Recently, I was talking to my girlfriends about how enthusiastic I am going into 2012 with only a small number of expectations. Literally, I can count them on one hand.
2011 was an ultimate years of highs and lows. I embraced my friendships and chose to let go of one that defined my life for four years. Romance meant both a steamroller and a mack truck, forcing me to pick myself up after I just discovered my footing again.
Professionally I'm happy and after three years in the same building, I better be. Of course, I want more and I'm on the right path. I'm expecting only big things in the recent future and am enthusiastic about the possibilities.
Thank God for friends. With them, I've created some of the best memories. Ski trips. Birthday bar crawls. Trolleys. Thursday nights playing volleyball on the beach. Softball teams, each with their own set of teammates. Bike rides out to the lake. Then you have the more surreal moments of 2011. Naked bike rides. Bottle service at 2 a.m. Spontaneous boat rides on Lake Michigan. Trolling college bars. Back-to-back Ad World Series Championships!
In late summer, some people told me that the next few months were "supposed to be harder" but they couldn't be more wrong. I'm happy. I'm learning what it's like to be myself, even if that means talk to empty air while watching TV on a Monday night.
One friend said that going into a new year without expectations or plans would make her nervous. But I'm a little different. In the game of taking what life throws at you, I'm all in this. And looking forward to the results.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
0
Bye Bye, Number Five
St. Louis has two major religions - Catholicism and St. Louis Cardinals baseball. It's home to two main houses of worship - the basilica on Lindell Blvd. and Busch Stadium on Clark Ave. In its down home Midwest way it worships its heroes unconditionally, wrapped in swaddling clothes emblazoned with an embroidered number 5. Even if you're one of the less appreciative players after your St. Louis career years and embarrass yourself with the wrong choice words (I'm looking at you, Jim Edmonds) you will be welcomed back with open arms.
So this week, the St. Louis media sugarcoated the enormity of the Albert Pujols situation. Meanwhile, a St. Louis based sports shop gave away Pujols' jerseys "because it's not about the money."
It's more than anger or resentment. It's flat out disappointment. It's coming home to find Papa Tony LaRussa on the front steps after curfew, as he slowly pulls up his aviators to stare intently down upon you. You hang your head and sulk into the house, a few minutes after midnight.
St. Louis, and a larger part of the Midwest, embraces its golden children, putting them on an impossibly hard to reach pedestal. Rather than boo and downgrade, there's always a positiveness that "things will move in the right direction." Even the media takes this approach. It's mostly endearing until you find yourself standing outside of the warm embraces. Then it only seems naive as if you're standing among the halls of the school of ignorance as bliss.
So now our legend, the one who spent a season saying he wanted to end a career in St. Louis, is gone. Comparing this to a bad boyfriend I could only exclaim, "why didn't you just tell me this in the first place?!" Of course it was about the money. I heard it all including, " but he is the greatest player in baseball, he was worth more during his time in St. Louis and he wasn't paid like that. Bla bla bla." Find me one career where you are paid retroactively and I'll give you $250 million over ten years. I'm that confident I won't be delivered an answer.
There is a number 5 National League All-Star jersey hanging in my closet that won't be put to use any time soon. Of course it makes me sad, but I was a Cardinals fan first. It all begin to wear on me when, during the most unbelievable of runs to a World Series championship, it was being overshadowed by one person. The drama can start to dwindle and we can finally focus on the future. A future of a reliable third started or a bull pen that doesn't rise and fall like the sun. Also, more championships. I'm certain of that one.
So this week, the St. Louis media sugarcoated the enormity of the Albert Pujols situation. Meanwhile, a St. Louis based sports shop gave away Pujols' jerseys "because it's not about the money."
It's more than anger or resentment. It's flat out disappointment. It's coming home to find Papa Tony LaRussa on the front steps after curfew, as he slowly pulls up his aviators to stare intently down upon you. You hang your head and sulk into the house, a few minutes after midnight.
St. Louis, and a larger part of the Midwest, embraces its golden children, putting them on an impossibly hard to reach pedestal. Rather than boo and downgrade, there's always a positiveness that "things will move in the right direction." Even the media takes this approach. It's mostly endearing until you find yourself standing outside of the warm embraces. Then it only seems naive as if you're standing among the halls of the school of ignorance as bliss.
So now our legend, the one who spent a season saying he wanted to end a career in St. Louis, is gone. Comparing this to a bad boyfriend I could only exclaim, "why didn't you just tell me this in the first place?!" Of course it was about the money. I heard it all including, " but he is the greatest player in baseball, he was worth more during his time in St. Louis and he wasn't paid like that. Bla bla bla." Find me one career where you are paid retroactively and I'll give you $250 million over ten years. I'm that confident I won't be delivered an answer.
There is a number 5 National League All-Star jersey hanging in my closet that won't be put to use any time soon. Of course it makes me sad, but I was a Cardinals fan first. It all begin to wear on me when, during the most unbelievable of runs to a World Series championship, it was being overshadowed by one person. The drama can start to dwindle and we can finally focus on the future. A future of a reliable third started or a bull pen that doesn't rise and fall like the sun. Also, more championships. I'm certain of that one.
Monday, November 28, 2011
0
Revertigo
One my Thanksgiving drive to Springfield (from my parent's current home farther South) I heard Diddy's "Coming Home" and laughed at the cheesiness of it all. This was likely because I was by myself in a car for three hours.
Then a DJ talked about "revertigo." It is basically the experience of regressing in age based on circumstance. For example, when a 20-something goes home to his parents' over the holidays he may stay in his childhood bedroom, sleep in his old bed, see high school friends. For this brief time, we transport ourselves into a past moment as if we can pick up life right where we left it. My Wednesday before Thanksgiving was no exception as I cheerfully hugged the people that have defined my best memories for the greater part of the last decade. Throughout the good and the not-so-good, I embrace these friendships more than any others.
Surprisingly, Southern Illinois brings on these feelings of revertigo more than Springfield. Southern Illinois was a weird time in my life. At 18, I graduated high school and was ready to start college at a school where I knew no one. I chose this last part for myself, to be different from my peers, and take a risk. Even for someone who was familiar with being the "new kid," I was terrified. Then, my parents packed up our lives and moved three hours south from the city where I called home for 18 years (outside of a two year stint in Missouri). Three weeks before I left for St. Louis, "my parent's house" was not my own. Labor Day weekend I came home from college and drove two miles past the new neighborhood. I stopped in a parking lot and cried at the overwhelming feelings of being in too many new places at once. I missed my old life.
Somehow, that experience shaped me stronger than I would ever imagine. I waitressed and made a small fortune for a 19-year-old living with her parents, made mistakes, hung out with people I definitely shouldn't have, "posted up" and ate Wendy's after work, dated boys with trucks AND camouflage (sometimes even together). I went through a couple phases of bad friends and worse boys, until I finally found own niche. I became close with girls from college whom also called the area home, found Jamie as she always made me laugh and became a sweet hearted partner in crime, indulged in $3 pitcher nights every Wednesday, and enjoyed a July 4th scavenger hunt and picnic I will never forget. Through it all, I became closer with my family as those three were the only constant in this whole strange situation.
So when I was driving down Route 13 on my way to Carbondale, listening to "Dirt Road Anthem," I experienced the ultimate revertigo. It brought back memories of being 20 years old with few cares in the world other than living from Cracker Barrel paycheck to paycheck, driving my boyfriend's beat up pick up truck with Jamie as we sang along to whatever radio station we could find during the most fun scavenger hunt of our lives.
Now when I go back to "my parent's house" (as I call it now), it's all different. My close friends, the one from college, aren't there and we've all moved on from that life. I let some friendships fall through the cracks and wonder how their lives evolved. Oddly enough, the moving experience I once described as "one of the worst things to ever happen to me" turned out to be one of the best. It made me grow up and redefine myself, leading to some of the most genuinely happy experiences I could find.
Then a DJ talked about "revertigo." It is basically the experience of regressing in age based on circumstance. For example, when a 20-something goes home to his parents' over the holidays he may stay in his childhood bedroom, sleep in his old bed, see high school friends. For this brief time, we transport ourselves into a past moment as if we can pick up life right where we left it. My Wednesday before Thanksgiving was no exception as I cheerfully hugged the people that have defined my best memories for the greater part of the last decade. Throughout the good and the not-so-good, I embrace these friendships more than any others.
Surprisingly, Southern Illinois brings on these feelings of revertigo more than Springfield. Southern Illinois was a weird time in my life. At 18, I graduated high school and was ready to start college at a school where I knew no one. I chose this last part for myself, to be different from my peers, and take a risk. Even for someone who was familiar with being the "new kid," I was terrified. Then, my parents packed up our lives and moved three hours south from the city where I called home for 18 years (outside of a two year stint in Missouri). Three weeks before I left for St. Louis, "my parent's house" was not my own. Labor Day weekend I came home from college and drove two miles past the new neighborhood. I stopped in a parking lot and cried at the overwhelming feelings of being in too many new places at once. I missed my old life.
Somehow, that experience shaped me stronger than I would ever imagine. I waitressed and made a small fortune for a 19-year-old living with her parents, made mistakes, hung out with people I definitely shouldn't have, "posted up" and ate Wendy's after work, dated boys with trucks AND camouflage (sometimes even together). I went through a couple phases of bad friends and worse boys, until I finally found own niche. I became close with girls from college whom also called the area home, found Jamie as she always made me laugh and became a sweet hearted partner in crime, indulged in $3 pitcher nights every Wednesday, and enjoyed a July 4th scavenger hunt and picnic I will never forget. Through it all, I became closer with my family as those three were the only constant in this whole strange situation.
So when I was driving down Route 13 on my way to Carbondale, listening to "Dirt Road Anthem," I experienced the ultimate revertigo. It brought back memories of being 20 years old with few cares in the world other than living from Cracker Barrel paycheck to paycheck, driving my boyfriend's beat up pick up truck with Jamie as we sang along to whatever radio station we could find during the most fun scavenger hunt of our lives.
Now when I go back to "my parent's house" (as I call it now), it's all different. My close friends, the one from college, aren't there and we've all moved on from that life. I let some friendships fall through the cracks and wonder how their lives evolved. Oddly enough, the moving experience I once described as "one of the worst things to ever happen to me" turned out to be one of the best. It made me grow up and redefine myself, leading to some of the most genuinely happy experiences I could find.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
0
Quotes Dos
Ex: "Not sure if you use dating websites but my profile is on dateamalemodle.com it was a strict process to get listed on there."
Me: "What's a modle? Is that kind of like a model?"
#DodgedABullet
Me: "What's a modle? Is that kind of like a model?"
#DodgedABullet
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
0
But for real, I could never date a man who hated dogs or babies. Preferably in that order.
Chew-Baby
I am honestly proud that this is the second post on my blog with the label of "Star Wars."
