ok, i call it. no more emotion until 2010. especially sadness and/or extreme relief. those are right out.
the verdict on attending the calling hours and funeral for an 88-year-old patriarch? i suppose it was tougher than i originally planned.
especially the part where my cousin, the felon-turned-family-rockstar, spoke about how grandpa taught him to be a man.
and especially the part where the youngest son, slaying his own honestly-earned demons of stubborness and pride, stood up to speak about three days before grandpa died when my uncle had a chance to pray with him, and the old man, who could not speak, cried out to god "in a way that i know God could not ignore."
wow. I always had a feeling that uncle lee would be the one to bring it home. not that i knew the condition of my grandpa's soul to begin with.
death and god and family are topics much too easily avoided these days.
did you remember? you are going to die one day. maybe even tomorrow. you might be dead already.
did i tell you? i grew up across the street from my grandparents. until 1999, we were the 3 Sunny Drive to their 7 Sunny Drive. it was cute. were you aware? there is a spacial and chemical reaction that occurs when my mother and her sister cry in the same room. it can bring down an entire nation.
but man, could we all be so lucky? a packed house, and everyone was there, in one way or another, because of him. they played Trust and Obey, his favorite hymn. there were rain clouds. sun in other parts. it was perfect.
i used to think many things are cheesy that i now think are valid.
It costs $55 to pay a professional to break into your car.
For the Second Year in a Row, Steter won the American Farm Bureau's Most Awesome Story Ever Award. This time, it was for mints, or The Man Who Inspired Me to Carry A Picture of My Wife in My Wallet at All Times (Although the Girl From The Cardigans is Still Really Hot) but Who Also Was A Tea Farmer, as I have playfully titled it.
Although a dynamite feature writer, Seth's powers of observation in the wee morning hours are, at times, lacking. Sunday morning, while recovering from a night of revelry with a fun group of kids in Washington Court House's Woody's Cafe, I got a phone message.
"Just wanted to let you know that your purse is in my car at the (Port Columbus International) airport."
For those of you keeping track at home, although typical, this was problematic because it was Sunday, I was in Bangs, and the keys to my Honda were in my purse locked inside my husband's car at the airport in Columbus. A taxi to Columbus would cost more than $40. But I wouldn't be able to pay it anyway. My purse was locked in my husband's car. at the airport. In Columbus.
So.
Call in Super Sister, who drove out to Bangs.
Hearing preliminary estimates, Amanda "I'll break your windows before I'll let you pay some tow truck asshole $55 to get into your car," Johnson and I did some Internet research and spent about an hour practicing breaking into the Honda.
With a car full of supplies (crowbar, wire hangers, garden hoe -- hey, why not -- stick used to roast marshmallows, wooden shims, putty knife and finishing corners for drywall) we set out for row 16b in the Long-Term Blue Lot with angry girl country music blaring in the background.
Next time he'll think before he cheats? Sure, why not.
I can only imagine what the people watching us from the security towers were thinking, but no one stopped us. A wandering businesswoman gave me the stink eye until I told her "this is my car, I promise." She told us not to worry because she "couldn't find her car anyway."
There were a few tense moments, specifically when Amanda "got it halfway!" only to knock it back in with premature enthusiasm. Also stated, crowbar in hand: "Oh crap, my boob just fell out of my bra!" as, I imagine, all great crimefighter femme duos have uttered at one point or another.
Finally, after a brief pillow fight, with the crowbar/wire hanger combo, we unlocked the door with minimal damage to Seth's car. Panic set in as I discovered my keys were not actually in my purse, but they were quickly located in Seth's soccer bag in the trunk. Amen.
The whole thing only cost $11 to get out of the lot.
Can you feel that Broad and James Towing? Feels good, doesn't it? You like that dontcha?
I don't think I told you about last weekend's temper tantrum.
I walked in the room and Seth had a crowbar and a sledge hammer and was preparing a strike on the kitchen floor. I overreacted with some woman-screaming about how we need to complete one construction project before we began another, and seth overreacted with some man-talking about how I was acting like an overbearing foreman. I think we both were correct.* * Editor's Note to Ryan: If you've recently had three Guinness, I want you to know that Mommy and Daddy are doing fine and are not getting a divorce.
The thought of having my kitchen floors ripped up was so unnerving that I got in the car and left for Columbus. I had a pleasurable lunch at Olive Garden with Brittiny and our long-lost Angie. It was really great to watch her drink a Bloody Mary from an awkward glass. We think the waiter had a thing for Brittiny.
