This evening I found a tiny note shoved in with all the junk mail and coupon catalogs. On it were scribbled a few words from a dear friend who lives all the way in effing Cincinnati. There was no envelope or stamp. Which makes me wonder what she meant by "sorry."
well...I'm training, and I've decided to trick him into it with a series of "what do you say we go for a little jog, hun" and "let's go up to the next block, why don't we?" -type sentences.
I've got him up to almost three miles so far, which is like, a significant amount of running in around Clintonville. I think he's catching on.
This is the schedule. It looks daunting. I'm pretty sure I won't be able to do it. But I'll see how far I can get. If I'm not ready for the Flying Pig in May, I'll shoot for the November Columbus Marathon, where things are flat and boring and I'll have plenty of time to think about how my body hates me.
Has anyone already done this? Katie? I was wondering how many times I should plan to stop and walk. I was thinking once every hour. Is this realistic? I'll probably stop to walk more than five times. Oh boy. I'm excited and terrified.
Did you know the runners take time-release capsules to keep themselves hydrated? Reminds me of the time my mother trusted a time-release fish feeder to her poor Beta fish. It all came out at once apparently and the water became toxic. The fish died.
This will be hard to believe...
For the past week we have aroused at 5 a.m. (WITHOUT the secret knock of Colleen Rankin -- I know -- how is it possible?) and then we run, make breakfast, read the paper, watch the news. I have even done some dishes and a load of laundry before going in to work. It is completely mental.
All it will take is one post-work nap to screw up the schedule. I give it one more week, tops.
I am actually sitting with my hedgehog. I felt guilty after the year in review post. He is on my lap/belly, chewing on a button. He seems a little standoffish. Probably because I don't feed him regularly and he wishes he was back in Africa with the rest of the Pygmy Hedgehogs.
Umm...I think at least one person will be happy to know that as I typed that last sentence, Herman took a tiny steamy piss on my shirt. I blame god for this.
We shall not forget you, 2005. You were hot and cold. You were comfortable and terrifying. You were sober and under the influence. You were...
January:
Back in the old apartment, working as a barista, mild depression set in following several days of below-zero temperatures. I owned, fed and loved my hedgehog. Our car was broken into. I slammed my finger in the blender thingy. I thought of you.
February:
Much to the chagrin of family and friends, I picked up a hitchhiker. I promised her groceries but never delivered. I sliced my hand with a hot butcher knife, resulting in three (or was it four?) stitches. I continued to serve mochas to the best of my ability.
March:
Mae and I went to NashVegas for an extreme close-up of Gillian Jillian Welch. Seth and I built a workbench. I tried to win Collen's love. We knocked Sean's $100 decorative plates of the walls. We celebrated our victory against high-maintenance gays.
April: And unto our family a child was born. Baby Jacob came into the world. He still cannot read. I drunkenly mourned free movie passes, as my wallet, license, credit cards and all were stolen from the High Beck Tavern. I vow to avenge the missing items. Nothing ever comes of this vow.
*May:
Before we finished moving into our new apartment, we bought a dog and I went to Costa Rica. Upon my return, I attempted to meet Jon Stewart. Our neighbors gain magical powers by having sex with cats. The whole thing was completely insane.
June:
I considered myself lucky to have acquired dear dear friends at the coffee shop. I loved them. We spoke every day. After a year of dedicated service, I received a "verbal warning" from a shift manager for oversleeping. This began the spiral into angry coffee shop girl hell -- well, that and the return of Frappacino season.
**July:
Sweet baby jesus, it was hot. We had no air conditioning. We survived -- barely -- and remained un-divorced. I chopped down a tree and secured a new job. Seth convinced me that girls didn't have spleins. We became eGodparents. My effing car got towed.
August:
Our one-year anniversary romp in Amish country. I cried on the first day of my new job. A strange man began camping in our back yard. I turned 23. It was better than it sounds.
***September:
The harvest. Disaster struck in our family in the form of our first irreversible health condition. Our Maybel contracted demodectic mange. (I know -- it totally looks like 'demonic.') There was too much death. Maybel became a woman. In preparation for fall, I had several Blue Moons.
October:
I began to like Brittiny. Maybel puked on my neck while I was asleep. I threw an axe into the ground. I saw a flash of Talya. Olivia left for Oregon. I drank a whole bottle of white tequila. My husband turned 24.
Jim Petro lost my vote. I learned your crush. I saw the PUTZ. Christmas came and went in a few short days. Kate and Aaron announced their pregnancy. We called it Jesse. Seth and I lost terribly in several board games. Our love waned.
* Winner -- Best Month of the Year By Far. ** Winner -- Most Accomplished Despite Hellish Weather Conditions. *** Winner --Most Blood in One Sitting. *4X Winner - Month Best Represented By Photos.
Name: Seth
Alias: Teth Seter or Steter.
In Brief: The Steter in his natural habitat. Married to theteet.blogspot.com since August 2004. Often the victim of serious hyperbole. Handy.