From Best Week Ever
Conversation between me and my friend, Lindsey. Thanks to her for this page.
Lindsey: omg awesome parents hahahaha. I hate babies but this gives me a reason to have children. Torture! haha
Me: I adore you and am glad we are friends just for that. I feel like our kids are going to be sarcastic and possibly tortured...and will ultimately act out when they are around six years old
But for real, I could never date a man who hated dogs or babies. Preferably in that order.
Monday, October 3, 2011
1 comments
Colon/Parentheses
"Oooh. You're at the point in your relationship when you're using emoticons in texts?"
"Get out of here. I'm like, 'don't smile at me. I'll punch you.'"
:)
"Get out of here. I'm like, 'don't smile at me. I'll punch you.'"
:)
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Thursday, September 29, 2011
1 comments
Times They Are A'Changin'
So I have not written, really written, for awhile. No excuses, a lot of what I have was not ready for the interwebs. So now, here I go. Apologies in advance for excessive use of personal pronouns.
A month ago, my life changed dramatically. After over four years, and a lot of bumps in the road in between, my long-term relationship came to an end. Unlike some rom-com, my life did not crash around me. Point blank, I fell out of love with my best friend. It was an end to some means that grew and seethed for longer than I want to share. To say, "I'm over it" is insulting of a close friendship but I can confidently say that life is moving and moving well. I mean sure, I listened to a ton of Adele that first week but I'm smiling and laughing and surrounded by people whom I love and I think they like me back. I did not eat chocolate and ice cream; I ran and did yoga sculpt. (Nobody wants to date a newly single, depressed fat chick.) I did not sit at home and cry in a dark bedroom; I invited my girlfriends to Chicago and ended up with 2 a.m. bottle service at a swanky club. I enjoyed the last day of summer on a boat in Lake Michigan with new friends; I shopped at Victoria's Secret and drank martinis with my mom; I went on a date to a romantic fondue restaurant in Chicago with my #1 guy (dad); I attended a wedding with one of my married, female best friends as my date. I DYED MY FREAKIN' HAIR RED. Seriously, I really feel sorry for those girls in the rom-coms; they're so sad.
There have been a couple of exchanges here and there between myself and recent ex, which are all friendly in nature (except for the 12:30 a.m. drunk call about "The Muppet Babies.") Below is one worth sharing, as it's an accurate depiction of how I feel. To caveat, this is part of a larger piece of work and the beginning should not be taken as some piggish guy behavior.
I think it's funny what you made some choice purchases at CVS. You are a single dude, I'm not shocked. But that is the exact opposite of what I did. Everyone was like, "you're single, you're hot, you're killing it in this city. Do a hot, rich dude. BLA BLA BLA." No, that's not what I want to do. I'm a catch and I know this. After 25 years, I can honestly say that I am extremely comfortable in my own skin. I love who I am and whomever wants to hang out with me should too. I don't need to go around banging every dude that lives in a high rise to justify how I feel about myself. They are all over Chicago and some are genuinely nice, fun guys but until I really get to know them I probably won't get too excited. A man shouldn't be a novelty item. That's not what I need to be happy. We both have respect for ourselves and others, that's an incredibly admirable quality. So maybe I'll find that guy with the head of hair and the 9-5 job and cooks (that would be money!) but really I just want someone who complements me. That I can be a couple AND a teammate with, that's what will justify my self worth.
You deserve the same thing. Don't screw up.
So sometimes life doesn't work out as planned. There's no need to dwell on it because, at the end of the day, you are left with a wealth of memories and the excitement of an unplanned future. This blog tone will likely change but I'm the anti-Carrie Bradshaw. No need to hear about every man/men I date/make out with in a bar/develop a 20 second crush. That's for me to know, experience, and ultimately end up exactly where I'm supposed to be.
A month ago, my life changed dramatically. After over four years, and a lot of bumps in the road in between, my long-term relationship came to an end. Unlike some rom-com, my life did not crash around me. Point blank, I fell out of love with my best friend. It was an end to some means that grew and seethed for longer than I want to share. To say, "I'm over it" is insulting of a close friendship but I can confidently say that life is moving and moving well. I mean sure, I listened to a ton of Adele that first week but I'm smiling and laughing and surrounded by people whom I love and I think they like me back. I did not eat chocolate and ice cream; I ran and did yoga sculpt. (Nobody wants to date a newly single, depressed fat chick.) I did not sit at home and cry in a dark bedroom; I invited my girlfriends to Chicago and ended up with 2 a.m. bottle service at a swanky club. I enjoyed the last day of summer on a boat in Lake Michigan with new friends; I shopped at Victoria's Secret and drank martinis with my mom; I went on a date to a romantic fondue restaurant in Chicago with my #1 guy (dad); I attended a wedding with one of my married, female best friends as my date. I DYED MY FREAKIN' HAIR RED. Seriously, I really feel sorry for those girls in the rom-coms; they're so sad.
There have been a couple of exchanges here and there between myself and recent ex, which are all friendly in nature (except for the 12:30 a.m. drunk call about "The Muppet Babies.") Below is one worth sharing, as it's an accurate depiction of how I feel. To caveat, this is part of a larger piece of work and the beginning should not be taken as some piggish guy behavior.
I think it's funny what you made some choice purchases at CVS. You are a single dude, I'm not shocked. But that is the exact opposite of what I did. Everyone was like, "you're single, you're hot, you're killing it in this city. Do a hot, rich dude. BLA BLA BLA." No, that's not what I want to do. I'm a catch and I know this. After 25 years, I can honestly say that I am extremely comfortable in my own skin. I love who I am and whomever wants to hang out with me should too. I don't need to go around banging every dude that lives in a high rise to justify how I feel about myself. They are all over Chicago and some are genuinely nice, fun guys but until I really get to know them I probably won't get too excited. A man shouldn't be a novelty item. That's not what I need to be happy. We both have respect for ourselves and others, that's an incredibly admirable quality. So maybe I'll find that guy with the head of hair and the 9-5 job and cooks (that would be money!) but really I just want someone who complements me. That I can be a couple AND a teammate with, that's what will justify my self worth.
You deserve the same thing. Don't screw up.
So sometimes life doesn't work out as planned. There's no need to dwell on it because, at the end of the day, you are left with a wealth of memories and the excitement of an unplanned future. This blog tone will likely change but I'm the anti-Carrie Bradshaw. No need to hear about every man/men I date/make out with in a bar/develop a 20 second crush. That's for me to know, experience, and ultimately end up exactly where I'm supposed to be.
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Wednesday, September 21, 2011
1 comments
Facebook V. 310
I joined Facebook nearly seven years ago, making me old in technological terms. (Yes, my college actually had to be approved for Facebook. If you remember this then you are also old.) Since that time, Facebook has undergone more facelifts than Heidi Montag, William Shatner, and Burt Reynolds combined to the eighth power. It happens. Now I have a Facebook feed for my Facebook feed? Whatever.
I actually learned about the Facebook revamp from Twitter. #SocialMediaOverload
I actually learned about the Facebook revamp from Twitter. #SocialMediaOverload
Monday, September 12, 2011
0
Chicago Boat Ride
One of the coolest videos I have seen in awhile with one of my favorite quotes. Not a bad pairing.
Chicago by boat: A timelapse journey from Philip Bloom on Vimeo.
"As we ride past, I fall in love with my city all over again. Yes, it’s crowded and expensive and full of people who annoy me, but at this shining moment, I’ve never seen anything more gorgeous. I realize Chicago’s a great city not because it’s glamorous, but because it’s real…People come from all over the world live here, and each of them fits right in without missing a step. The beauty of this city is not that it’s exclusive but that it’s inclusive." - Jen Lancaster
Chicago by boat: A timelapse journey from Philip Bloom on Vimeo.
"As we ride past, I fall in love with my city all over again. Yes, it’s crowded and expensive and full of people who annoy me, but at this shining moment, I’ve never seen anything more gorgeous. I realize Chicago’s a great city not because it’s glamorous, but because it’s real…People come from all over the world live here, and each of them fits right in without missing a step. The beauty of this city is not that it’s exclusive but that it’s inclusive." - Jen Lancaster
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
0
Ladies, take a deep breath and repeat after me: "leggings are not pants. Nobody wants to see my camel toe at 8:30 a.m. Or ever."
It's fortunate for you that she turned before I snagged this shot. Plus with the Nikes...dear God. Bet she didn't except to end up on the interwebs when she snapped that waistband up to her belly button this morning.
Fashion Disaster Vol. 1
Ladies, take a deep breath and repeat after me: "leggings are not pants. Nobody wants to see my camel toe at 8:30 a.m. Or ever."
It's fortunate for you that she turned before I snagged this shot. Plus with the Nikes...dear God. Bet she didn't except to end up on the interwebs when she snapped that waistband up to her belly button this morning.
Monday, September 5, 2011
0
If you Don't Like Big Red, then Fuck You!
I went through a drastic change this weekend and love every second of that decision. I walked into a hair salon (seven hours too late because of my choice to part-ay the prior night) with a picture of "pre-coke/poor life choices Lindsay Lohan." Recently single? Bring. It. On.
Me: "I want this."
Amazing stylist whom I now love/BFF: "This is going to be fun...ya, I love this. We are going to make this happen."
A little over an hour later, I began life as a happy-go-lucky redhead. My best friends from home and I were shopping in Chicago this weekend when a homeless, wheelchair bound man with no legs (as most solid Chicago stories start) even declared, "a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead?! Well I be lookin' at Charlie's Angels!"
Yes, sir.
After a truly epic weekend it is fair to say that is a good start. Keep the "Ginger," "Ariel," and "Fire Crotch" nicknames going everyone.
Me: "I want this."
Amazing stylist whom I now love/BFF: "This is going to be fun...ya, I love this. We are going to make this happen."
A little over an hour later, I began life as a happy-go-lucky redhead. My best friends from home and I were shopping in Chicago this weekend when a homeless, wheelchair bound man with no legs (as most solid Chicago stories start) even declared, "a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead?! Well I be lookin' at Charlie's Angels!"
Yes, sir.
After a truly epic weekend it is fair to say that is a good start. Keep the "Ginger," "Ariel," and "Fire Crotch" nicknames going everyone.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
0
Quotes Uno
"I mean, I seriously hate Sex and the City. If Kim Cattrall walking around and fucking every 20-year-old guy she sees is women empowerment, then Susan B. Anthony is rolling her grave."
- Moi
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
1 comments
Tender Embrace
This is undeniably the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen. How lonely are you? It looks like somebody took a life-size muppet, then a chainsaw, and went to town on this poor guy. Besides, nobody should share a bed with a man wearing a button-down shirt.
I'm considering purchasing this for my apartment. Primarily to throw it on my roommate when she is sleeping then run away in a fit of giggles. Be ready, Micah Fry, because that hand is creeping me out already.
