My mood is elevated significantly because the Daily Show is in town. We've decided to allow Jon Stewart to impregnate me, should the opportunity arise. I'm banking on a hope that maybe Samantha Bee's baby needs a PA.
There's nothing more humbling than coming back to work on Monday to find you've left your Honda Civic idling with the doors unlocked and the radio blaring for almost 48 hours.
I knew this girl in high school once who locked her keys in her car while the engine was still running. She went on to class and emptied her gas tank during the school day. I remember teasing her mercilessly for weeks about the incident. Karma is a killer, but even more damaging is running around the town, acting like a dumb asshole.
To explain, for those of you unfamiliar with the system, to save on our commute expenses, Seth normally picks me up on his way home from the office, and we leave a car in the secret place.
Although economically beneficial, the LoveCOTA system is the root cause of some logistical confusion on the weekends, especially when we find ourselves needing to be in different parts of the state with only one car between us.
Throw the company pool car in the mix (his of course, not mine, as the CM Porsche always seems to be checked out...) and at times, we're the joke where the farmer tries to get the chicken, the fox and the feed to the other side of the river unspoiled.
There have been at least a few occasions where, for one reason or another, we've pulled in to our transfer station to find an extra car -- or better yet -- no car at all. (Did we leave the Hyundai in Knox County again, dear?, etc.)
On Saturdya, at the transfer station, while Seth waited, I put the Honda in park, moved the necessary goods from one car to the other, rolled the windows up and eagerly hopped into Seth's car. I neglected, however, to lock the doors, or you know, "shut the car off," or whatever.
Shut up. It's an easy thing to do when you've got such a smooth foreign engine. Plus, it was cold (AND breezy) and I was eager to get into the company car with the heated leather seats.
The defense rests, your honor.
The Honda survived - unspoiled and ustolen -- with probably only some minor engine damage. But how?
People have told me that theft in the Northland area is somewhat prevalent, but I disagree. For almost two days, my car sat running, pre-warmed and inviting for any would-be thief, but no one was interested.
When I was dropped off early Monday morning, I opened the car door and immediately heard Johnny Cash, who had looped tirelessly through the gospel of John all weekend long. As I slowly understood what happened, I wondered if perhaps the Bible as read by Reformed Sinner and Country Music Legend Johnny Cash is the best crime deterrent? (Send back your Club.)
It is very plausible, after all, that the would-be car thief hopped in the driver's seat and was just about to put it in drive when he heard "Sin no more, lest a worse thing come upon you."
I wondered how many criminals were accidentally converted as a result of my carelessness. It wouldn't be the first time something like this has happened.
Surprisingly, a Google search for "left my car idling for 48 hours," does not bear much fruit. The Owner's Manual said something about combustion and build-up and also, as an FYI, the orange engine light? Not a good thing.
As I sat confused in the driver's seat Monday morning, the needle dipped closer to "E," and I realized the gas light had been on for quite a while. Good thing I had filled up on Friday.
It seemed the same god who had prompted Johnny Johnny to wear black had left me just enough gas to coast down the block to the station.
my old man and I finished 253 and 221, respectively, out of 320 runners in the Dead Celebrity 5k on Friday night in Westerville.
Mad props to Team Work, who finished and impressive 143 and 108! Sorry to drag down the average, athletes.
Kudos to old man weather, too, for producing six inches of 32-degree puddles throughout the course. Seriously. That was cold and ridiculous.
I finished at the 32 minute mark, and alas. Not exactly a ball-buster time. In fact, that's almost 10 minutes slower than Lyndsey Johnson ever ran it in high school.
Recap: In my first Pay to Play, I'd call it, notwithstanding the icy conditions, a success. See my finish here:
Next up?
The Turkey Trot. A five-miler on Thanksgiving morning in Upper Arlington.
"Pies will be distributed fast and immediately following the race," to quote the brochure. Not too many opportunities to hear that promise in a lifetime. Gots to take advantage.
Oh, and speaking of poor finishes, some LONG overdue Paul Bunyan pics. These two sum it up pretty well, for those who have heard the story. See "Splash" retrieve her axe out of the mud puddle. Although the photo does not indicate this, there was a grandstand full of eyes behind us. And several large log-dragging-type machines to hide us from our shame.
As long as he gets up to 200 pounds, and as long as we find a way to get him to Dee Jay's parking lot in Fredricktown between 1 p.m. and 3 p.m., the reservation has been confirmed, and the official death clock is ticking for our little piglet (...for those of you looking for material to fill SavePossumStreetPercy.com, you better get on the ball.)
Apparently, as an FYI, slaughter houses do not take walk-ins. Remember this, lest you be caring for your adopted livestock a month or two longer than expected.
It's like the ominous clock on the Rutherford Funeral Home on High Street. You know the one. It's Percy's Song.
I could have titled this post "...and how many reps was that again on the bench press, Mr. Representative?"
or
"You do notice I'm taking notes, right?"
or better still,
"Why election interviewing on the home stretch is fun!"
