I think you like me way better than my husband does.
that's probably what keeps me coming back. and why wouldn't you? here, on the internets, I don't make you an hour late to work every day. I don't come home and sleep until the Daily Show. I don't ... well, that's. that's actually. about it.
Anyway blogs do suck. I put effort into carving out tiny snippets for consumption. I can pick the parts I want and present myself in this light or that. I can make you sympathetic to my plight. I can say 'oh, here's what zany home improvement project we're tackling now!' or 'i saw a cat with two heads!' and then you will give me positive feedback, and I will go to your site and do the same for your snippets. You rule, by the way. Seriously. My online support group is way too dangerous.
Blogging is so self-serving, and probably the result of neglect from a real-faced-person somewhere else. or the cause of it. But we have fun. Let's hug.
I mean, I'm using it to better myself in the craft of storytelling.
A guy in the car next to me held up a box of condoms the other night.
Now, more than 2,000 years later, they've screwed it up again.
This is a letter that has circulated in the newsroom recently.
(Let this be a warning to you, fellow reporters. If you send me something hilarious in an email, i will strip it of identifiers and use exerpts of it in my online diary.)
(it should also be noted, however, that this reader might not mind seeing his or her words reprinted over and over and over again.)
Background: sometimes reporters get fan mail.
Dear Mr. Editor:
I am hoping that you are as embarrassed as I am dismayed that J-Wray's article on horse mounted police officers misused the word Calvary for cavalry. That this escaped her attention speaks obviously to her lack of education. She should be required by you to do several things:
* purchase a dictionary and peruse it once in a while * attend a 4th grade Sunday School class where they will talk about Calvary as the place where Jesus was crucified * read a Civil War history book, where, ideally, she would find many references to the use of cavalry - the horse kind
She should be harassed in the newsroom as an un-churched heathen until she improves her working vocabulary. She should be chided in a way that makes her never forget this mistake, but not so harshly that she stops writing. Writers improve by continuing to write. Shame on you, etc. etc.
I am totally jealous of the unchurched heathen. Her fan mail makes my "They plowed my streets and I'm mad about it," correspondence look pretty pathetic:
City crews maintain reputation... What an amusing piece of propaganda. It is no wonder people from other communities could travel through UA. Most residents were plowed in by overzealous city workers for more than a day. And many were probably too exhausted to go anywhere by the time they did get enough of their driveway open to squeeze a car through. Some elderly were trapped for days waiting for private contractors to help them out. And what about the people who lost a day of work because they were trapped in their own driveway. I'm sure they really appreciated havin clean streets.
Sidewalks that had been cleared earlier in the day couldn't be found once the plows came through throwing large volumes of heavy snow more than 15 feet beyond the curb. Wow! They can really throw that snow! Perhaps next storm the drivers of the plows will remember who pays their checks. It is not the folks in Columbus. It is the people they inconvenience when they fail to balance the need for clear roads with a little consideration for the citizens who pay taxes for the "service" they provide.
On Sunday, Seth dropped a giant 2X10X14 floor joist on my knee cap.
as far as permanent damage is concerned, nothing really happened, but moments after the blow, I almost passed out. It wasn't too terribly painful or anything, but I just felt really dizzy, the white haze returned, and I couldn't move my arms or legs. It was such a weird sensation. A few moments later, Seth said I had my hands on the wall and was pawing at the floor with my leg. I just remember waking up in the hammock outside. It was sunny.
The same thing happened when I sliced my hand with a hot butcher knife. Any sort of blunt trauma, and I'm out cold. It's really embarrassing because theses are not what I would call "pass-out" level injuries. My tiny body just can't handle the change, I guess. Conclusion: I'm never going to be able to give birth.
The only other item worth mentioning during the 48-hour HammerFest 2007, was that Saturday afternoon, a van pulled up to the side of the house, which was strange.
Out came Carlo, and unfortunately for him, Carlo was a carpet cleaning salesman. The No. 1 phrase you don't want to hear from potential customers: "Umm ... we just ripped up all our carpets and removed the floors."