I'm considering purchasing this for my apartment. Primarily to throw it on my roommate when she is sleeping then run away in a fit of giggles. Be ready, Micah Fry, because that hand is creeping me out already.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
0
Lolla. Epic.
Lollapalooza is a three day music festival of absolutely epic proportions. As a Chicagoan of over three years, I obliged to attend at least one. At the end of it all, it's nearly impossible to describe my abundance of love for it. My parents raised me and my brother with an appreciation of all types of music (primarily Fleetwood Mac, Meatloaf, the Eagles, the Beatles, you name it). Ryan began playing guitar around the age of eleven and I am still jealous of his ability to create. Someone, if you're reading this, buy me an acoustic please!
I wrote about Lolla, I talked about it plenty, played the music on loop, and took enough pictures. I will leave you with those because sometimes experience cannot be put into words. Seriously, three of the best days of my life.
I wrote about Lolla, I talked about it plenty, played the music on loop, and took enough pictures. I will leave you with those because sometimes experience cannot be put into words. Seriously, three of the best days of my life.
One for mom and dad.
When Crystal wants to sit on a broad man's shoulders to see Eminem, she gets it done.
Then it rained for over an hour, as me and my friends stood forlorn and defeated under trees that provided us no shelter. Ryan's dri-fit shirt wouldn't even keep him dry. That is the moment we knew to embrace the storm.
Double rainbow? What does it mean?!
Why are we planking? Because we are at Lolla and in the middle of Jackson St. and can do whatever we want. That's why we are planking.
It took three days for me to feel clean again and there may still be mud behind my ear. Worth it.
Then this. David Grohl and Foo Fighters killed it. During the most intense storm of Lolla (seriously, pelting rain hitting your face hurts) we sang "My Hero." Just watch.
This gives me chills every time.
Friday, August 5, 2011
2
I never want to see who actually rides the bike; I imagine that is a mortifying experience similar to what a small child at Disney World endures when Mickey Mouse's head falls onto the ground. Reality shattered. As one of my friends put it, "I imagine that an even bigger puppet is inside with all the little puppets. That or a tiny sweaty man. Yes, let's not open it up."
Lil' Bit 'O Magic
Sometimes I just enjoy the simple things in life. This is one of the things I love so much about Chicago. Yes, it's the third largest metropolitan area in the country but, here and there, we can find quirky little things to amuse. Little secrets that a handful know about, even as the tourists with wallets full of cash scamper on to Michigan Ave. One of my favorite gems is Puppet Bike. It's exactly like it sounds, a puppet show on a bike. It is impossible for me to explain what I love about this. Puppet Bike makes me feel like a child. A tiny for her age child who read Baby Sitters Club - Little Sister books and watched Stick Stickley on Nickelodeon before lunch time.
Specifically the child second from left.
I don't care how ridiculous this sounds but when a tiny white dog waves its stuffed paw at me, I smile. I smile big. So imagine my delight when I walked into work today (one of the agencies in my building is celebrating its "76 years young" birthday) and saw Puppet Bike. Hoorah, my little friends even posed!
I never want to see who actually rides the bike; I imagine that is a mortifying experience similar to what a small child at Disney World endures when Mickey Mouse's head falls onto the ground. Reality shattered. As one of my friends put it, "I imagine that an even bigger puppet is inside with all the little puppets. That or a tiny sweaty man. Yes, let's not open it up."
Thursday, August 4, 2011
0
Movin' on Up
Today I took a big step in my career as I moved up to the 9th floor of the office. This is ironic as I started on the 11th floor nearly three years ago. Neither here nor there. In celebration of my move, for lack of a better word, Emily and I held a photo shoot celebrating the realities of office space. We even used a hipster camera app that all the cool kids are using. No worries dear client, this is totally billable.
How I exited my cube on a daily basis, some time around 5 p.m.
Was not a fan of geometry, but the lines and shapes of this picture trip me out all over the place.
Dreaming about big things, like an office with a river view.
Do the creep
Yep, I caught you creeping.
Now I'm on the 9th floor and away from the floor that represented a hospital mental ward. But after 15 months, it is fair to say I will miss it.
2
Splitting at the Seams
Interpret however you wish, but I love this song. It is a Band of Brothers recreation by Cee-Lo Green (whom I am delighted to see this weekend at Lollapalooza). He's like a penguin with t-rex arms that can belt out a song. What a trifecta.
Tragic hipster love.
Tragic hipster love.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
0
Past & Permanence
Lately I have entertained the idea of doing something unthinkable. I mentioned running a half marathon was unthinkable? This is worse. Way worse.
I'm entertaining the idea of inking myself. A tattoo. Seven little letters in script, either on my foot or on my rib cage below my left armpit. Hidden but there.
An Italian phrase: Mai Soli.
There is a part of me talking myself out of doing something as "yucky" as branding myself.
This permanent reminder would be for the memory of four people, one of whom is "still kicking" in her own words. My grandparents. Four people for whom I am forever grateful, even as I live most of my life without them. They deserve a little introduction, shall we?
-------------
On the paternal side we have Cleo and Helen. Cleo's family moved in across the street from Helen's, just as he arrived home from a tour in Burma during World War II. The moment Helen saw him she told her mother, "I'm going to marry him." Her mom said she was crazy but Helen won. The family moved, Grandpa went to work, Grandma took care of their small family of one girl and one boy. My dad's parents are the reason Florida is still a favorite vacation spot. They went almost every year, my dad as a boy sticking his head out the window and avoiding the backlash of Grandpa's unfiltered cigarettes.
My grandparents were my buddies and we always visited on Fridays. There were Grandpa's stories of a heroic, protagonistic bobcat stuck in a tree. The cat would stay in a tree because Grandpa couldn't think of what to do with him. The Irish style hats he wore although he wasn't Irish. How much he hated books on tape, because he loved to read but lost most of his eyesight before I was born. The way he and my grandma loved each other when she called him "honey bunny." How my grandma crumbled when he passed away, but not without an admirable fight.
My grandma is still alive and with higher than satisfactory blood pressure, through all her medical issues. She is much tinier than she was, she talks about the past, and there is not one day I am around her that she doesn't discuss her bowels. Grandma is a much different person than the days of crossword puzzles, Limited Too trips, and watching "Walker, Texas Ranger." On our past vacation she forgot how me and my brother are related. I cried for twenty miles. Then I remember her as she was, not as she is, and love her unconditionally for it.
-------------
My maternal grandparents, Jim and Kay (or James and Clara to outsiders), were depression era babies from rural, Central Illinois. German Catholic families with lots of children and even more farm land. They grew up close to one another but I don't recall how they met. Like all good American boys, Jim enlisted in World War II. He asked Kay to marry him and she responded with a "no." The possibility of being a widow in her late teens was too frightening. So when Jim came back, two torpedoed ships later, she said yes.
Fast forward six children (number six being mom, the first and only girl) and ten grandchildren later, then I'm in the picture. Grandma's puzzle and Yahtzee! buddy; she even taught me to cheat at solitaire. A lifelong Cubs fan, she taught me to not be a Cubs fan. ("They're horrible!") Her ruffle collared shirts and dangling pearl earrings. Grandpa's well-kept Buick which he drove to pick us up from school, never a minute late. Grandpa's pressed plaid shirts, thick rimmed glasses. My younger brother's little legs on their long walks, as he kept us with his 6'2" grandpa. Dinners at 5 p.m. with pudding for dinner. A large scale fifty year wedding anniversary surrounded by lifelong friends and family.
Watching my grandpa pass away from colon cancer that had taken over his body. Grandma joining him suddenly, less than a couple years later.
-------------
My children won't know their great-grandparents as I do. They will be figments of their active imaginations. No more real than characters in short stories; whom mommy visits at Camp Butler National Cemetery when she is in her hometown.
So for all that, the question of adding a permanent ink to my body continues.
Mai Soli means "Never Alone."
I'm entertaining the idea of inking myself. A tattoo. Seven little letters in script, either on my foot or on my rib cage below my left armpit. Hidden but there.
An Italian phrase: Mai Soli.
There is a part of me talking myself out of doing something as "yucky" as branding myself.
This permanent reminder would be for the memory of four people, one of whom is "still kicking" in her own words. My grandparents. Four people for whom I am forever grateful, even as I live most of my life without them. They deserve a little introduction, shall we?
-------------
On the paternal side we have Cleo and Helen. Cleo's family moved in across the street from Helen's, just as he arrived home from a tour in Burma during World War II. The moment Helen saw him she told her mother, "I'm going to marry him." Her mom said she was crazy but Helen won. The family moved, Grandpa went to work, Grandma took care of their small family of one girl and one boy. My dad's parents are the reason Florida is still a favorite vacation spot. They went almost every year, my dad as a boy sticking his head out the window and avoiding the backlash of Grandpa's unfiltered cigarettes.
My grandparents were my buddies and we always visited on Fridays. There were Grandpa's stories of a heroic, protagonistic bobcat stuck in a tree. The cat would stay in a tree because Grandpa couldn't think of what to do with him. The Irish style hats he wore although he wasn't Irish. How much he hated books on tape, because he loved to read but lost most of his eyesight before I was born. The way he and my grandma loved each other when she called him "honey bunny." How my grandma crumbled when he passed away, but not without an admirable fight.
My grandma is still alive and with higher than satisfactory blood pressure, through all her medical issues. She is much tinier than she was, she talks about the past, and there is not one day I am around her that she doesn't discuss her bowels. Grandma is a much different person than the days of crossword puzzles, Limited Too trips, and watching "Walker, Texas Ranger." On our past vacation she forgot how me and my brother are related. I cried for twenty miles. Then I remember her as she was, not as she is, and love her unconditionally for it.
-------------
My maternal grandparents, Jim and Kay (or James and Clara to outsiders), were depression era babies from rural, Central Illinois. German Catholic families with lots of children and even more farm land. They grew up close to one another but I don't recall how they met. Like all good American boys, Jim enlisted in World War II. He asked Kay to marry him and she responded with a "no." The possibility of being a widow in her late teens was too frightening. So when Jim came back, two torpedoed ships later, she said yes.
Fast forward six children (number six being mom, the first and only girl) and ten grandchildren later, then I'm in the picture. Grandma's puzzle and Yahtzee! buddy; she even taught me to cheat at solitaire. A lifelong Cubs fan, she taught me to not be a Cubs fan. ("They're horrible!") Her ruffle collared shirts and dangling pearl earrings. Grandpa's well-kept Buick which he drove to pick us up from school, never a minute late. Grandpa's pressed plaid shirts, thick rimmed glasses. My younger brother's little legs on their long walks, as he kept us with his 6'2" grandpa. Dinners at 5 p.m. with pudding for dinner. A large scale fifty year wedding anniversary surrounded by lifelong friends and family.
Watching my grandpa pass away from colon cancer that had taken over his body. Grandma joining him suddenly, less than a couple years later.