You see, some journalists reach significant milestones later on in their careers -- after hours of meetings and scooping off the record in dark alleys, etc.
Not me.
I was validated early on by unsolicited work-out descriptions, a free tour of the capitol and a harrowing tale of a local carwash ... the one where once, our tenured lawmaker "gave an orphan $50."
I wish I wasn't so famous so that I could tell the whole story. The general theme, however, is that People are Amazing. I couldn't be happier with my Statehouse experience. Stop by for details.
Also, as a second FYI, the governor's race is heating up in Ohio. and pssst. You know Strickland? the PRISON psychologist? He might be GAY. Total flamer. How did I miss it?
Please hold me accountable, dear friends, to my personal goal set just a few moments ago. I am making it my priority to touch Jon Stewart or at least obtain an article of clothing some time this week. Fool me once, shame on you. Midwest Midterm Midtacular, or whatever, here I come. Mr. Stewart, your clock is ticking.
Please note reporter Garth Bishop missed his only chance to give Bangs some publicity. As self-appointed Mayor of Bangs, I am disapointed for obvious reasons.
Please note additionally my relief to learn that "Clown Town" had moved some 40 miles south.
Sometimes, the blog titles just flow like honey. I went with the first one that came to mind.
It has recently been brought to my attention that He Who Asks Will Also Receive.
A colleague/boss of ours recently shared this link that confirms suspicion that Samuel L. Jackson, is, in fact, god.
There are so many things left to say about this. About Snakes. About Planes. About Denzel Washington. But alas, I think I'll let it stand on its own, as it is more than capable. Sidenote to God: Next, can we somehow have Steve Perry trumpet in Jesus for the second coming?
In Six Buckets Farm News today we read that Wine Neighbor's kid, the one who won't go to Mount Vernon schools, knocked on the door last night with a terrified look on his face. Soon after, the words "do you have a pig?" rang through the house.
Yes, we have a pig.
"He's in our garage and we're not sure what to do," Wine Neighbor's Kid said.
It seems the Percy (not to be confused with Welcome to Earf's cat) had escaped and made his way into the neighbor's garage, which likely contained many things of great value.
Honestly, they were very nice during the whole ordeal. I wish they had been snotty, because it would have fit better into the story. Seth retrieved our pig, who had knocked over his gate, we reinforced a few things, and Percy walked cooperatively alongside my husband back into his pen.
Maybe we've given our neighbors something that can trump the "once there was a horse in our yard" story, because honestly, that story was really lame.
I cried a little the other night when I thought about butchering the pig. As the Ohio Farm Bureau predicted, It has happened. I love the pig. The pig is people. I felt like I could have slaughtered him the other night when he drew some blood on Maybel, but it probably would have been for the wrong reasons.
I hope by the end I won't want to commit aggravated murder on the pig, but will have enough understanding and respect for the little guy and the circle of life to let someone slit his little throat after they stun him with electricity. I know it sounds cruel, meat eaters, but it's reality.
Fantasy is what we want (read: talking, laughing cartoon pigs who are not actually involved in bacon) but reality is what we need (see: the blood on your hands)
I killed four spiders in the bathroom today. Apparently, the message was heard and ignored. It might be time to use chemical warfare.
if, for example. you have spent the last three days listening to Johnny Cash read you the new testament and if, for example, Jesus has been crucified on three separate occasions (once along Henderson Road, once along autumn's favorite tree-lined portion of Route 3 (between the turf field and Conduit) and again in the CVS parking lot with a sunny sky spitting snow) the mood tends to thicken as the day rolls along. It's pretty damn heavy stuff. With these readings pour all the things you felt in Sunday School. (It should be noted that I didn't attend Sunday School until high school, but anyway) Guilt. Guilt for the times you say damn. For the times you puffed away on a cigarette while your roommates sister sat in a hospital dying of a cancer that ate away at her lungs. Guilt for the time you showed a boy your panties in kindergarten. Guilt for the times you're embarrassed that you a.) actually believe there is a god, and b.) are convinced that he impregnated a virgin 2,000 years ago who grew up and suffered a common form of capital punishment that somehow means you are guaranteed eternal awesomeness. Like the movie King Kong, the plot, at times, seems unrealistic. (Everybody knows monkeys can't fall in love.) So there's the guilt, which wasn't asked for, but comes around anyway, but there's also a couple of good ideas and a healthy dose of fear for the dude who throw your body into the fire, (both the body and the spirit!) but who also can perform magic tricks and says thing like: it's not what goes into a man that defiles him, but what comes out of him. although vaguely perverted, i like it. The crazy elders were obsessed with their washing their hands in a certain way, anointing their heads before dinner, that kind of thing. then there are the rag tag bunch of disciples (think: Armageddon with Bruce Willis) who eat with dirty hands and are very much without ritual, (look! there's John eating a Manwich on the toilet!) and the elders are all judging them and saying "why don't you wash your hands, dudes?" and jesus is all like "it's not eating with dirty hands that's the problem, because food goes into your stomach and then is pooed out and gone from you, but when a man speaks, it comes from his heart, and it's mostly lies, deceit, boasting, blogging, etc." anyway there's more, but I don't want to get too religious on you. you don't want to see me when I'm religious.
