An open letter to Dispatch reporter Jim Woods (and Dean Narcisisisco, of course.)
Dear Jim (and Dean):
Welcome back. Here's the thing.
Have you put me on your favorites list yet? I noticed in the last week or so that your visits have not been prompted by any type of Google search for my name, so I'm crossing my fingers.
You guys are professionals, and unfortunately, no one will believe you visit on occasion. So, do I have to wait for another Chamber restroom break encounter, or can we go ahead and have some sort of confirmation here?
Please comment.We've been through so much together ... from evenings with Biker Bob to nights spent suffering steamy airport hangers. Two words: Calvary International.
Anyway you owe me. I gave you that Emerald Ash Borer story. Plus all of my college friends work for Columbus Alive, which I take full credit for.
If we work together here, maybe Dan Williamson will mention my blog in one of his columns (!) and I'll get enough hits to (finally) qualify for Google AdSense.
I'm not sure how much more name dropping I have to do here to win you over.
Fine. I'll give myself until 9 a.m. to get this party started.
Seth and I spent a weekend in the bush.
Shut up.
There is no sound that brings greater heartbreak than a weed wacker that has been abruptly snagged on a sharp metal object. That sound filled the acreage on Possum Street several times this weekend, as Seth and I donned long pants and finally put a dent in the piles of junk around the barn.
"Oh good ... now we don't need to buy a vacuum cleaner, car door, ceiling fan, large mysterious sheet of metal, etc."
These people were ridiculously poor stewards of their property.
Ah, well, it makes for good, dirty work. I was covered in dirt, plant clippings, blood, thorns, etc, when I see a sparkling clean lady carrying a glass of wine down my driveway. Our neighbors. The ones with the giant deck overlooking the golf course. The ones who pay someone to mow their 2-acre lawn. You know the ones.
She was actually super sweet, although not too keen on our plans for livestock.
"Sheep are ... quiet ..."
Extra points, however, for a lady willing to walk all the way over to our house in the country to introduce herself, even if she did call the cops when her neighbor's horses were browsing through her yard. As long as we plant some tall trees along our property line, I think they'll tolerate us.
Speaking of extra points, Colleen Rankin and Talya Strader get fifteen each for stopping by on Friday night. It's good to have familiar faces in our living room. Feels more like home that way. And seven points each to mom and dad for stopping by on Saturday. We love visitors, and that's a promise. Come on over. Come on over, baby.
For That City's Victim of the Week that you Shouldn't Feel Sorry For/
A $15,000 two-caret diamond platinum engagement ring was stolen from a retail store in the 3100 block of Main Drag Drive at noon on July 13. The victim left the ring in the changing room while shopping and didn't realize it was missing until the next day, reports said.
Oh, sweet, sweet That City. How you make my job so entertaining.
So I had this dream that all the OU Navigator people, along with the few known Jesus Fans here at work, were together in a tent making fun of Campus Crusade people. We were all secretly envious, however, of the "non-believers" in the tent next to ours, all of whom were watching some rad zombie movie we weren't allowed to see. (Because of the adult content.)
It was a totally pathetic dream.
I think the dream stemmed from recent bouts ofimmaturity on my part, especially in the area of pouting. Seth and I are growing increasingly aware of our own weaknesses -- especially while adding equity to our home.
I want to slap a coat of paint on the whole thing first so we won't have to look at it for the next five years, but Seth thinks this is a waste of money. To him, a coat of paint comes after we tear out the closets, put in new windows, floors and carpeting, etc.
We can see both sides of the argument.
The result is a difficult struggle between two ideologies. And also, pouting. The main result is pouting.
As per tradition, an increased selfishness has resulted from a lack of a faith community.
I need to talk to some people who live near me in a bible-type situation where said people do not believe I'm crazy. this is no small feat, as it has been an unmet goal since 2004. Knox County Vineyard? Anybody? I'm nervous.
None of these problems are unique, new or earth-shattering.
The only blog-worthy part is the image of me, curled up on my side of the bed with all of the covers, refusing to speak to the man I married because the duvet cover on our display bed doesn't match the accent pillows in the second bedroom -- and probably never will.
While all you Clintonvillites may boast about your weekend concerts, your bar-goings, your iPods and your MTVs, how many of you can claim a successful Saturday Night Installation of a 240-volt electric range receptacle?
You know that magical mystery box you plug the giant stove cord into? I know how to make that.
The electric companies told us $350, or $400 "if I run into something" for that special little connection. Contractors be damned. From now on, we'll just read the book. Two mice, a few hundred cobwebs and $125 in wire later, we've made our own. I am Thomas Edison.
(Lord forgive us for the vile words that spewed from our mouths sometime after hour seven.)
And mother, the strategy was a simple one. When it came to threading 60 feet of wire, Seth slinked around like one of those long and skinny drain snakes, while I used my crafty little otter hands to get into those tight spots. It was truly a team effort.
I also know how to change oil in the tractor, which leads me to believe it can't be all that different in the Honda. The engines are basically the same size.
through da_Ltrain@yahoo.com to count up my demons.
There were thousands.
Most were spam, but a few were from old college friends, so I had to be careful.