-------------
My children won't know their great-grandparents as I do. They will be figments of their active imaginations. No more real than characters in short stories; whom mommy visits at Camp Butler National Cemetery when she is in her hometown.
So for all that, the question of adding a permanent ink to my body continues.
Mai Soli means "Never Alone."
In the middle is me, grandma Kay, and grandpa Jim standing behind us.
Monday, July 25, 2011
1 comments
Emotions with Jon Hamm
Jon Hamm and I have a ton in common. Mostly we both wear St. Louis Cardinals hats.
Also, I work in advertising and he pretends to work in advertising on an Emmy winning AMC series. So we have that going for us.
Today, my brother sent me http://emotionswithjonhamm.tumblr.com/ that I want to share. Jon Hamm possesses an unmatched charismatic personality (did you see Bridesmaids?) and is just a cool dude to like. I mean, look at him. He is so manly. Enjoy.
Today, my brother sent me http://emotionswithjonhamm.tumblr.com/ that I want to share. Jon Hamm possesses an unmatched charismatic personality (did you see Bridesmaids?) and is just a cool dude to like. I mean, look at him. He is so manly. Enjoy.
Friday, July 15, 2011
0
Fun Fact Friday
I am a self proclaimed Groupon fan. Every day I discover ways to whiten my teeth, relax my tense deltoids with an hour long massage and remove unsightly hair. Realistically, I just buy deals for new restaurants and mini adventures in Chicago.
Through the years though, I screwed up. I bought Groupons that went to waste as the expiration date ticked closer then passed. Money down the drain! (noooooo.)
Then today, per a recommendation from a friend, I called Groupon's customer service department. From what I can tell it is a young, fun group of people who probably don't love being on the phone but do a pretty good job of pretending they don't mind. I spoke with a bubbly girl and explained that "I'm an idiot whom allows perfectly good Groupons to expire." From here I earned one of two options:
1.) Use that Groupon as cash at the business
2.) Refund the amount back to my Groupon account to be used on a future Groupon purchase
Already stated, I am a Groupon fiend and excitedly opted for option number two. Now I possess $73 to spend on a future purchase I may or may not need.
Lesson learned, your money is not lost. Ask the question and you shall receive. I feel as rich as Scrooge McDuck right now, swimming in intangible Groupon credits.
Through the years though, I screwed up. I bought Groupons that went to waste as the expiration date ticked closer then passed. Money down the drain! (noooooo.)
Then today, per a recommendation from a friend, I called Groupon's customer service department. From what I can tell it is a young, fun group of people who probably don't love being on the phone but do a pretty good job of pretending they don't mind. I spoke with a bubbly girl and explained that "I'm an idiot whom allows perfectly good Groupons to expire." From here I earned one of two options:
1.) Use that Groupon as cash at the business
2.) Refund the amount back to my Groupon account to be used on a future Groupon purchase
Already stated, I am a Groupon fiend and excitedly opted for option number two. Now I possess $73 to spend on a future purchase I may or may not need.
Lesson learned, your money is not lost. Ask the question and you shall receive. I feel as rich as Scrooge McDuck right now, swimming in intangible Groupon credits.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
0
SMG-Unit is Movin' on Up in the Playoffs!
Dearest SMG-unit,
Tuesday night SMG-Unit and its small army stuck it to Sparkle. Again. For the third time. Seriously, did we play anyone else this season? Carry on. The score was 13 or 14 or 15 against two. I've asked around and nobody knows for sure so whatever. A lot to a little. Winners!
Injuries were abound Tuesday night. Early on, Meganwas duped by her CTA card and went ricocheting off the turn style en route to a southbound red line train. She recovered nicely and trekked on to the game. Once the game began, an elementary mistake was made by an opponent on the Sparkle side. OMG, NEVER EVER EVER THROW YOUR BAT. There was a brief delay of game as catcher Theresa "Dot" Voyles (not sure how to refer to myself here) knelt on the ground and said cuss words while her right shin swelled. It was a mere flesh wound (or deep pulsing bruise?) that required a later icing from a bag of frozen California vegetable medley.
Jason pitched five shut out innings of spectacular slow pitch, blowing the ball by hitters and shutting down Spark. John came in for some relief work and gave up only two runs (Ryan Franklin 2011 style). Although Jason was initially upset by this turn of events, Durbin and the defense held on in the sixth and seventh.
13/14/15 runs scored in a game obviously means big hits. Special props to the ladies of G-Unit, especially Brittany and Nikki, with some solid pieces of hitting that allowed us to take a commanding lead in the late innings. As the third baseman from Spark was quoted saying, "mother f@&%er. Your girls have had more hits this game than our team has all season." Rock on. Claude also, once again, had claim to an easy out homerun® that put a few on the board. Jason continued the spree with a triple-like hit that caused the bench to scream "STOP!" then "PLEASE STOP!" and finally ended with third base coach, Collin, tackling Jason to stop his determined sprint. Something like that. Steve a.k.a. "Turtle" continued the trend of refusing to stop at third base (started by Jason and an overrun by Scott) and made the bench a little nervous. Typically, "OH SHIT!" is not yelled on the base path between third and home but because he scored, we will let it go.
One of the best moments of the game came when Megan was tossed (we wish) from the game after making a web gem play at first, only to be refused the call by the ump. "YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME?! C'MON" and some other words were exchanged as she charged home. (It was kind of like this.) There must be something in the water on the search floor. Oddly enough, Jeff "Yanks" kept it quiet on the other side of the diamond. When we questioned his lack of verbal back up, he replied "every time I do that you guys get mad at me." Yanks then came back to normalcy by completing a double play to end the game, sprinting off the field and up the hill, and declaring "fuck class!" Yes, we are G-Unit and class is overrated.
We followed up with an after party at Bar Louie highlighted by chewy $1 burgers and watching the National League win its second All-Star Game in a row. Take that, AL! (To anyone that does not know - the AL has won seven of the last two years...that extra was a tie.) Overrated fact.
The playoffs continue in another lifetime on Saturday, August 20th. Scott added a Lotus invite but please keep it on your mind. We may be practicing in between this time so keep those arms warm and stretch those hammies. Updates to come!
Deuces!
Dot
This e-mail was brought to you by the letter T for Theresa, [hangin'] tough, and a tumor. It's not a toomah!
Tuesday night SMG-Unit and its small army stuck it to Sparkle. Again. For the third time. Seriously, did we play anyone else this season? Carry on. The score was 13 or 14 or 15 against two. I've asked around and nobody knows for sure so whatever. A lot to a little. Winners!
Injuries were abound Tuesday night. Early on, Meganwas duped by her CTA card and went ricocheting off the turn style en route to a southbound red line train. She recovered nicely and trekked on to the game. Once the game began, an elementary mistake was made by an opponent on the Sparkle side. OMG, NEVER EVER EVER THROW YOUR BAT. There was a brief delay of game as catcher Theresa "Dot" Voyles (not sure how to refer to myself here) knelt on the ground and said cuss words while her right shin swelled. It was a mere flesh wound (or deep pulsing bruise?) that required a later icing from a bag of frozen California vegetable medley.
Jason pitched five shut out innings of spectacular slow pitch, blowing the ball by hitters and shutting down Spark. John came in for some relief work and gave up only two runs (Ryan Franklin 2011 style). Although Jason was initially upset by this turn of events, Durbin and the defense held on in the sixth and seventh.
13/14/15 runs scored in a game obviously means big hits. Special props to the ladies of G-Unit, especially Brittany and Nikki, with some solid pieces of hitting that allowed us to take a commanding lead in the late innings. As the third baseman from Spark was quoted saying, "mother f@&%er. Your girls have had more hits this game than our team has all season." Rock on. Claude also, once again, had claim to an easy out homerun® that put a few on the board. Jason continued the spree with a triple-like hit that caused the bench to scream "STOP!" then "PLEASE STOP!" and finally ended with third base coach, Collin, tackling Jason to stop his determined sprint. Something like that. Steve a.k.a. "Turtle" continued the trend of refusing to stop at third base (started by Jason and an overrun by Scott) and made the bench a little nervous. Typically, "OH SHIT!" is not yelled on the base path between third and home but because he scored, we will let it go.
One of the best moments of the game came when Megan was tossed (we wish) from the game after making a web gem play at first, only to be refused the call by the ump. "YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME?! C'MON" and some other words were exchanged as she charged home. (It was kind of like this.) There must be something in the water on the search floor. Oddly enough, Jeff "Yanks" kept it quiet on the other side of the diamond. When we questioned his lack of verbal back up, he replied "every time I do that you guys get mad at me." Yanks then came back to normalcy by completing a double play to end the game, sprinting off the field and up the hill, and declaring "fuck class!" Yes, we are G-Unit and class is overrated.
We followed up with an after party at Bar Louie highlighted by chewy $1 burgers and watching the National League win its second All-Star Game in a row. Take that, AL! (To anyone that does not know - the AL has won seven of the last two years...that extra was a tie.) Overrated fact.
The playoffs continue in another lifetime on Saturday, August 20th. Scott added a Lotus invite but please keep it on your mind. We may be practicing in between this time so keep those arms warm and stretch those hammies. Updates to come!
Deuces!
Dot
This e-mail was brought to you by the letter T for Theresa, [hangin'] tough, and a tumor. It's not a toomah!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
0
I Hate You Bike Thief, the Theresa version.
A couple years ago, I wrote open letters Falcon Heene a.k.a. the Bubble Boy. (Part 1 and part 2.) Due to this morning's recent development (see picture below) and this site, open letters are back.
It's also not censored and, while I typically don't write with "foul language" on my blog, this time I do not care. Dammit.
My dearest bike thief,
First off, you're an ass-hole. Good to get that off my chest.
I hope it pains you to know that you are not even the best of the two bike thieves. You see, last summer my childhood bike was stolen off my my second floor back porch. It was a 20" turquoise Huffy that I received for Christmas circa the 1996 era. The first big girl bike to call my own! The metallic rainbow lettering, the matching water bottle, the silver spokes. Her and I instantly fell in love and enjoyed over a decade together. I was on that bike when my brother rode his own two-wheeler into a mailbox, we screeched down hills in the Ozark mountains and nearly crashed at the bottom, it got me through the first summers in high school when all the cool kids drove. Then in 2010, some fucking asshole ripped my heart out and stole that bike. Oh, I cried. You can take my bike, but never my memories!
Then you came along and tried to bring up the past? What little you know.
This morning, I walked outside after a decent run to ride home and stared. Then stared some more. My mind starting racing...my bike was right here last night, right? "MY BIKE! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BIKE? FUCK THIS SHIT!" To the middle-aged woman walking her little white dogs, I am not sorry for frightening you with this outburst. We live in a dangerous world and my temperament is the least of your problems.