From Columbus, still determined to be a brat, I drove south to Washington Court House under the guise of Visiting Grandpa In The Hospital. Having long ago lost the ability to speak (minus, of course, a handful of crystal-clear swears) Grandpa has been in the nursing home with pneumonia, surrounded by random pairings of his six children for a few weeks now. The nurses made us all wear surgical masks and plastic gloves when we touched him. I am still mad about that.
At one point last Saturday, while holding his hand and scratching his poor, itchy back, i took my mask off and spoke to him. gramps stared for a while, looked me right in the eye, winked and gave me a little smile. I could tell it took just about all of his concentration. I count myself lucky for it.
I'm hoping to permanently sub that memory for last Saturday's visit, when his pupils had stopped responding to light and he stared vacantly, unable to focus on anything in the room. When he wasn't asleep, he screamed in pain or wept and sobbed like an infant. It was the worst thing I have seen in a long time.
I was relieved to hear he had passed on Tuesday afternoon. Surrounded by sons and daughters and grand kids and greatgrandkids for most of the last few months, he died with only Grandma in the room beside him. I imagine it must be a lot of pressure to die in front of a crowd. He was 88.
If this was a movie I think I'd show the clip of me, as a sixth-grader, and him, as the test subject for a school project. On the tape, from his recliner you will hear him tell me about the Depression. About shoveling coal in the furnace in the mornings. About mowing six acres of ground for a quarter. About the chain that broke, sending a few dozen logs tumbling down off a truck and on top of him. That broken hip would bother him the rest of his life. It would keep him from wars and it would kept him from dancing.
He was famous for the sharpness of his kitchen knives. He could grow anything - seriously, anything - in Ohio regardless of the climate it required. And I might be bias, but no one on this earth will ever make a fruit salad like my grandpa.
I will remember all of these things tomorrow at his funeral and I count myself lucky for it.
surfing a Tidal Wave of Hilarity onto the sands of Superstar Bay.
HAPPY 500, MY LITTLE ONES.
Wow ... What a milestone.
First Michelangelo's classic statue David, then the Papal Army and now, TheTeet!
This is the 500th time I have opened up a new post window, and I think now, more than ever, I realize how lucky I am to be the first (and most awesome) one to ever accomplish this.
And what better way to celebrate than alone in the dark on the kitchen floor with a half-jug of cheap sangria? There's no place else I'd rather be, my darlings. If you listen closely, you'll hear life peak.
Of course we're all going immediately to Pizza Hut (personal pans for us all!) but first, let's get a run-down of our Top 500 moments in the history of blog. my blog.
500. July 2005 -- remember that time we lived in the city but we didn't have air conditioning!? 499. August 2006 -- and who can forget the time I began my day by following a hearse into work! 498. May 2005 -- remember the home improvement project that went strangely awry?! 497. December 2004 -- and ewwwww ... birth control sure made me hormonal!! 496. .... just kidding.
I'm sure VH1 is working diligently on the special. Wouldn't want to step on their toes.
In honor of your loyalty, I have composed a brief user manual set to debut as post #501. This way, strangers and newcomers will have a clearer picture of this anomaly. No one should be caught asking "Who is Maybel?" ever again.
It's been a wild ride, and I have not one to thank but myself.
i, too, recently have become enraged by a prick stranger.
Earlier today, as we drove north to Ashland, the old man and I ran through Wendy's drive-through. Fast food in the car (with Maybel) is never an ideal situation, but sometimes it happens. You have to work with the cards you are delt, etc.
We ordered three junior deluxe cheeseburgers, which are commonly served with onions. I hate onions. In lieu of tossing the onions in the paper bag, I thought it would be kind to share part of my junior cheeseburger deluxe with Mother Nature. I threw two slivers of onion out the car window into the middle of an adjacent field. the birds and mice and ants go crazy over these things. believe me.
anyway, happy in my good deed, we traveled north to the next stoplight when i heard a human voice screaming in my direction.
it seemed the 60-some-year-old white-haired environmentalist in the giant SUV next to us had taken issue with my decision to donate onions to the field. let's continue with a he said/she said: (Special Asshole Edition)
self-important simon and garfunkel fan: Where do you folks live? l-jo: sisagf: HEY! WHERE DO YOU LIVE? l-jo: (looks, puzzled, in his direction.) sisagf: Where do you folks live? I'd like to pick up that trash you threw out the window and put it in your yard! l-jo: It was just onions? sisagf: yeah, that trash ... i'd like to throw it in your yard. l-jo: IT WAS JUST ONIONS sisagf: yeah.....I'd like to throw that trash in YOUR YARD!!!!!