I let you roam inside my home for free. You stay out of sight.
Not only have you breached our contract and appeared frequently before my eyes, but you have entered Key Red Zones as identified in Article 7. First of all, the shower. Do you really think this is the best idea? Second, towels. I should not have to shake you out of my clean linens prior to use. And finally, and perhaps most offensive to our arrangement: the bed. I will not, under any circumstances, stand for an early morning greeting as such: As usual, the county extension agents have suggested somewhat unsatisfactory procedures (Shake out clothing and shoes before getting dressed...Wear gloves when handling firewood, but be sure to inspect the gloves for spiders before putting them on...) so I will rely on the world wide web to broadcast my message. I will also use the words Knox County Spider Porn in my post so that you will be sure to get here via Google Search. Knox County's Hottest Spiders. Dorsels to Die For. Spider Sacs Gone Wild, etc.
Also, your legs are the size of my fingers. It's really getting ridiculous.
First of all, for my August birthday, which was also on a Tuesday, I took great pride in the fact that we both had a bowl of soup at Ruby Tuesday's. I had a Peach Birthday Smoothie (emphasis added.) (also the word Birthday was added.)
Also, we don't really get excited about regularly scheduled holidays, like Valentine's Day or Sweetest Day (does that exist outside junior high?) or any of those sorts of things. We have tried to go out to fancy dinners, and when we do, it's not that we don't have a nice, romantic time, it's just that there are more normal moments that we treasure more. Moments where we are sitting on the back porch, usually covered in dirt, eating Subway, throwing bits of sandwich to Maybel and the Pig, discussing how best to get gray water out of our country home. Or maybe I've just romanticized it all in my head.
Anyway, wish a happy 25th to Mr. Teter. And while you're at it, wish a happy 53 to my father. (Creepy.)
As promised, updates.
If I can't sit down and read the B-I-B-L-E myself, I might as well have someone else read it for me. And who better to recite the word of god than Reformed Sinner Johnny Cash? I opted for the "Johnny Cash reads the New Testament" over "State of Denial." A bad decision? Only time will tell. Both have blood and liars. During a weekly trip to the bookstore, I came the secret treasure at the bottom of the shelf, and I've already made it through the first of 16 CDs.
I like the way he says "perish." Like pereesh. Like grandpa says it. I wonder if he also calls a green pepper a "mango."
Somewhere between here and Washington Court House, there is a man stopping at a liquor store with two extra pillows for the in-laws packed in to cushion the supplies for Poor Man's Dinner. He's not a hobo, but he'll look like one. Sans the stubble, unfortunately.
I had a lot of blog-worthy material when I began this morning. A story about how I made my editor "nine out of ten" annoyed with me... Tales of woe during my sister's 23rd birthday, which involved something called a "campus bar crawl." A sinus infection. A congresswoman. A rainbow.
But alas, 'tas all escaped me, as I've prepared my mind for the most wonderful time of the year. See you on the other side of the festival, friends. Hope your weekend plans involve more than one turkey leg and a beer before 10 a.m. And sharp metal things. Always, the sharp metal things.
"My first act as mayor will be to wrap your children up in cotton candy and suck their blood."
ALAMEDA, Calif. (AP) -- A real clown is running for mayor of Alameda, and even his sister won't vote for him.
Kenneth Kahn, 41, a professional joker known as "Kenny the Clown," admits he's running a long-shot campaign for City Hall's top spot. Kahn has not previously run for an elected position and has never sat on a public board.
"People ask me, 'Do we really want to elect a clown for mayor of the city?'" he said. "I say, 'That's an excellent question.'"
Kahn's mother, Barbara, said her son doesn't have a chance, and Sylvia Kahn, a teacher, said her brother's candidacy is a "mockery of our system."
"I don't think it makes any sense, because, to me, running for mayor is not where you start as far as community involvement goes," she said.
In November, the funnyman who graduated from the University of California at Berkeley, faces incumbent Beverly Johnson and City Councilman Doug deHaan.
And this just in ... the child molester identified earlier in the story is actually an orphaned organ-donor and Nobel prize recipient. Film at eleven. Shit,man.
There were errors. As in, you said this person is dead, but they are alive. Errors to the degree of Lazarus. Which in journalism, is frowned upon.
Lesson number 5,866 of my professional career: Confirm deaths. You heard it here first.
Lesson number 5,867 of my professional career: VPL means "Visible Panty Lines"
Today was a day of learning.
But I'm not half as incompetent as the guy who broke the hot water dispenser, resulting in a serious lack of green chai tea in SNPLand. There is, however, hot water at home, and from now on, it does not 'smell like farts,' or so I've been told.
I'll get there eventually. There was a meeting this morning. And last night. And yesterday morning, which has complicated my life a bit, but I think the 2:55 showing of Snakes on a Plane might cure what ails me. Maybe I'll get another rub down from an old lady.
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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