Carlo knows how to pick 'em. He did enter us in a drawing for 50 bucks. Maybel got mud all over his pants before he left.
a few new friends to the right -- and have excommunicated some others.
the closer you are to the top of the "on notice" list, the closer you are to the hurt.
as for the others, you are listed in the order that i love you plus the time we've spent together plus how hilarious and frequent your updates are minus your worst physical feature with a little 'wedding reception' adjustments, i.e., i tried to sit you with your friends unless your blog was too awesome requiring me to elevate you higher than your friends.
just kidding.
the whole thing is arbitrary but, beginning now, you can earn points to move yourself closer to the coveted No. 1 spot.
contrary to what the sign outside the Car Wash demands, I'm not sure I want to "ask Larry" about this. It's enough to have to drive by it frequently during the work day.
Ladies, ladies, ladies. This is another placeholder, as I'm not dead, just on dead-line and am searching for the proper time to update. Please don't give up on me. I'll meet you when my chores are through.
For J-do, here's a taste of a photo series I think will halp you make your decision: (you'll have to check out facebook for the rest -- totally worth the free membership)
because Seth's boss is a huge fan of my blog, I'd like to take a moment to reach out to him now.
Get you best man on this, kiddo. (That's what I call Seth's Boss.) Otherwise, it could lead to a major public relations disaster for the farming community.
Heather Mills plans to donate her Dancing with the Stars winnings to VIVA! -- the British version of PETA. Animal rights activists are a crafty bunch. Good luck out-maneuvering this formula:
crippled wife of beatle + dancing + stars = a major public opinion shift on pig farrowing crates.
Apparently someone forgot to tell Heather that the crates keep the 450-pound mamas from rolling over and crushing the skulls of their piglets.
Wow.
I'm really giving myself away with this one, aren't I?
plus one cancelled CATscan times one irrate mother minus two broken automobiles equals me making a trip to Mansfield at the moment, but I'm not yet sure how this will remedy anything. It's like getting the fox and the chicken and the rental car to the other side of the creek again.
The good news is that Evan DiTulio is my driver. Mae, I blame you for my torture. All this party needs is a solo female performer describing the time her boyfriend sucked her toes after they went hiking...and/or a Japanese kid with three gallons of beer at hofbrauhaus. whichever...
I went to a taping of the Daily Show when Craiggers was the host. He had to do seven takes of one segment because he couldn't pronounce the word "forte." After the sixth take, he called over one of the writers and started yelling at her, “why are you giving me this French shit to read? Rewrite this, stop trying to make me look bad!”. So they changed the script to read “strong suit” instead, and he *nailed* it.
but my body hurts. We (meaning Seth, the Beeg and my father) removed the 100-year-old 14-foot tree pictured below. Thousands of pounds of plaster and lath are gone, too, but that's a much less interesting story.
I happened to capture a moment prior to 'the drop' with a dollar-store digital camera. It's grainy and dark, but if you look closely, you can see my father with a chain saw, Seth with some sort of prying tool and B.J., sadly, is not pictured but is waiting eagerly in the wings. I sat perched on the second story of our cape cod home -- for several minutes, in fact, as they forgot to factor in how to get me down.
In the photos, I'm pretty sure my dad was mouthing the words "This is going to be a piece of cake."
Ladies and gentleman, a teaser.
Ridgeview Middle School is practicing School House Rock, and that's much more important than this.
i'll wait until you stop laughing before i continue.
ok.
exhibits a and b:
sometimes when we get bored painting and falling through ancient floorboards, we tear down walls. i know i explained we would be working on the new floors this weekend, but unfortunately, it has to happen in this order. the stairs are scheduled for execution at half time.
not only am i not crying, but i am supportive and investing myself in this project. i am colleen rankin, only i'm making more lunches. i have been told that some women would not respond in the same way. fyi -- i'm a real keeper, boys.
well, truth be told, i'm blogging right now. mostly to freak out my parents. but the sound of a sledgehammer continues in the next room, so i'm going to go use the stairs to get into the bedroom for the last time. we are teetering on the edge of structural stability. stay tuned.
i wish i had a picture (or video!) to prove it, but when you are transporting any type of possum street pork product, Maybel will follow you through the fiery pits of Mordor before she takes her eyes off it.
mostly she just walks right into walls and stuff because she is so focused on the sausage, but my favorite part is when she puts her giant front paws up on the kitchen cabinets, her tiny man legs quivering under the ham lust.
only our dead pig has this kind of power over the poor kid. the sweet taste of revenge for all those times he kicked her ass, i suppose.
speaking of unfortunate longing, it has only been a handful of days, and already I am receiving "GET ME OUT OF HERE" messages from Amanda, our favorite brain bleeder resting up in Ashland County, Ohio before a springtime radiation treatment.
