Divinely inspired by three attractive and bespeckled lady friends who live far away, (henceforth, ABLFWLFA) I thought I would add my thoughts on the topic as well.
I mostly just picture myself floating in an above ground pool sipping a warm miller light and flaunting a pair of cesarean scars. The triplets will probably have long been taken away because of an unfortunate mishap with the mountain cat (the national media, by the way, was very unfair in their portrayal of the incident)
When Steter left me for the lead singer of the Cardigans (i guess everyone pretty much saw that coming) Mae eventually agreed to move in with me and we bought that plot of swampland down the road on Possum Street and we make due off government subsidy checks from that time we saved the planet from a giant asteroid.
Or you and I could be driving a van solving mysteries together.
Either way, who knows. Plotting a week's worth of suburban news stories is a treacherous enough path for me. i am an unstable, nervous and easily tossable woman. these conditions will likely intensify over time. except for the tossable part. the quintuplets did a number on my boyish charm.
One year ago today I gave up blogging for Lent. Although it seemed a bit too Catholic a thing to do, the blogging had creepily entered my life and overtaken most of the evening with my husband who actually felt real-life jealously toward a laptop.
Lent seemed like good enough excuse, and I had some quasi-ideas about how those who do without somehow come out stronger for it at the end. Granted, in the Bible, it was food and water, but I was sure the same transformation would occur if I sacrificed web logging.
Instead, I said I would spend that time in deep religious meditation. By April 2006, I would emerge renewed, refreshed and would no longer by bogged down keeping up with the Internets (which, believe it or not, can happen.) I attended a Mennonite church and knew people who would do things to alleviate, say, poverty in Columbus, without setting up ten committees and Sunday BBQ Share Groups prior to. They also did not jump up and down during worship services. I was also shopping for a mortgage.
Today, in the back of Angie's car, I read a few passages of real-life scripture in Silent No More and made fun of Rod Parsley. Although not fully developed in my blog, trust me. This moment speaks volumes.
My famous phrase around the house is "We've really got to ..."
We've really got to shovel the driveway. We've really got to pay that student loan bill. We've really got to have them over for dinner. We've really got to clean the pig shit out of the garage. We've really got to go to church.
Seth likes to point out that the times I've talked about what 'we've really got to do' is actually more than enough to time to do these things.
That's why, for Lent this year, I've decided to give up talking about how I wish I was still religious. About how I wish I had friends within an hour's drive who were comfortable enough to call me on my bullshit. About how in order to truly walk the walk, I need "a strong community." "Carrying the cross." The whole nine yards. I'm done with it.
If I really cared about the shit in the garage, I would clean it out. For 40 days, the same will apply for Jesus.
it's been about two months since I've had a tape measure hanging off my back ass pocket. as much as i hate hanging dry wall, it actually feels nice to be covered in dust. the exacto knife in my tool belt. a pocket full of screws. the whole nine yards. some girls feel sexy in lingerie. others...
seth finally kicked my butt off the couch long enough to finish these window casings. now we're getting ready to paint the living room. a greater part of the afternoon was spent at Lowe's choosing between Bamboo and Moss Gate. I'm feeling in the mood for a green living room. How about you? *editing note: if you were here earlier, you may have read a really weird question i had about Britney Spears shooting herself in front of the paparazzis. (I don't know.) I've decided to edit out that bit because looking in her eyes, she seems a little too close to doing something like that, and theteet.blogspot.com can't be responsible for putting another bad idea into a pop star's brain. apologies, y'all. remember, as it's been said, celebrities are people, too. but just barely.
is it just me, or is everyone going to Africa this summer?
you know, actually. maybe the picture posts were better. let's just stick with the pictures for a while.
Please read Ishmael's entry about our recent near-miss.
Today, through blurry tears, the remaining reporters scavengedtheexperimentaldater's empty desk. Some also pre-scavenged Angie's desk in anticipation of her departure Feb. 23.
I looked up just in time to snag a long-sought-after bulletin board for my cube wall. Others got staples, White-out, a tape dispenser and various coveted office supply goodies.