But it's not her or her gross little dogs I hate; it's you, Bike Thief. I parked my bike between two Schwinns, both also with chain locks, on purpose. Do you know the retail of a Schwinn? More than my Magna Great Divide mountain bike, I'll tell you that. When you google search "magna bike" do you know the first paid search option? Target.com. Renowned bicycle experts, TAR-GET DOT COM.
After last year's insult on my dignity I bought the cheapest shit available at Target. A $100 Magna I affectionately named, You're my Boy Blue, that was meant for men. My bad. Reviews on Target.com are at one and a half stars. My favorite is below:
DO NOT BUY THIS BIKE...[it] has a poor gear system. It is very difficult to get the bike to shift gears if you can at all. The shifter on the left handle bar completely broke off during the ride. I had to hold the shifter in place to complete the ride. The grip on the handle bars slips off. The brakes do very little to slow the bike, good luck stopping! [...]
You're my Boy Blue is a death trap of epic proportions. So maybe that's why I immediately bought a helmet. When the brakes go out at least my head will be protected. As annoyed as I am to lose my two-wheeled mode of transportation between point A and point B (especially along the lake shore) I feel a sense of retribution has been dealt to you. I believe in swift vengeance and karma (or whatever helps me sleep better).
So there you are bike thief, I have directly put you in danger. Or whomever buys it from you. Either way, it's no matter to me. As the letter above states, "I hope my bike takes you straight to hell."
xoxo,
Theresa Marie Voyles
P.S. - Once you ride the bike, and realize its lack of quality, it is possible that you will return it. If so, please return to the same bike rack with the note, "sorry I stole your shit bike." Then, walk into traffic.
It's also not censored and, while I typically don't write with "foul language" on my blog, this time I do not care. Dammit.
First off, you're an ass-hole. Good to get that off my chest.
I hope it pains you to know that you are not even the best of the two bike thieves. You see, last summer my childhood bike was stolen off my my second floor back porch. It was a 20" turquoise Huffy that I received for Christmas circa the 1996 era. The first big girl bike to call my own! The metallic rainbow lettering, the matching water bottle, the silver spokes. Her and I instantly fell in love and enjoyed over a decade together. I was on that bike when my brother rode his own two-wheeler into a mailbox, we screeched down hills in the Ozark mountains and nearly crashed at the bottom, it got me through the first summers in high school when all the cool kids drove. Then in 2010, some fucking asshole ripped my heart out and stole that bike. Oh, I cried. You can take my bike, but never my memories!
Then you came along and tried to bring up the past? What little you know.
This morning, I walked outside after a decent run to ride home and stared. Then stared some more. My mind starting racing...my bike was right here last night, right? "MY BIKE! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BIKE? FUCK THIS SHIT!" To the middle-aged woman walking her little white dogs, I am not sorry for frightening you with this outburst. We live in a dangerous world and my temperament is the least of your problems.
But it's not her or her gross little dogs I hate; it's you, Bike Thief. I parked my bike between two Schwinns, both also with chain locks, on purpose. Do you know the retail of a Schwinn? More than my Magna Great Divide mountain bike, I'll tell you that. When you google search "magna bike" do you know the first paid search option? Target.com. Renowned bicycle experts, TAR-GET DOT COM.
After last year's insult on my dignity I bought the cheapest shit available at Target. A $100 Magna I affectionately named, You're my Boy Blue, that was meant for men. My bad. Reviews on Target.com are at one and a half stars. My favorite is below:
DO NOT BUY THIS BIKE...[it] has a poor gear system. It is very difficult to get the bike to shift gears if you can at all. The shifter on the left handle bar completely broke off during the ride. I had to hold the shifter in place to complete the ride. The grip on the handle bars slips off. The brakes do very little to slow the bike, good luck stopping! [...]
You're my Boy Blue is a death trap of epic proportions. So maybe that's why I immediately bought a helmet. When the brakes go out at least my head will be protected. As annoyed as I am to lose my two-wheeled mode of transportation between point A and point B (especially along the lake shore) I feel a sense of retribution has been dealt to you. I believe in swift vengeance and karma (or whatever helps me sleep better).
So there you are bike thief, I have directly put you in danger. Or whomever buys it from you. Either way, it's no matter to me. As the letter above states, "I hope my bike takes you straight to hell."
xoxo,
Theresa Marie Voyles
P.S. - Once you ride the bike, and realize its lack of quality, it is possible that you will return it. If so, please return to the same bike rack with the note, "sorry I stole your shit bike." Then, walk into traffic.
Friday, July 8, 2011
0
Run, Theresa, Run
Consider this a follow up to this little diddy.
Weeks ago, I chose to do something previously unthinkable. After consulting with friends, anxiously researching online, and talking myself in and out of it, I signed up for the Chicago Rock 'N' Roll Half Marathon. 13.1 miles of solid rock running. I mean, how do you say no to a Bret Michaels concert at the end of a race?! At this point, at my current pace and five weeks before the race, it will take me somewhere around two hours.
If you stole Doc's DeLorean, went back to 2008, and told my past self about this the response would be mixed. First, surprise ("hm, that's impressive") then denial ("lies. you don't run") then uncontrollable tears ("why is the economy so bad and why am I still waiting tables?").
Now, there is just excitement. I'm currently on a four-day-a-week schedule. There is room for flexibility, with flip-flopping between Tuesday and Wednesdays or maybe a Friday long run depending on weekend plans. There's a difference between being strict and being insane.
You see, Rome wasn't built in a day. I still do not call myself a "runner." But those seemingly pompous jerks with their Nike run gear, zoned out with an iPod, sweaty and absolutely miserable? This summer, that woman is me.
It happened last Saturday. I woke up at eight a.m. to run seven miles in ninety degree heat. Somewhere between mile five and mile "I'm going to fall over and die on this road" I become one of those people. Instead of drinking beer last night, I chose water and woke up at 6:15 on a Friday to train. Dedication or stupidity? Both. This isn't a lifestyle, but for now it feels pretty amazing.
I never let go of that athlete stigma that was encrusted in my brain since childhood. Dammit, I will keep going until I break down.
To conclude, I recommend these types of challenges to anyone. Try to become one of those people and you may find something you love. Try Bikram yoga, sign up for your first 5K, buy a bike from Target. Firsthand, these experiences will change your life for the better. Number one rule, never forget to have fun on the way.
I will make updates along the way, some time after the 6 a.m. wake up call that announces it's time to put on some work out gear already laid out the night before.
Weeks ago, I chose to do something previously unthinkable. After consulting with friends, anxiously researching online, and talking myself in and out of it, I signed up for the Chicago Rock 'N' Roll Half Marathon. 13.1 miles of solid rock running. I mean, how do you say no to a Bret Michaels concert at the end of a race?! At this point, at my current pace and five weeks before the race, it will take me somewhere around two hours.
If you stole Doc's DeLorean, went back to 2008, and told my past self about this the response would be mixed. First, surprise ("hm, that's impressive") then denial ("lies. you don't run") then uncontrollable tears ("why is the economy so bad and why am I still waiting tables?").
Now, there is just excitement. I'm currently on a four-day-a-week schedule. There is room for flexibility, with flip-flopping between Tuesday and Wednesdays or maybe a Friday long run depending on weekend plans. There's a difference between being strict and being insane.
You see, Rome wasn't built in a day. I still do not call myself a "runner." But those seemingly pompous jerks with their Nike run gear, zoned out with an iPod, sweaty and absolutely miserable? This summer, that woman is me.
It happened last Saturday. I woke up at eight a.m. to run seven miles in ninety degree heat. Somewhere between mile five and mile "I'm going to fall over and die on this road" I become one of those people. Instead of drinking beer last night, I chose water and woke up at 6:15 on a Friday to train. Dedication or stupidity? Both. This isn't a lifestyle, but for now it feels pretty amazing.
I never let go of that athlete stigma that was encrusted in my brain since childhood. Dammit, I will keep going until I break down.
To conclude, I recommend these types of challenges to anyone. Try to become one of those people and you may find something you love. Try Bikram yoga, sign up for your first 5K, buy a bike from Target. Firsthand, these experiences will change your life for the better. Number one rule, never forget to have fun on the way.
I will make updates along the way, some time after the 6 a.m. wake up call that announces it's time to put on some work out gear already laid out the night before.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
0
G-Unit makes sauce of the Bad Apples. (Ya, I went there.)
Chapter three of my weekly softball e-mail.
_____
Hey guys!
Here's your recap e-mail. Sorry it's late, I was "working" this morning. Overrated.
Tuesday night was the "last hoorah" for the G-Unit's regular season and it did not disappoint. Highlights include stellar defense, key hits, and the opportunity to use "dry hump" in context. Overall, a success.
After Sam stripped down to boxers and changed into gym shorts in the middle of Grant Park (really, Sam?) G-Unit took the field to take on its office building rivals, Bad Apples. Already bitter about losing a top shelf bottle of tequila, exiting captain Scott led the game off with a solo HR over the right field intern's head. That shot set up momentum maintained throughout the night. Claude's now trademarked "easy out Grand Slam" delivered the dagger G-Unit needed and lifted the crowd from their seats.He followed it up with a strike out...nevermind. Not important.
G-Unit also delivered seven innings of fantastic defense. One of the best moments came late in the game, with a textbook run down that was so perfect it would make your Little League coach cry tears of joy. With a [probably illegal] pinch runner on third, the Bad Apples were looking to tighten our lead. Making a heads up play at pitcher, Jason faked the throw to first and looked to silent Jeff to apply the tag. Yenks got the runner in a pickle, tossed it to Colleen and, like an overly competitive game of monkey in the middle, threw it back to Jason who ended it all by making the tag. For anyone who didn't follow that, Jason > Yenks > Colleen > Jason. Out. Also, a big hoorah to the G-Unit outfield that kept the ball in front and just overall kicked ass. Especially the fitting last out of the last regular season game, a catch by coach.
Perhaps the most athletic moment of the night came when the team redneck, Jason, ran the approximate 1.1 miles (and 1.1 back) to the Old Navy on State St. to purchase a pair of shorts to replace his man-pris. I need a running buddy, let me know if you're available.
In the end.
1.) We won
2.) There was Old Style in the dug out
3.) Nobody was hurt/killed in a unnecessary tackle at home plate
4.) Katie brought a male friend to hang out and then give her beer after the game! Gentlemen, take careful notes of this behavior.
5.) While it wasn't Jock Jams (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P9HCPAEc48), our warm up music was Interpol opening for U2. That's kind of cool too.
Next week is playoffs (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7fjDS0jKiE&NR=1). Traditionally it's not our greatest showing, so let's get ready to win next week too!
If you need some additional motivation, this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6wRkzCW5qI) does not disappoint.
Have a great rest of the day!
- Dot
_____
Hey guys!
Here's your recap e-mail. Sorry it's late, I was "working" this morning. Overrated.
Tuesday night was the "last hoorah" for the G-Unit's regular season and it did not disappoint. Highlights include stellar defense, key hits, and the opportunity to use "dry hump" in context. Overall, a success.