"You know what ... I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do this," Dad said tonight. "Would the doctor let me grab her for an escape trip to Columbus?" I asked. "Why don't you take her for a week," he said.
I have not spoken with mother, but apparently, both parties are "testy."
I can't count the number of times I've been surfing the Internets, merrily reading a news magazine or newspaper only to find the information I'm seeking is in streaming video. That's not an advertisement to skip over, sister. that's the story.
WTF.
Because we here at theteet.blogspot.com like to discuss emerging trends, (like the Internets) I present to you the following:
Imagine a world where my blog (or the News of the Suburbs, even!) was presented only in streaming video.
I do not like the idea of print reporters (naturally a homely bunch) forced behind a camera and/or voice recorder. It is unnatural and should not be tolerated.
The better looking you are, the worst of a journalist you can be. We in the print industry work better in the shadows, mingling with the regulars at pet parades and city council meetings.
What will become of our breed?
I read somewhere that journalists and writers prefer being famous without ever having to show up. We are not good performers, but rather, do our best work from home in front of the TiVO, in our PJs while the dog is humping our leg.
I agree with this theory and am regularly terrified as I click through Slate.com.
This whole Webcasting thing is going to destroy us.
Well, maybe not here. We did just get a Web site last fall.
1.) I just ate 1.5 pounds of lasagna and I can't find my cigarettes. 2.) As of 1:55 p.m., Dr. Hotshot has let Amanda go -- no fake BM required! She's off with a brand new set of wheels, as the hospital has given her some sort of Robo-Walker. I have not seen it but look forward to taunting her relentlessly. I might even snatch it away from her if we're ever in a foot race to the refrigerator. I have been known to do that sort of thing to the handicapped. "We'll get her some bright green tennis balls to shove on the back and she'll be set," my father said. She gets to spend the next 4 to 6 weeks at home with that man. Did anybody else just shudder a little bit? 3.) her departure means it's time to quit smoking. For everybody. No more restricted blood vessels in this house. 4.) iPod is bumping "Cry me a River" -- I'm pretending I don't know how the song got there. 5.) I am 0 for 7 getting a hold of very important quotable quoters today. Don't it make you sad about it.
Seth and Maybel are asleep, so I'm going to email Crystal Davis some pet pictures. What does this tell you about me?
I promised I'd recount a blog-worthy moment in Johnson Time as I learned from a recent hospital visit. Know ahead of time I will not do it justice.
While in Ohio on a whirlwind nursing home/hospital tour, my anonymous cousin shared a hilarious tale about her time in the hospital with her mother -- hey! -- who is also my aunt Lynn!
Anyway it seems that after some cancer treatment a few years back in a hospital in Texas, the doctors told Aunt Lynn they would not let her go home until she ... well ... they call it a "BM" a lot in the hospitals. Knowing how much my aunt wanted to go home, after lengthy discussion, planning and meat-touching, my aunt's devoted daughter 'faked it' with some Salisbury steak and some prune juice.
Hilarious.
There was a moment in time (right after "look nurse, I went!" -- as I understand it) that the lady grabbed a glove and made her way toward the bathroom for confirmation.
"She's sampling. We're busted," my cousin thought, but alas, the nurse was simply using the gloved hand to flush the toilet. The jig went unnoticed, and they let Aunt Lynn out of the hospital without a BM.
This story is priceless.
And Amanda and I thought we were rebels when we hid her stool softener pills in my jean jacket...
Much thanks to the fam who traveled by plane PLUS a 2.5-hour drive one way to come hang out with us at Riverside. You guys are 100-percent rock stars.