"I wish they had given Phil a desk so we could have scavenged that, too," one reporter remarked.
Dad (who will turn 54 in October): "How close do you think you've ever gotten to a squirrel?" Seth: "I don't know. I'd say five feet." L-Jo: "Maybe three feet." Dad: "I could get you within six inches."
Our pig was scheduled to be slaughtered around 1 p.m. on Thursday. When I got a call from Seth around 2:30 p.m., I took it as a bad sign that I could hear my little piggie grunting in the background.
From what I understand, it took about three hours longer than planned to coax the little hog up into the trailer. (He has always had an aversion to slopes.) But after several hard-boiled eggs, some chips and more than handful of marshmallows covered in A1 SteakSauce (his favorite) he eventually got tired and went to take a nap inside the straw-filled trailer.
Seth said something about a proper ramp and sure footing. And that the pig didn't have either. I'm not sure.
Anyway, so that's the end of that.
I'm a little sad. Not as sad as Seth. He had to take the little guy to the slaughter house while I was at work. I came home to a yard full of ruts and straw. And little piggie tracks all through the snow. The slaughterhouse people seemed kind and not crazy. I'm trying to get Seth to write a guest column.
But here's the deal.
The pig was not reluctant to get into the trailer because he knew it would talk him to the market. I know because I've Googled "do pigs have feelings" and "how self-aware are swine," etc. for several weeks now. Some would call it a result of the omnivore's dilemma.
There are a few basic truths that have come from raising and now killing this pig. I'm sure more will follow when we actually eat him:
1. There is a huge disconnect between humans and the things they consume. 2. This is not good. 3. You need to be aware of (and okay with) all cruelty associated with the food you eat and the goods you buy. Otherwise you're a good-for-nothing bastard. You probably enjoy a lot of things you don't deserve. 4. Animals are not humans. 4a. Animals do not think like humans. Unless the human is autistic. 5. Animals are servants. 5a. some animals, like Maybel, serve us best by staying alive, looking hilarious and barfing on the carpet. 5b. others, like the pig, serve us best at Sunday Brunch. 6. Animals should not subjected to cruelty: 6a. When animals are frightened before they die, the meat does not taste as good. Therefore, it is beneficial for animal killers to keep their livestock calm and to make the exit painless. 7. Tests have shown that when one pig watches another pig being slaughtered, its heart rate does not increase, and its chemicals do not change. Unless the pig is Hannibal Lecter, this suggests it does not know what's coming next.\\\
SO IN CONCLUSION, Pigs: Hilarious when alive, delicious when dead.
So that's what I'm thinking. What have you learned?
the opportunity is fast approaching for me to get some one-on-one time (a close encounter, if you will) with the star of Jaws and something called What About Bob.
the 'Monique Ming Laven hot' market is simply too volatile.
Theteet.blogspot.com will no longer proudly serve as Google's #2, #3, #1 & #2, or, sadly, the #8 reference for keywords 'Monique Ming Laven hot.'
However, we are pleased to simultaneously announce that as of 10 p.m. today, we are the #3 reference for 'Megan Pringle hot' -- without quotes, of course, as it's the common man's search.
Go ahead, try it out over there on the side. And be sure to click often.
Thanks to the heroes who brought me to the top for one glorious day. You have no idea how far you can fall until you've climbed the highest mountain.
Readership is up to Pre-Lent 2006 Levels, and I can attribute at least 3 percent of that surge to the person(s) who comes here every day searching for Megan Pringle's hotness. We try not to disappoint.
We don't so much have 'closets' in our farmhouse. In 1912, the clothes stayed on the clothesline until they were needed. Heads of households were too busy fighting dysentery and preparing for the Oregon Trail to store things.
This deficiency has left us no choice but to leave tubs of important stuff in the garage with the pig.
Today, he ate our wedding photos.
Not the real ones, as they are preserved on the Internets, but the ones our friends took with the disposable cameras. Ryan frightening the pretty girls at the reception. Grandpa using the napkins as a fake bra.