Now, it is perfectly acceptable to become upset if you see someone litter. However, yelling at that person our your car window is hardly an exercise of good judgement, and continuing to harass a young girl after you've learned that she is guilty only of throwing two onion slivers out into a field seems a bit excessive to me, and may qualify you as as asshole, especially considering;
a.) the onions were thrown in a field between a Super Wal-Mart and a Marathon station. not exactly an aesthetic worth getting so upset over. b.) the man was driving an SUV that was arguably more harmful to Morrow County than a sliver of onion, or our Hyundai combined and multiplied by two (one for each sliver of onion.)
the WORST part of all this was the wife, who, behind red lipsitck and large sunglasses, (presumably to hide some recent cosmetic surgery) was nodding her head enthusiastically as her husband shouted, as if she, too, would like to find out our address and throw the onion slivers into our yard.
looking back, I wish i would've taken the onions off Maybel's cheeseburger and slapped one on each of their foreheads.
i think i'm starting to have a normal life. a r-o-u-t-i-n-e.
at work early and home to Bangs three of three nights this week ... no late meetings ... meats on the grill ... a little weeding in the garden ... watching the deer in the evening ... watching maybel barrel toward the deer in a series of unsuccessful hunts ... television ... laundry ... a long run ... a shower ... a glass of wine ...internets.
this is a little nerve-wracking, i've got to be honest. and the consequence?
boring-talking.
we need to find another abandoned pig or something. spice it up a little. is this love? that i'm feeling?
I finished 6.2 miles in 1 hour, 2 minutes and some change. That's incredible for me, as I'm usually a 12-13 minute mile kinda gal. For those keeping track at home, that means I ran 5 miles at just under 10 a piece, with one grueling mile-point-two up High street with COTA fumes in my face, the sun in my eyes and Wheezy Guy gaining on my tail, as capture here. See me on your right ... the tiny, angry spec behind Washboard Abs.
I watched Washboard Abs warming up before the race and she kept looking around to see who was watching her, punching the air like a prizefighter and tossing herself up and down the stairs in a seductive manner. I grew to hate her then. I ended up passing her just after our photo was taken, only to have her zoom by me at an incredible rate the last 10 yards.
People like that, or rather, the ones with real athletic ability, make me crazy-mad. She probably could have ran the whole thing much faster if she had that much energy at the end. Ah, well. Bitterness.
I was gloating and boating yesterday's finish time until a friend emailed me this devastating article.
That's right. Aforementioned Wheezy Guy. Let me speak in capitals.
FIRST, Dispatch reporter Steve Blackledge wrote: "Although it took 1 hour, 2 minutes, 11 seconds for 60-year-old Frank Eubanks to finish the 6.2-mile event...." I'd like to see you finish in less, Steve-O.
SECOND, "he drew a rousing ovation..." No one was sitting. And they were obviously cheering for the cute, sweaty girl on the heels of the Wheezy Guy. Obviously.
THIRD, THAT GUY IS ANNOYING AS HELL. I don't care how many obstacles he's overcoming. That small-lunged bastard better stay home next time. We've spent way too much time together already. The reporter obviously missed more than 62 minutes on the road with passers-by saying things like "What's the policy on strangling someone during the race?" or "What if we just tossed him into the Scioto?" And that was just what I caught between the songs on my iPod. Lord knows what other treachery my fellow runners discussed along the way.
Shut up. It was hot. We were running. Allow us our zero-tolerance for the disabled.
and it was marvelous. more problematic, however, is the the bowel of dipping sauce consumed alongside it (six parts butter to one part mayo to one part balsamic). mmmmmmmmmmbutter. oooooooooooo too much butter. mmmmmmbutter. you know how i feel.
anyway, this is not the best "pre-race day" dinner. ah, well.
I am running the Columbus 10K tomorrow. If you were alive 30 years ago, you may remember it as the Citizen-Journal 10K. C-J, I never knew thee, but without your demise, TOP might not exist, so ... it's bittersweet.
I think I am entering the race mostly to piss off the Columbus Dispatch. I make it a priority to support Columbus events that are not Wolfe-sponsored, so ... I run in this race, and ... that might be it. Maybe SNP's Senior Showcase, or whatever. I don't think that gets many Dispatch dollars.
If I shave an hour off my time, I might qualify in the Ohio USA Track & Field State 10K Championships. These woman, apparently can finish 6.2 miles in 35 minutes. I will finish in roughly 2.3 times that. Again, ah well.
Seth and I took a road trip through Kenyon College today. After a long run this morning, I staked my tomatoes and put in a solid block of mowing and weed whacking. There were deer in the yard. Trey Bien. Summertime Knox County is beautiful and smells incredible. That's all there is to it. I wish it were closer to you.