Speaking of, this guy gets 17 golden stars. I don't think I've been to the hospital and not seen him. I have high standards for my little girl, William Jay. You are quickly making your way up the charts of sisterly approval (because I know how much that matters.) Now if we could only get your Trivial Pursuit and/or Taboo and/or Cranium scores up, you'll totally be 100 percent in compliance. I'll make you some flash cards.
Sometimes we get bored with painting, so we rip up more carpets. Later I will show you our window casings. I think I'm going to start using this site to solicit bids for general contracting jobs.
other interesting tidbits, since I've had difficulty wrapping things up here lately:
On Cat Tales: A larger blog is coming here re:our favorite columnist. Working title is Silent No More. In the meantime, as per the combined genius of Jenny Wray and mostly Matt Gerish (see related item below) we'll give Twelve Dollars to the first TW reporter who gets referenced in her column. She is a very private person, I know, but I know you are up to the task.
On Math: Two weeks away from the gym + 17 packs of stress-related cigarette smoking = a white haze after 3 miles on the treadmill Friday morning. There were dots. I think the oxygen was not getting through.
On Spring: It has sprung. Melissa Messina, a third-year law student at Capital University, is looking forward to the switch to daylight-saving time.
On Photos: I think the thing that I've learned about blogging from Phil is the inclusion of google image photos, which I would normally frown upon unless I had taken/doctored the photo myself. I think my philosophy of "pictures with text" is evolving and I have to give credit where credit is due because he invented this.
On The Gerish: It seems his article became fodder in the blog world on March 07, ought-seven. This is the highest achievement that can be reached among journalists. Although it think 'antipositivist' should refine his tagline a little, as Ideas on aprioristic free market economics and Christian thought. (note: in that I stand opposite positivism, not that I am aligned with so-called sociological antipositivists) is pretty thick. and I am the kind of girl who looks at outtakes of WBNT-10TV commercials for fun, so.
On David Cross: you are important, too. but just barely.
In five months, I'll be a potential "boomerang" for Rebecca Ryan.
Rebecca is founder of Next Generation Consulting, who Columbus hired to research how Central Ohio can attract hip, college-educated 25- to 34-year-old professionals.
I think I would make a nice test case. A microcosm of my generation. The Everyman.
Can Rebecca attract and retain a young professional former resident of Columbus when Bangs -- a village with only a copyright trap as its claim to fame -- is the competition?
Even Wikipedia hasn't heard of this place.
I guess we do have the NiSource Bangs Fabrication plant (formerly the maintenance site for Columbia Gas of Ohio) which Seth and I plan to hit up later tonight, but. This should not deter her from Operation Getting the Teters to a Condo on Fourth Street by 2008.
While conducting research for this blog, I also discovered the nap machine, which would fit perfectly in the Room No One Loves.
See? I'm already getting cozy in my house Rebecca! Better find my Weblog...send me a link or a pamphlet...I'm pretty much already on the next thing...
conclusions from this evening: 1. i can eat an entire block of cheese with one large knife and zero regrets. 2. finding the results from tonight's american idol on the internets is a lot like looking for porn. harder than you think. for me, anyway. (thank god for johnny diloretto and his early newscast breakdown.) 3. scrubbing a bathroom is much more fun in those plastic yellow dish gloves your mother used to leave hanging out of the mopping bucket. just trust me. put them on. right now. 4. scrubbing a bathroom and mudding drywall are pretty much the one-two punch of my existence on earth. 5. Clinic (the ones from liverpool) is always fun at a dance party. 6. my blog does not have sound.
Lin will appreciate at least the beginning of this.
Instead of driving off a cliff as a bitter, washed-up 24-year-old (and a half!) 'journalist,' I decided to go on home to Bangs and when I arrived, I had an unopened package left for me on the counter. I'm still wondering about this mysterious 'farm thing' that Mae sent, but what I received instead was The Interviewer's Handbook: A Guerrilla Guide by none other than mister jack brady.
Now I can look at the picture of the prof who told me I "was a better writer than that" when I told him I planned get hitched and start out at a suburban weekly in Columbus. Ha! Sucker. It's a step in the right direction anyway. I have been reading the last hour, and it feels like a coveted last-minute pink slip.