After Sam stripped down to boxers and changed into gym shorts in the middle of Grant Park (really, Sam?) G-Unit took the field to take on its office building rivals, Bad Apples. Already bitter about losing a top shelf bottle of tequila, exiting captain Scott led the game off with a solo HR over the right field intern's head. That shot set up momentum maintained throughout the night. Claude's now trademarked "easy out Grand Slam" delivered the dagger G-Unit needed and lifted the crowd from their seats.
G-Unit also delivered seven innings of fantastic defense. One of the best moments came late in the game, with a textbook run down that was so perfect it would make your Little League coach cry tears of joy. With a [probably illegal] pinch runner on third, the Bad Apples were looking to tighten our lead. Making a heads up play at pitcher, Jason faked the throw to first and looked to silent Jeff to apply the tag. Yenks got the runner in a pickle, tossed it to Colleen and, like an overly competitive game of monkey in the middle, threw it back to Jason who ended it all by making the tag. For anyone who didn't follow that, Jason > Yenks > Colleen > Jason. Out. Also, a big hoorah to the G-Unit outfield that kept the ball in front and just overall kicked ass. Especially the fitting last out of the last regular season game, a catch by coach.
Perhaps the most athletic moment of the night came when the team redneck, Jason, ran the approximate 1.1 miles (and 1.1 back) to the Old Navy on State St. to purchase a pair of shorts to replace his man-pris. I need a running buddy, let me know if you're available.
In the end.
1.) We won
2.) There was Old Style in the dug out
3.) Nobody was hurt/killed in a unnecessary tackle at home plate
4.) Katie brought a male friend to hang out and then give her beer after the game! Gentlemen, take careful notes of this behavior.
5.) While it wasn't Jock Jams (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P9HCPAEc48), our warm up music was Interpol opening for U2. That's kind of cool too.
Next week is playoffs (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7fjDS0jKiE&NR=1). Traditionally it's not our greatest showing, so let's get ready to win next week too!
If you need some additional motivation, this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6wRkzCW5qI) does not disappoint.
Have a great rest of the day!
- Dot
Thursday, June 30, 2011
0
25 Years Later.
On Monday a co-worker asked me, "how does it feel to be 25?" after the Saturday celebration of my birthday. Of course, it doesn't really feel like anything. Just like 23 faded into 24, I can now rent a car at a lesser premium. I'm not getting married, I don't have a kid, I work a pretty normal job in the most beautiful city ever; 25 looks pretty fantastic so far. Like an adult should, I decided to spend the day surrounded by friends at bars frequented by those just out of college. The bar crawl supported the Make-A-Wish Foundation of Illinois, an organization near and dear to my heart, that I mentioned in past posts. I won't echo my philanthropic speech but just wanted to say "thank you!" to all my friends who attended and got a little [or a lot] drunk for an amazing cause. For anyone who sent a text, wrote on my facebook wall or whatever "thank you!" also because it means so much to have amazing people like you all in my life.
Enough of the sap. Cheers to the mid-20s!
Enough of the sap. Cheers to the mid-20s!
"Let her eat cake!"
0
I don't, but other people "do"
I'm hardly a romantic and never grew up imagining my own wedding day. Barbie and Ken married on occasion, but I was strictly the planner. "The day" is definitely something on the back burner of what I have in mind for my immediate future. But when I randomly stumbled across http://greenweddingshoes.com/ today, I fell a little in love and decided to share.
I still stand by the above statement, but looking at pretty things once awhile can't hurt.
I still stand by the above statement, but looking at pretty things once awhile can't hurt.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
0
Everything we do, we do it big. G-Unit Style.
The second edition of my weekly softball e-mail.
_____
Hey G-Unit,
Tuesday night's rematch against estrogen fueled rival, Booty Pants, translated into another W for SMG-Unit. With a motivating pep talk by returning fearless leader, Scott, and the encouraging screams of "LET'S DO THIS" from John, the G-Unit took the lead early and held on throughout the game. After the dust cleared, we emerged the winners in a 9-4 victory. Fortunately for everyone (except this beat writer's willingness to embarrass you publicly) the night went rather smoothly. There was little confrontation, our umpire was sober and capable, and there weren't any controversial plays that led to us losing our shit on the field. Props to the team for hitting a number of line drives, keeping up the stellar defense, and overall proper softball mechanics. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkRVTBsl1zk) Big things happen.
Big thanks to Alycia and Nikki, G-Unit's Tuesday night best-dressed cheerleaders, for keeping the beer cold and cheering us on to a win. Also, for presenting the methodology behind "food naming" and "Biggie Smalls." http://tomhaverfoods.com/
After the game, we headed to Bar Louie for celebratory $1 burger night (tots & fries are $3 extra - you've been warned). The patio was going fantastic and the night air crisp until dark clouds began to roll across the skyline. Proud and unafraid, G-Unit drank its draft specials and stared the storm in the eye (it was kind of like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_pN312Te98). That lasted all of 10 minutes before we headed inside for shelter. (It was exactly like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYg-LtUxhcE).
After Bar Louie we parted ways, but only after Stevewas groped and prodded by a 20-year-old wearing striped J. Crew shorts and boat shoes. According some whacked out Trib survey based on creeptastic Craigslist Missed Connections, the Red Line is the most romantic of all train lines. Steve proves it's true. (http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2010-09-30/news/ct-talk-romantic-trains-1001-20100930_1_romantic-train-brown-and-purple-lines-cta-s-red)
Reminder, we have next week off for the All-Star game. Everyone enjoy your July 4th weekend!
Keepin' it real with the whole sha-bang-a-Bang (one bang),
Dot
_____
Hey G-Unit,
Tuesday night's rematch against estrogen fueled rival, Booty Pants, translated into another W for SMG-Unit. With a motivating pep talk by returning fearless leader, Scott, and the encouraging screams of "LET'S DO THIS" from John, the G-Unit took the lead early and held on throughout the game. After the dust cleared, we emerged the winners in a 9-4 victory. Fortunately for everyone (except this beat writer's willingness to embarrass you publicly) the night went rather smoothly. There was little confrontation, our umpire was sober and capable, and there weren't any controversial plays that led to us losing our shit on the field. Props to the team for hitting a number of line drives, keeping up the stellar defense, and overall proper softball mechanics. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkRVTBsl1zk) Big things happen.
Big thanks to Alycia and Nikki, G-Unit's Tuesday night best-dressed cheerleaders, for keeping the beer cold and cheering us on to a win. Also, for presenting the methodology behind "food naming" and "Biggie Smalls." http://tomhaverfoods.com/
After the game, we headed to Bar Louie for celebratory $1 burger night (tots & fries are $3 extra - you've been warned). The patio was going fantastic and the night air crisp until dark clouds began to roll across the skyline. Proud and unafraid, G-Unit drank its draft specials and stared the storm in the eye (it was kind of like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_pN312Te98). That lasted all of 10 minutes before we headed inside for shelter. (It was exactly like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYg-LtUxhcE).
After Bar Louie we parted ways, but only after Stevewas groped and prodded by a 20-year-old wearing striped J. Crew shorts and boat shoes. According some whacked out Trib survey based on creeptastic Craigslist Missed Connections, the Red Line is the most romantic of all train lines. Steve proves it's true. (http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2010-09-30/news/ct-talk-romantic-trains-1001-20100930_1_romantic-train-brown-and-purple-lines-cta-s-red)
Reminder, we have next week off for the All-Star game. Everyone enjoy your July 4th weekend!
Keepin' it real with the whole sha-bang-
Dot
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
0
G-g-g-g-Unit Steamrolls to a Victory
I was recently promoted to the official beat writer for my company 16" softball team and I am sharing this e-mails. Last names and companies have not been included to protect the innocent.
_____
Hey G-Unit,
Apparently it's bad protocol to lie to the Tribune (lame) so today you get a two-in-one package of last night's scouting report. First, the original hoax e-mail created to piss off our fearless leader and second, how awesome we are. Enjoy.
E-mail one, the hoax.
The night was cool and the mountains on the Coors Lights blue as G-Unit rolled into Grant Park to take on sister agency, Booty Pants. After a slightly awkward delay, involving a lack of Booty Pants, the game got going albeit only after the umpire drank 1.5 boxes of Jewel brand Cabernet.
Filling in as interim coach, Sgt. John I, led the team to an initial destroying of its competition. Our feet were swift, our bats were mighty...then it came crashing to a halt.
Jeff, always one to keep it humble on the field, began a controlled argument with the seemingly drunk umpire. Words were exchanged and a slight physical altercation occurred. Jeff will be back next week pending physical examination of said umpire. The rest of the game unfolded in Bad News Bears fashion as the Unit fell 15-17 after a slight massacre in the fifth. Fortunately, casualties were few. Resident lefty, Collin, was seen mumbling "don't text us about the lineup when you're on vacation...bull shit" as he threw the blue binder to the ground in disgust. First base(wo)man, Colleen "Swissbeatz" was personally offended by the lack of hustle, proclaiming it for all of Grant Park to hear.
The Unit then drowned their sorrows in some post-game drinks at Shenanigans, followed by some Jennifer Grey dirty dancing at the Hangge Uppe.
Also, if anyone has seen Gerard please let us and/or his family know. He was last seen at Big Shitty at 3:17 a.m.
______
E-mail two, the fun ruining real one.
SMG-Unit showed what they were made of Tuesday night in Grant Park. In reference to above, there was a delay and the umpire was probably intoxicated.
After some shaky innings, the G-Unit prepared to kick ass and take names in the 6th inning by bringing the game within one. In the 7th, the levy broke and the Unit took back what was rightfully theirs. Starting with Jason's momentum changing, close single at the top of the inning things could only go up from there. The Unit went on to smack the ball around the field for awhile, get aggressive on the bases, and trigger a gratifying Spark defensive meltdown. Seven runs later, the dust cleared and G-Unit was victorious in a 14-8 W.
Proud interim coach, John I, was in tears after the game and wiping his eyes behind his bifocals. It's possible that it was joy or that he was still embarrassed about his early wipe out in center field. Because we "will never speak about this again" (his words) we may never know.
Highlights of the night were plentiful including Jon's excellent back up in right field (we're contesting that call), Turtle's triumphant return to the mount and mid-inning grass relaxation, and the multiple base hits by the G-Unit ladies. Even quiet Jeff lasted a full 7 innings without any major altercations. I guess having a girlfriend does calm you down. - http://www.cosmopolitan.com/quizzes-games/online-quiz/cosmo_quiz_are_you_ready_to_settle_down
Enjoying the victory, the team turned to one of the favorite parts of the night...killing the case of beer. Claude and Sam competed in a photo finish shot gun competition. Replay video is still pending but a repeat in Starbar will be held later this afternoon. Lotus invites to go out shortly.
Finally, props to Nikki for fending off the umpire's advances at catcher. He actually asked for your number after the game...I gave him Scott's.