Remember 2001? and PFTW? What about Ryan Schlagbaum!?
Holy crap, man. Holy Crap.
I tiptoed around the delete button. Didn't want to erase something like this...
Date: Monday, November 12, 2001 7:07 PM -0500 From: MrKirbyProd@aol.com To: lj200100@ohio.edu Subject: Re:
Dear Lyndsey,
Good day and thank you for writing me. I am sending this letter in response to your email to give you some news about me and what's been going on. I am currently in post production on a film I directed called P.S. Your Cat is Dead. It is a comedy with some dramatic moments, based on the play and novel by James Kirkwood.
There is a website for the movie, www.psyourcatisdead.com, please check it out. The film should be released sometime next year, I am looking forward to you watching it.
In the meantime, I am currently developing future projects, reading many scripts from other writers and trying to lead a balanced life, spending time with family and friends. This is my 25th year in the entertainment business and I have loved every minute. There are times that when it's a challenge, but I am grateful for the opportunity to be contributing to our culture. Being an actor has been rewarding, but also strange at times.
Currently, I reside in both New York and LosAngeles, I have a dog, some fish and a healthy attitude. Once again, thank you for getting in touch, I read all of the emails.
Thursday evening, after an eventful holiday week spent visiting sisters and daughters, Mary Jo Johnson -- a tiny little fire pistol, for whom i can thank for my stature and my temper -- suffered a pretty serious heart attack at home in Toledo. Just after midnight, after they had explained that because her kidneys had already failed, her breathing would be the first to go and her heart would soon follow. They showed her family what that would look like on the screen. When the priest had said the final word, they unplugged my grandmother from the ventilators.
Everybody waited. Her pulse dropped to 29 beats per minute, her temperature fell below 90. And then something happened inside that tiny little frame. It wasn't instant. It took a few hours, but slowly and steadily, she stabilized, opened her eyes, slowed to speech, and her sass soon followed.
For about five hours on Friday, I did as I was told, and mourned my grandmother's passing. By 10 p.m., she had accidentally flashed me a little leg while I adjusted her hospital gown, saying "not bad for an 81-year-old woman, eh?"
Let's get this show on the road, she says.
I'm lucky enough to say I haven't lost anyone close to me since my grandfather died when I was in the first grade. He was her husband and his birthday was Friday.
What else do you need, old man? You know of whom I speak.
Country Living: A Transformation of the Mind, Volume One -- Pests.
Because every so often here at theteet.blogspot.com, we like to talk about our newly-acquired house. (sorry)
So my strategy thus far has been 187 on bees, spiders, ticks, mice, raccoons (accidentally) and anything else I can get my paws on. Whether in the shower, the car, the corner or the pantry, if you are a living creature weighing less than 10 pounds, I will kill you. Smashing is the most common form of destruction, although reports say vacuuming, washing down the drain, vehicular homicide and poisoning have led to untimely demise in the 6700 block of Possum Street.
As has been said, it's a good thing Seth and I decided to move out into the country so I can rampage on everything within 50 feet of my house.
So, you people are wise. What do you think? Are we to live in harmony with these beings? Are we to accept the creepy crawlies as they wander through our home, eating from our pantry and hogging the remote? Or are we permitted to act out in such a violent way? We are technically living on their turf now. I know some of you have (unsuccessfully) consulted counsel to draft contracts with the bees, but what about non-compliance?
There is something romantic and Disney-like about taking the life of an animal or something and then slipping into the circle of life for a moment to send the animal's spirit on to beastly heaven. Does anyone know what I'm talking about here? But instead I find myself reacting with pure hatred ... with blood dripping from my hands and a curious bulldog waiting anxiously to eat the carcass.
This is first step towards being mentally capable of raising, loving, slaughtering and eating our first Possum Street steer, by the way.
Why does every electrician in Bangs sound, in one way or another, slightly impaired on their answering machine? Also, I'm back from "vacation." Being the incredible wife that I am, while Seth was in Sunny San Diego sipping margaritas with old men, I spent several days last week switching utilities, selling old appliances, moving Civic-sized loads of our possessions from Columbus to Bangs, scrubbing, killing massive spiders, etc. That said, I forgot to reserve a truck. On the last weekend of the month. In June. When apparently, we weren't the only ones planning to move. Oops. Thankfully, our friends at Budget had loads of angry sales representatives and one 15-foot truck available from 6 p.m. until noon the next day. We packed, loaded, made the 40 minute trip and unloaded by 1:30 a.m. There was some swearing, biting and tears. I have bruises. To her credit, my younger-but-larger sister and her strapping young bf drove out post-midnight to help us unload. She had to be at work at 7 a.m. To his credit, Lin worked up a decent sweat as well. Star stickers to all involved are in the mail. In other news, this morning. On my way out the door at 7:25 a.m. I saw a bunny, a chipmunk, and a baby deer. This is not a lie. I wish you could watch Maybel play in the rain. Prepare your minds and bodies for an introductory bonfire/slumber party very soon. Sans the ticks and the weird sulfur smell that comes with every shower, we should be very good hosts. We have a land line.We are officially middle-aged.
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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