I'll let you borrow it when I'm done. Already he has suggested, in one of the less practical chapters, knocking four times loudly on the desk to end a long-winded phone interview. Priceless.
My apologies for those who have come here from her Myspace:
Doctor Hotshot has informed us that before we try scary knives, we'll do some radiation treatment on Amanda's bad brain artery. Pending a Cat Scan tomorow she'll leave the hospital in Friday and in four to six weeks, she will wear a large metal halo and they'll shoot the thing a couple of times and after three years or so, it might evaporate, as I understand it. They've decided to feel their way along in the process, and it could require surgery later, but for now, they'll use the gun. We are all happy about this.
I absolutely adore my little sister.
Today I came into the hospital room and she was all alone, practicing her exercises along with a patient on the other side of the curtain in the stroke recovery ward. She told me to "shhh," when they got to the "raise your left hand" part because she is not yet satisfied with the accuracy of her left-pointer-finger-to-the-nose trick.
She is such a little fighter. Today we shaved her legs and took her on a walk. It's a privilege to take care of people. Especially in a hospital when they haven't been showered in a long time, and orange sherbet or a cold rag means everything in the world in that moment. romanticized, probably. but maybe I can just be a nurse instead.
I also love that my dad will still eat my sister's hospital dinners and my mom will yell at him. I guess I had forgotten until tonight that Johnsons are a simultaneously cold and an incredibly protective breed. Once you're in, you're in kinda thing. And many of you already are. When this is all over, we'll cater a lunch in mom's new kitchen.
Stick with me, kid, and you'll never go hungry again.
i'm not even going to try to consolidate my thoughts into something cohesive. not that i do normally, but i am especially tired today, following two days of 'vacation' from work.
Mae Klingler might be the only righteous one left among us. Maybe there are some people in Seattle, but she should be rewarded. (from heaven)
I have more than 30 clickable bloggers linked to the right. Be sure to check out new friends and old friends (this time with beer.) Feel free to over-click. They'll just think it was me.
Yesterday, what was it ... 56 clickers came here? That is ridiculous. I am humbled. or, as Talya posted once, "Do you ever wonder how stupid you have to be to have a blog?" Speaking of, you should tell Chris to get back in the saddle. I miss him and I am never going to call.
I think I'm going to take a nap and head over to Riverside. There are updates about Amanda. She needs only to be lasered, and not sliced. It will be a three-year process. Let me get the facts and I'll call you right back.
I too have decided to race the Generic Nyquil. I am not "sick" per se, but it just seems like the right thing to do. Abusing over-the-counter drugs, that is. The Equate has an eight-minute head start, which seems dangerous.
The sister continues to improve. Her wit frightens me. If she comes of of this thing with charm, that will not work well i.e. picking up boys on family vacation. She reels them in with her looks and I dazzled them with hilarious jokes. If she's funny now, I'm pretty much ruined. Damned AVM.
Also of note, Seth "why read it when you have to live it" Teter has apparently taken an interest in my blog and has commented below. The apocalypse is soon approaching.
they better have a meeting before they come in and try to talk to us in their fancy leather jackets with thier watches.
ever get the feeling treating your sister's brain is the equivalent of a pissing contest to a plethora of interns, partners, chiefs of medicine and surgeons? that the cutters and pasters and the radiology dudes are all jockeying for position to be the one that gets in there first?
the problem is that we want an answer now, and 37 million doctors of various levels have each looked at one piece of the puzzle.
so they come in the room hoping to -- i don't know, impress us or comfort us or vomit random words, I'm not sure -- and if they're not saying "we really have no information about that," then they're picking an arbitrary time table (four to six weeks, ten to 14 days, six to eight months) and then they pick a weapon (a knife, some glue or some radiation) and then they pick the result (she'll be ready to run a marathon in six weeks, there is a 30 to 50 percent chance she'll be paralyzed or in a coma, etc.) and then they give us some shit about how "dynamic" the human brain is and that even after a combination of cut, copying and pasting treatments, they never know what they are going to find until they get in there, it could take several attempts, etc.