Until next time G-Unit! All we do is win!
Dot
_____
Hey G-Unit,
Apparently it's bad protocol to lie to the Tribune (lame) so today you get a two-in-one package of last night's scouting report. First, the original hoax e-mail created to piss off our fearless leader and second, how awesome we are. Enjoy.
E-mail one, the hoax.
The night was cool and the mountains on the Coors Lights blue as G-Unit rolled into Grant Park to take on sister agency, Booty Pants. After a slightly awkward delay, involving a lack of Booty Pants, the game got going albeit only after the umpire drank 1.5 boxes of Jewel brand Cabernet.
Filling in as interim coach, Sgt. John I, led the team to an initial destroying of its competition. Our feet were swift, our bats were mighty...then it came crashing to a halt.
Jeff, always one to keep it humble on the field, began a controlled argument with the seemingly drunk umpire. Words were exchanged and a slight physical altercation occurred. Jeff will be back next week pending physical examination of said umpire. The rest of the game unfolded in Bad News Bears fashion as the Unit fell 15-17 after a slight massacre in the fifth. Fortunately, casualties were few. Resident lefty, Collin, was seen mumbling "don't text us about the lineup when you're on vacation...bull shit" as he threw the blue binder to the ground in disgust. First base(wo)man, Colleen "Swissbeatz" was personally offended by the lack of hustle, proclaiming it for all of Grant Park to hear.
The Unit then drowned their sorrows in some post-game drinks at Shenanigans, followed by some Jennifer Grey dirty dancing at the Hangge Uppe.
Also, if anyone has seen Gerard please let us and/or his family know. He was last seen at Big Shitty at 3:17 a.m.
______
E-mail two, the fun ruining real one.
SMG-Unit showed what they were made of Tuesday night in Grant Park. In reference to above, there was a delay and the umpire was probably intoxicated.
After some shaky innings, the G-Unit prepared to kick ass and take names in the 6th inning by bringing the game within one. In the 7th, the levy broke and the Unit took back what was rightfully theirs. Starting with Jason's momentum changing, close single at the top of the inning things could only go up from there. The Unit went on to smack the ball around the field for awhile, get aggressive on the bases, and trigger a gratifying Spark defensive meltdown. Seven runs later, the dust cleared and G-Unit was victorious in a 14-8 W.
Proud interim coach, John I, was in tears after the game and wiping his eyes behind his bifocals. It's possible that it was joy or that he was still embarrassed about his early wipe out in center field. Because we "will never speak about this again" (his words) we may never know.
Highlights of the night were plentiful including Jon's excellent back up in right field (we're contesting that call), Turtle's triumphant return to the mount and mid-inning grass relaxation, and the multiple base hits by the G-Unit ladies. Even quiet Jeff lasted a full 7 innings without any major altercations. I guess having a girlfriend does calm you down. - http://www.cosmopolitan.com/quizzes-games/online-quiz/cosmo_quiz_are_you_ready_to_settle_down
Enjoying the victory, the team turned to one of the favorite parts of the night...killing the case of beer. Claude and Sam competed in a photo finish shot gun competition. Replay video is still pending but a repeat in Starbar will be held later this afternoon. Lotus invites to go out shortly.
Finally, props to Nikki for fending off the umpire's advances at catcher. He actually asked for your number after the game...I gave him Scott's.
Until next time G-Unit! All we do is win!
Dot
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
0
"Just play. Have fun. Enjoy the game." - M. Jordan
The beer dinner from last night aside, I am currently in some of the best athletic shape of my life. I blame Chicago and its miles of bike and running trails, numerous park areas, and Groupon for its various deals on hot yoga.
A couple months ago I bought a bunch of attire from some little boutique called "Nike Running" then a month later acquired a fancy bike from Target. I also bought a helmet, which gets me made fun of relentlessly, but I don't want my brains splattered! Then I joined some sports leagues and just kept it going. Did you know Chicago has dodgeball AND kickball AND some weird thing called 16-inch softball? TRUTH. First I ran a 5K then a 10K and everyone is talking to me about running something called a "half marathon" which is ridiculous because when the hell did I start to like running? Jury is still out on the half, because that's hard.
Below are testaments to my current athletic prowess as I attempt to keep my competitive edge and not get chubby. Coming soon: the video of me playing sand volleyball last week, where I fell backwards and landed on my ass. However, I did hit it over the net so wapow!
A couple months ago I bought a bunch of attire from some little boutique called "Nike Running" then a month later acquired a fancy bike from Target. I also bought a helmet, which gets me made fun of relentlessly, but I don't want my brains splattered! Then I joined some sports leagues and just kept it going. Did you know Chicago has dodgeball AND kickball AND some weird thing called 16-inch softball? TRUTH. First I ran a 5K then a 10K and everyone is talking to me about running something called a "half marathon" which is ridiculous because when the hell did I start to like running? Jury is still out on the half, because that's hard.
Below are testaments to my current athletic prowess as I attempt to keep my competitive edge and not get chubby. Coming soon: the video of me playing sand volleyball last week, where I fell backwards and landed on my ass. However, I did hit it over the net so wapow!
I ran a 10k through a zoo in 56:20, then took a picture with a shoe. Normal Sunday morning.
502 overall but 20 out of 103 in the F20-24 age group. I'll take it!
I channeled my catcher training last night and blocked home plate in a one-run game, bang-bang play situation. This is the result. I have been giving everyone, deserving or not, the thumbs up today. Best part of the story? We got the out and kept the lead that inning! I would do it again if necessary.
Not pictured: my bruised shin and cleat mark in my ankle.
In April, my gal friends and I also ran an Easter bunny themed 5K in this beautiful attire. Awk-ward.
Finally, some of the coolest BAMFs you may never know.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
0
Won't you be my neighbor?
I'm inspired by the site Dear Girls Above Me. In celebration of three years of cohabitation with my heterosexual life mate, and one of my best friends, I'm writing an open letter to our past and present neighbors.
Dearest neighbors,
Let us take a few moments to thank you for shaping the history of the Fry - Voyles Château, 1 and 2.
First, to the girls living above us in 2008. We were so excited about our first big girls' apartment post-graduation. It was a palace in our eyes, with amenities close to the after college mecca, Wrigleyville, that allowed us to get the collegiate partying "out of our system" at the dreaded Clark St. JBC.
What we would have gave to get some fucking sleep that summer, on account of your 80's rock mix. As much as we love Journey and Bon Jovi, would it have KILLED you to put your iTunes on shuffle once in awhile? Another favorite is when you would listen to the first two minutes of the song, then start over, on repeat.
That same summer Coldplay released "Viva La Vida" and changed all our lives forever. You loved that song...twenty times in a row at deafening decibels at all hours of the day and night. Never mind our twisted schedules of work and sleep, we woke up and for some reason I can't explain / I know St. Peter won't call my name / Never an honest word / But that was when I ruled the world. It was time to enact sick revenge.
About a week later, post-Cubs game and all day weekend binger, we rolled in around 2 a.m. and way past the point of regular adult motor skills. Side thanks to mom and dad, for the gift of computer speakers with a separate bass large enough to fill our home with sound. Dear neighbor, Micah and I will never forget plugging in those speakers, holding them to the ceiling, and pressing "play" therefore releasing an explosion of "Viva La Vida" directly at your floor. Oh sure, we heard your foot or shoe or whatever that was pounding. All ten minutes of it. Drunkenly falling off a chair and risking bone breaks were totally worth it.
We didn't feel bad when you moved out.
Next up, to the girls living upstairs #2. Sorry your living situation was shortened by the fact that you two bitches fought constantly, apparently fueled by serious arguments as "it's YOUR turn to buy the TOILET PAPER." Unfortunately, you two also brought Karma in with you as you were another set of loud music players. A little more alternative, with the Dave Matthews Band all the time. Fortunately, we were experienced, and cut you off the passive aggressive way by coming straight up the stairs. I hope the next neighbor that you ignore, the one buzzing and knocking, lights a fire under your door.
Me, fist sore from knocking, viewed by Micah and the bottom of the stairs: "Hey. I'm your neighbor. And I like Ants Marching, don't get me wrong. I just don't want to hear it through my ceiling at 8 a.m."
You, terribly awkward and bothered: "All you had to do is ask."
Me, perturbed by your ignorance: "That's exactly what I'm doing. Please stop."
Fortunately you both grew to hate each other and moved your belongings, including the KISS boots you all must have worn indoors, and put your shit in the building's courtyard until evening. God help me, I prayed for rain all through that sunny day.
For the new neighbors at the new apartment, I'll save most of this for another time. This means you: immature dudes upstairs with friends that piss on our front door, guy in sweatpants whom waters the sidewalk, drunk girl in a prom dress. Most of all you, awkward short man and your Delia*s freak wife downstairs with the bat shit crazy dog. Believe us, if your dog bites us in the middle of doing laundry again it will be drop kicked. Yep, it's us who purposefully press our own buzzer to cause chaos and relish in delight as your pup goes into a thirty minute freak out session. It's retribution for your music playing (really, is that a CELLO?!) in the make-shift conservatory below Micah's room.
Until next time neighbors.
Gratefully yours,
The residents of The Fry-Voyles Château
Please note Lincoln Park change of address
Dearest neighbors,
Let us take a few moments to thank you for shaping the history of the Fry - Voyles Château, 1 and 2.
First, to the girls living above us in 2008. We were so excited about our first big girls' apartment post-graduation. It was a palace in our eyes, with amenities close to the after college mecca, Wrigleyville, that allowed us to get the collegiate partying "out of our system" at the dreaded Clark St. JBC.
What we would have gave to get some fucking sleep that summer, on account of your 80's rock mix. As much as we love Journey and Bon Jovi, would it have KILLED you to put your iTunes on shuffle once in awhile? Another favorite is when you would listen to the first two minutes of the song, then start over, on repeat.
That same summer Coldplay released "Viva La Vida" and changed all our lives forever. You loved that song...twenty times in a row at deafening decibels at all hours of the day and night. Never mind our twisted schedules of work and sleep, we woke up and for some reason I can't explain / I know St. Peter won't call my name / Never an honest word / But that was when I ruled the world. It was time to enact sick revenge.
About a week later, post-Cubs game and all day weekend binger, we rolled in around 2 a.m. and way past the point of regular adult motor skills. Side thanks to mom and dad, for the gift of computer speakers with a separate bass large enough to fill our home with sound. Dear neighbor, Micah and I will never forget plugging in those speakers, holding them to the ceiling, and pressing "play" therefore releasing an explosion of "Viva La Vida" directly at your floor. Oh sure, we heard your foot or shoe or whatever that was pounding. All ten minutes of it. Drunkenly falling off a chair and risking bone breaks were totally worth it.
We didn't feel bad when you moved out.