Torn photos of me looking unusually tan and smiling at Pyrex and dish towels (at the bridal shower, I assume.) were poking out of piles of hay this morning. Buried deeper, we found a handful of leftover invitations, wedding CDs, cake toppers, etc. What is salvaged is mostly covered in pig manure.
You can imagine the horror of this scene.
If you thought my "It's our first Christmas and our tree is in the DRIVEWAY," bit was over the top, the you would have been blown away by "The pictures of our first dance as husband and wife are covered in pig shit," routine. One for the books, my friends.
For the record, punching a pig in the face hurts you more than it does him.
Some would theorize this is Karma anticipating Thursday. Others would suggest moving wedding paraphernalia indoors and away from farm animals. Both schools of thought are misguided.
We'll have the last laugh, little piggie, when we see you in hell.
In America, when you have good friends, you can get yourself sprittzled at a local watering hole and end up relatively unspoiled at the end of the night in a warm bed with your sister.
A blanket apology to everyone for my tiny, unreasonably clammy hands. Sorry Phil for punching you the entire ride to Sawmill. Sorry Brittiny for making you stand outside in the cold for no reason. Sorry J-Wray for hugging you every five seconds. and Lin, did you say I looked like a 12-year-old Leukemia patient after three beers? I'm not sure how to take that, but in a related note, Sorry. I promise to replenish your supply of cancer sticks.
Anyway I'm going to go retrieve the Civic now and take an angry call from my mother. I'm too old for this.
I think this post qualifies for Part Three of our ongoing series "Slaughtering a Pig: The least of my transgressions" in preparation for Feb. 8, the day our little piggy goes to the market.
Editor: "You did a nice job on the story. Dan Williamson told me to pass along his compliments, too. It was his favorite thing in the paper." L-Jo: *peed a little*
can you believe joe denen is the city manager now?
As our middle school gym teacher, he took great pride in pegging prepubescent brace-faced girls during lengthy games of dodgeball. The welts were terrible. But at least it was too early for most of us to be pregnant?
Plus, he was pretty notorious for not being able to count. Trying to split the class into four even teams was always a nightmare.
I spent the last two hours with the 16-year-old UAHS intern (not this one, David.) and a portion of our time was spent comparing demographics of her hometown (average median income $90,000+) and mine (just under $36,000).
The information presented is accurate, but the blurb about Paul "Lash" LaRue's stellar Research History class is missing one important fact.
While transcribing depositions of various health conditions of black civil war soldiers, (I could tell you stories about Jack Tanner's bout with "the piles" ...) Seth Teter and Lyndsey Johnson became one.
I'm going to steal all the Internets before the other reporters get to work.
And I'm going to use it to BLOG.
Apparently, the higher-ups are cutting back again, and our newsroom is only allowed 24 page views per day. This becomes difficult when double-checking an address, a phone number, our calendars, or cut-copy-and-pasting entire stories from the Web.
Our techies said something about streaming video clogging up the 'series of tubes' which are our Internets, so I assume they're dealing with the same problem we had in Knox County with our toilets. Only one "major flush" per evening, ifyouknowwhatimean.
andithinkthatyoudo.
Now you understand why the Teters occasionally arrive at work so early. If we're not stealing Internets, of course.
gross.
So with the big Farm Bill debate on the horizon, I'm getting the inside scoop from Seth about which Dispatch reporters/Farm organizations are communists (myanalysisnothispleasedon'tfirehimwe'dstarve)and which ones aren't. Email me if you need more information.
It should be noted, maybe even earlier, that today marks the day of Baby's First TOP Article. This is a Must-Have for all TheTeet scrapbookers out there. If there is a link, I'll be sure to share it with you.
If not, for our Floyds Knobs, Indiana readers ... TOP is distributed each Thursday to hundreds of locations throughout the Columbus metropolitan area. You'll find TOP in many of your favorite eating, drinking, retail and service establishments. I recommend you make the trip.
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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