the latest guy, Dr.GloomAndDoom, wanted to talk about how close her injury was to her brain stem. the guy earlier called it a "straightforward" procedure and acted like she'd be in and out, maybe with no treatment at all.
fucking doctors.
i'd like to hope that what these people lack in social skills, they make up for in their ability to wield a surgical knife. don't tell families scary shit when you haven't looked at the jpegs, my brother.
the good news is that Amanda is doing awesome. for two hours tonight we were ordered to keep her awake, so she sat up in a chair, ate some dinner (and kept it down) and even made the trip to the sink to brush her teeth. we did her hair. it looks awesome.
she told me not to blog about any of this, but i've trained a parrot to repeat "i'm sorry" and i plan to leave it in the hospital room with her while i'm gone. plus, people want to know, right? i'm not sugar coating anything for you, family member/friend/random passerby. your support has kept us going through this crap.
even though you'd rather have left a voice mail, i'm glad you let me talk to you. that goes for you. and you! (and you) but not you.
Amanda is sleeping now. She's awful loopy, but I'm pretty sure she knows what's going on. And she's cracking jokes. Decent ones at that. Maybe that's a bad sign. Anyway so I guess I'll start from the beginning for those who have only a panicked call from me at midnight yesterday. I mean today? I'm not sure.
Yester-today was my mom's 47th birthday. Twenty-three years prior, she gave birth to a little blond-haired brat with legs till Tuesday, a tendency to fall in ditches and an Arterio-Venous Malformation. For 23 years, four arteries fed her brain with oxygenated blood. One of these "brain trees" one was missing some branches. This increased the pressure on the trunk of the branchless tree, and it became weak.
Twenty minutes into my mother's 47th birthday dinner, this brain tree started to bleed. She said she had a bad headache and her boyfriend drove her home. We thought she had better parties to attend, so when we called to check in about a half hour later, we were surprised to learn she "was in a bad way," B.J. said, asking us to come over to her apartment.
Just picture a trying to pick up a pale drunk girl passed out on the bathroom floor and every time you touch her she screams and vomits. Except she hadn't had a sip of alcohol. Fast forward twelve hours later and we still don't know anything about brain trees, headaches or why my sister can't move her head without barfing.
I don't think there is anything worse than waiting on test results for a loved one in the wee hours at a hospital. When your little sister is lying on the bed, scared to death, "unfortunately we did find some bleeding," being all that they would tell us.
There was a lot of staring until I picked up father at the airport at 6:40 a.m. He had been navigating his way through LAX three hours earlier. We had some Pizza Hut. I felt stupid for all the things I've thought about ever.
Around maybe 11:30 a.m., we met with the Brain Pasting doctor, of the Neurological Cut and Paste team. We learned about AVM then. We learned this was a rare case because she is so young. They treat about 20 bleeders like this per year. Most of them are older. The AVM is small, but in a tricky area near the brain stem. Lots of words no one understands, etc.
So next, the blood clot in my sister's brain has to dissolve without damaging any of the surrounding tissue. They'll probably keep her in the hospital at least a few more days.
The cutting and the pasting doctors are meeting tonight and will decide tomorrow how best to proceed. The likely scenario is bedrest followed by gluing part of her brain, and then cutting some of it out in 4 to 6 weeks.
I think I went to Cleveland.
This is so ... Effed up.
Thank you guys so much for all the calls and texts and prayers and blubbery-talking. I have the best friends ever. You mean the world to this little Teterbot. I know I can call you if I need anything.
1. This happened when we were with her. 2. She wouldn't have gone to the hospital if she had been alone. 3. In the ER, her physician's name was Dr. Kwak. 4. God is a tricky, tricky man.
what your beef might be with god, but please pray for my little sister, who is in the neuro critical care unit at Riverside this morning because of some sort of thing that our family does not quite understand yet. it's not an aneurysm, but it's some sort of bleeding on the brain that might require surgery. it was explained to us that it stems from a birth defect. arteries not connecting to veins properly. she's stable. we're just waiting on the surgeon. I'll update later today. Call on my cell if you need us. tell other people to do the same.
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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