Hates: Noise, Dominion Homes, above-the-nipple touching, when people get 'handsy.'
Loves: pies (of any kind), dirt, smoking a pipe after eating pie. also, cows.
Name: Maybel
Alias: The Pig or Boobles.
In Brief: Kentucky-born English Bulldog since February 2006.
Hates: Watermelon. All other kinds of melon. The sound of a new trash bag being opened and sitting in the back seat.
Loves: Treats, walks, Charlie, 'humping it out' and barfing.
Name: Amanda
Alias: The Sister.
In Brief: theteet's younger (but larger) sister. Survived a brain bleed in February 2007.
Hates: minor inconveniences that make her blurt out uncontrollably, brain bleeds.
Loves: UFC, cornhole, texting, fast food and her dog Charlie.
Name: mom and dad.
Alias: the 'rents.
In Brief: Ashland natives and frequent visitors. They taught me how to swear.
Hates: hospitals.
Loves: squirrels and lattes.
Name: Mae
Alias: Klingler or Maddog.
In Brief: Cincinnati resident and former college/Old Towne East roommate. Once wrote a song that made theteet cry.
Hates: Hate.
Loves: Jesus, family, puns, guitars and gardening.
Name: Colleen
Alias: Crankin and Rankin.
In Brief: Akron resident and former college roomie. Arguably more handy than Seth. Nice bosom for hugging.
Hates: all drivers.
Loves: beer, coffee, cigarettes and boys we all find strange.
Name: Talya
Alias: Strader and Sweet T.
In Brief: Chicago resident and former college roomie. served brief stint at theteet's 'accountability partner.' collects monthly fee for keeping quiet.
Hates: people who do not comment on her blog.
Loves: social justice, eggs, her boyfriend monsterbeard and the occupation of barista.
Name: Chris
Alias: Christopher, Monsterbeard and Nadine.
In Brief: Chicago resident and college buddy. Maker of 'We once waited up in the dark with a gun,' and other misadventures.
Hates: people who are looking the other way.
Loves: history, film, his girlfriend Strader and acronyms.
Name: pdawg.
Alias: none needed.
In Brief: Former co-worker who is willing to eat waffles with theteet at 4 in the morning regardless of level of snow emergency.
Hates: anyone under the age of 35.
Loves: Hostess pies, old man rants and golf.
Name: Linsly.
Alias: MERLIN, lin or newbie.
In Brief: Former co-worker who lived with us for a week. I can tell this kid anything. He's like a brother.
Hates: sexual predators.
Loves: zombies, guns, porch chats and movie quotes.
Name: jaydubs.
Alias: jwray and 10bagspacking.
In Brief: Co-worker who taught me everything I know about the world.
Hates: mean jokes, mushrooms, clipping fingernails in the office.
Loves: crafts, her gay-together but also betrothed person Kyle, Columbus Bride Magazine, veggie-friendliness and basil.
Name: jessica.
Alias: jessm.
In Brief: College buddy with the amazing handshake. I believe she might be back from Alaska and living in Hudson now.
Hates: poverty.
Loves: Jesus, jazz, geography and hilarious t-shirts.
Name: brittiny.
Alias: Brit-Brat, experimental dater or The Dunlap.
In Brief: Former co-worker (notice a theme here?) who started with me at SNP on the same day. Former Sorority president taught me the ropes of being a lady. her wisdom did not take.
Hates: visible pany line.
Loves: cocktails, shoes, 'the blue box' and her boyfriend the Lizard.
Name: garth and jen.
Alias: not safe around house plants and the real spider-man and/or HSnothingswronghere.
In Brief: Co-worker couple who proved themselves fun at work and on the farm. Periodically forced to kiss in gas station parking lots.
Hates: local broadcast news reporters.
Loves: zombies, movie quotes, Indianapolis and lin rice.
Name: Angie.
Alias: captain cool.
In Brief: Former co-worker who stole my heart. She is the only thing I've ever lost to the Youngstown Vindicator.
Hates: joe and misogynists.
Loves: celebrity gossip, hilarious captions, biking/hiking, her boyfriend Jef, her mom and Columbus.
Name: Melville.
Alias: welcome to earf or bad town.
In Brief: Former co-worker who let me inherit his seat at SNP. For a while, he was the only one who would talk Reynoldsburg politics with me.
Hates: fleas, eminent domain and people who flip the bird.
Loves: his evil cat, running, opinions, beer and Tom Waits.
Name: The Gerish.
Alias: The Gerish.
In Brief: Co-worker and rare, elusive creature. If you're lucky, you'll see a tousle of black hair breeze by over the cubicle wall.
Hates: Things that aren't crackers.
Loves: crackers.
Name: Dennis.
Alias: secret reading.
In Brief: Co-worker and rare, elusive creature. If you're lucky, he'll walk over and talk to you. But he probably won't. Once took my sister-in-law to Homecoming.
Hates: The damn kids who walk in his yard.
Loves: Corgis, Cedar Point and Rachael. But not the one you're thinking of.
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