Come watch me in the race tomorrow morning. Or, just show up at the Columbus Arts Festival around 10-10:30, and I should be finishing up. Get there by 9:35 if you want to see who qualifies in the 10k Championships. Then stick around for the sweaty girl asking for another bowel of butter.
i've got print under control. who's watching broadcast?
I just witnessed an informative interview with Fox's Crystal Davis on how the state plans to extract child porn from a certain sheriff's work laptop. (Oops.)
Davis spoke at length with a strapping, articulate and slightly intimidating young man. Must have been some sort of Agent. Perhaps a Rogue Agent?
Wolf Blitzer: What has been President Bush's biggest mistake while in office? McCain: accountability. Rudy: spending. The Pastor Guy: principles. ljo/steter: umm .... The war? Sam Brownback: Ok, I'm going to put it all on the line here... ljo: steter: Sam Brownback: I want to eliminate cancer by 2015. We're facing a real epidemic here and I told that to the president in my letter... ljo: Cancer is Dubya's biggest mistake? steter: I hate cancer. I'm voting for that guy.
As a side note, I am glad that finger-licking politicians on both sides of the aisle are picking up Jim Wallis' little catch phrases word by word. I hope the can follow up with the walkity-walk.
don't stand between a woman and her medicated chest rub.
'tis the season for cold and flu!
i am sick.
i just wrote a "buy your mexican friend a couch" column that will likely set off some sparks. Opponents of "amnesty" are much louder than proponents. I maaaay have done it a little bit on purpose to generate some letters. I'llnevertell.
Basic premise is: yes, it is a drain on resources to teach a non-tax-paying illegal immigrant English in school, but we should happily carry that burden. let the federal government sort it out, and in the meantime, buy your non-English speaking friend a coke. or a cerveza! I am such a Smurf Communist.
you'd be surprised the number of elderly people who will ring me up to call me the c-word as a result of this wild philosophy.
here is the link to column numero uno, for those who have yet to print it out and hang it on the fridge. (That includes you, Meelllvvvillllle.)
all of our peas, beans, carrots and corns and tomatoes are coming up, people!
look for signs to the farmers market.
speaking of, at the Mount Vernon farmer's market, I learned that from now on, I'll prefer it if my organic farmers are NOT eating a Pop-Tart.
Finally, a quick he said/she said:
L-jO: OOOOOO boy. Hillary looks MAD. Seth: She must be on her period.
I think he was waiting 2.5 hours to use that one. Don't worry. He was punched.
because nothing zaps the quest for productivity like a severe thunderstorm and a cold one.
I was able to eat a sub sandwich with miss talya strader yesterday. and you didn't. for an hour and 15, she was all mine. suckas.
i think i finally understand the difference between Inspiration and Intelligensia. woohoo!
All conversation was pleasant. Only during the "Chris touches me too much allhewantstodoiscuddle," did i became enraged. That is cruelty to animals, Strader. I hope you're happy. Hours later, halfway through bowel #1 at Mongolian BBQ, I finished the thought with a handful of tears confirming suspicions that Seth has finally driven me completely mental.
I rarely say anything serious on here anymore, mostly because it's not 2004 and I'm way too famous, but marriage, my friends, is really hard. (Extra! Extra!)
Don't freak out. This is a teachable moment.
When you're not getting the affection you need (some of us ... i won't name names ... require an inhuman amount,I know, but still) it hurts. Like a swollen, scratchy throat. Like a sinus headache. Every time you breath, the damn stuffiness again. Always the stuffiness.
So that's been my excuse now for more and more, re: coming home, enjoying supper, paying bills, mowing, laundry, sleeping normal hours -- and it's given me pity rights to sit out on some of the manual labor in the fields (during prime construction season, even) I'm depressed or something? I forget what I said.
On top of this, lazy wife tends to kill all sprouts in Seth's Greenhouse of Husbandly Affection, as I have tenderly named our home. In fewer words, seth and i determined over chain-restaurant stir-fry that soon, barring significant change, they might build a highway overpass over us.
It's good to hash through another conversation like this. We agreed to try to go three days each -- me as one engaged in life and he as one affectionating on his tiny wife (see? who wouldn't want that?!) -- and then we'll have a fight and try to stick it out for four days. Thus far, everything is going according to plan. By 2024, we'll have, like, 10 days.
He said something that started "do you want to know what's really sexy about you?" and the whole restaurant got to see me escape to the car to hide my tears. I don't know. Maybe I really did want to know the thing that was sexy about me. Maybe it was PMS? Anyway, I should really get over this whole crying thing because it seems to be pretty much beyond my control and/or happening much more frequently in my advanced age. I'm depressed or something? I forget what I said.
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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