Next up, to the girls living upstairs #2. Sorry your living situation was shortened by the fact that you two bitches fought constantly, apparently fueled by serious arguments as "it's YOUR turn to buy the TOILET PAPER." Unfortunately, you two also brought Karma in with you as you were another set of loud music players. A little more alternative, with the Dave Matthews Band all the time. Fortunately, we were experienced, and cut you off the passive aggressive way by coming straight up the stairs. I hope the next neighbor that you ignore, the one buzzing and knocking, lights a fire under your door.
Me, fist sore from knocking, viewed by Micah and the bottom of the stairs: "Hey. I'm your neighbor. And I like Ants Marching, don't get me wrong. I just don't want to hear it through my ceiling at 8 a.m."
You, terribly awkward and bothered: "All you had to do is ask."
Me, perturbed by your ignorance: "That's exactly what I'm doing. Please stop."
Fortunately you both grew to hate each other and moved your belongings, including the KISS boots you all must have worn indoors, and put your shit in the building's courtyard until evening. God help me, I prayed for rain all through that sunny day.
For the new neighbors at the new apartment, I'll save most of this for another time. This means you: immature dudes upstairs with friends that piss on our front door, guy in sweatpants whom waters the sidewalk, drunk girl in a prom dress. Most of all you, awkward short man and your Delia*s freak wife downstairs with the bat shit crazy dog. Believe us, if your dog bites us in the middle of doing laundry again it will be drop kicked. Yep, it's us who purposefully press our own buzzer to cause chaos and relish in delight as your pup goes into a thirty minute freak out session. It's retribution for your music playing (really, is that a CELLO?!) in the make-shift conservatory below Micah's room.
Until next time neighbors.
Gratefully yours,
The residents of The Fry-Voyles Château
Please note Lincoln Park change of address
Saturday, May 14, 2011
0
"Uh, closed? They don't close Florida."
Clark Griswold said it best when he went berserk on the way to Wally World.
Family road trips are so Americana I can't believe Toby Keith hasn't written an anthem about them. They stir up good memories, like when the family rented a RV stocked with Grandpa's Miller Lite, and the downright awful, like driving through Atlanta's 1996 Olympics opening ceremonies. Ever since that debacle, we have flown the friendly skies.
Today, my luck has run out.
Now I'm somewhere in Kentucky, listening to my mom sing "Venus" by Bahamarama writing by the light of cell phone. But I'm keeping my head in the game because:
1.) My positioning the reject car allows me to tweet enough to humor Ryan...and whoever else sees my pain
2.) We're coming up on Nashville, one of my favorite cities, and worth staying awake another hour
3.) Tomorrow I will be on a beach. I won't be building oily sandcastles or cleaning duckies, like last year's agenda, but can enjoy the vacation that environmental protection allows. Last August I was a little skeptical; this year I'm really excited. Am I getting older?
#VoylesVacation
"This is no longer a vacation. This is a quest. A quest for fun."So today, following the commencement of my little brother, Voyles family road trip 2011 has began. (Go Ryan!) With the Nissan Altima as our noble steed, I feel in slightly better company than the Griswolds. Thankfully, I don't see Grandma pulling at Aunt Edna and kicking the bucket en route. What I can expect is priceless one-liners muttered in the front seat, including the most recent gem, "my feet are hot."
Family road trips are so Americana I can't believe Toby Keith hasn't written an anthem about them. They stir up good memories, like when the family rented a RV stocked with Grandpa's Miller Lite, and the downright awful, like driving through Atlanta's 1996 Olympics opening ceremonies. Ever since that debacle, we have flown the friendly skies.
Today, my luck has run out.
Now I'm somewhere in Kentucky, listening to my mom sing "Venus" by Bahamarama writing by the light of cell phone. But I'm keeping my head in the game because:
1.) My positioning the reject car allows me to tweet enough to humor Ryan...and whoever else sees my pain
2.) We're coming up on Nashville, one of my favorite cities, and worth staying awake another hour
3.) Tomorrow I will be on a beach. I won't be building oily sandcastles or cleaning duckies, like last year's agenda, but can enjoy the vacation that environmental protection allows. Last August I was a little skeptical; this year I'm really excited. Am I getting older?
#VoylesVacation
Monday, May 2, 2011
0
via funniest pics
Party in the U - S - A
"I've never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure" - Mark Twain
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
0
#WillandKateSuperFan
In an effort to be appropriate at 9:30 a.m. Easter mass I stayed in Saturday night. Due to the lack of Saturday night programming, and I'm using that as an excuse, I was sucked in to the William & Kate movie on Lifetime. So terrifically lame and I already regret typing this, but looks like I'm not the only one in my family.
Good work Dad.
Good work Dad.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
0
"May the Road Rise Up to Meet You, May the Wind Be Ever at Your Back..."
Last fall, my brother began dabbling in the fairly safe hobby of photography. When I mentioned this to a friend (and, either good or bad, don't remember who it was) he/she said, "well, that's easy. Anybody can do it."
Incredibly ignorant comment.
True, anyone can take a picture in a world of $100 click-and-shoot Kodak cameras from the Wal-Mart photo department. Some people might even be able to take good pictures in this manner. A vacation sunset, a pouncing tiger at a zoo, a plane in flight. But, asking three people to stand in front of an awkward landscape and "say cheese!" isn't photography. Ryan, in his limited time behind the lens, works on the art of telling stories and, while he is in the amateur stages, he is already developing an eye for capturing what the rest of us don't see.
To caveat all this, Ryan is the more creative of the Voyles children. At seven he wanted to be video game designer and filled sketch books with pictures frowned upon by his educators. In third grade he went a little more safe and started learning the tromboner (can't help myself) and developed more musical talent in junior high on the electric and acoustic guitar. Every Saturday, Dad and I would walk around the mall for an hour and half waiting for him to finish his lessons at Samuel Muisc. Within months, he taught himself to play Nirvana, Metallica and a medley of music outside the listening realm of a typical 12-year-old. Thanks to him, and his ear for music that isn't crap, my iPod has developed nicely.
Already a talented student journalist, now he is dabbling in the visual realm. Today he told me, over Gchat, "want me to tell you something that may freak the family out? Don't worry, it's not me coming out of the closet. I think it would be really interesting to be a photographer in a war-torn country." I went through initial shock, googled Libya and sent a devastating report of journalists that just yesterday were just martyred for their craft. While it's just a thought in the mind of a 22-year-old with a graduation date three weeks from Saturday, it's a more realistic concept for someone like him. Not only is he the more talented of the siblings, he is also more brave than I am in his desire to take on risks. I find myself more tied down, more grounded, but missing out? Not sure, but he shouldn't accept less than the best.
I found this comment following the report mentioned in the above paragraph.
Ryan's response, "that's a great comment, sums up everything perfectly. But that's what I'm thinking though; maybe I could be one of those people out there telling these stories."
Brave, crazy, I'm not sure which. Whatever path he goes, from the safe to the not-so-safe I am just a proud big sister wanting little Ry Man to follow his aspirations.
I love you!
Incredibly ignorant comment.
True, anyone can take a picture in a world of $100 click-and-shoot Kodak cameras from the Wal-Mart photo department. Some people might even be able to take good pictures in this manner. A vacation sunset, a pouncing tiger at a zoo, a plane in flight. But, asking three people to stand in front of an awkward landscape and "say cheese!" isn't photography. Ryan, in his limited time behind the lens, works on the art of telling stories and, while he is in the amateur stages, he is already developing an eye for capturing what the rest of us don't see.
To caveat all this, Ryan is the more creative of the Voyles children. At seven he wanted to be video game designer and filled sketch books with pictures frowned upon by his educators. In third grade he went a little more safe and started learning the tromboner (can't help myself) and developed more musical talent in junior high on the electric and acoustic guitar. Every Saturday, Dad and I would walk around the mall for an hour and half waiting for him to finish his lessons at Samuel Muisc. Within months, he taught himself to play Nirvana, Metallica and a medley of music outside the listening realm of a typical 12-year-old. Thanks to him, and his ear for music that isn't crap, my iPod has developed nicely.
Already a talented student journalist, now he is dabbling in the visual realm. Today he told me, over Gchat, "want me to tell you something that may freak the family out? Don't worry, it's not me coming out of the closet. I think it would be really interesting to be a photographer in a war-torn country." I went through initial shock, googled Libya and sent a devastating report of journalists that just yesterday were just martyred for their craft. While it's just a thought in the mind of a 22-year-old with a graduation date three weeks from Saturday, it's a more realistic concept for someone like him. Not only is he the more talented of the siblings, he is also more brave than I am in his desire to take on risks. I find myself more tied down, more grounded, but missing out? Not sure, but he shouldn't accept less than the best.
I found this comment following the report mentioned in the above paragraph.
"This is utterly tragic, shattering news. These men are the best of the best, they are the eyes and ears and memories and consciences of democracy; they are at the highest pinnacle of photojournalism. This is a terrible day for all of us, and for our country, and for the profession of journalism. As I said elsewhere-- 'the eye of an artist, the responsibility of a journalist, and the raw courage of an infantryman.' I am so sad. We are all bereft. I wish their families well...and their colleagues safety." - John Rudoff; Portland, Ore.
Ryan's response, "that's a great comment, sums up everything perfectly. But that's what I'm thinking though; maybe I could be one of those people out there telling these stories."
Brave, crazy, I'm not sure which. Whatever path he goes, from the safe to the not-so-safe I am just a proud big sister wanting little Ry Man to follow his aspirations.
I love you!
Tranny Prep.
The Wrestler.
This picture added solely because of the conversation below.
Yours truly: These people are the epitome of southern Illinois class. Especially the tattooed hooligan in the front row.
Ryan: She was clearly drunk and out of control when I was there
Yours truly: She looks like she sobered up a bit.
"Better get used to these bars, kid" - Marty McFly
"Better get used to these bars, kid" - Marty McFly
Ryan: Nice use of the quote, sistah
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
0
Beyond the Grey
New artist I enjoy, Skylar Grey. More deserving of Rhianna in "Love the Way You Lie" and the original recording. The angelic background vocals in Dre's "I Need a Doctor" and of course, before Diddy can destroy her voice, she is also in "Coming Home." I dig it.
Actual blog coming soon. Lots going on. "Your life is just craaaazy." - Dad, sarcastic.
Actual blog coming soon. Lots going on. "Your life is just craaaazy." - Dad, sarcastic.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
0
Music and Lyrics
A YouTube comment rarely makes me laugh. Today, one did.
Comment: A pale imitation of Rebecca Black, this song cowers in the presence of her lyrical genius and gentle tones.
If you haven't listened to Radical Face I suggest you do.
Comment: A pale imitation of Rebecca Black, this song cowers in the presence of her lyrical genius and gentle tones.
If you haven't listened to Radical Face I suggest you do.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
0
It's the hap-happiest season of all
Today is Opening Day, my favorite day of the year in a photo finish tie with Christmas. It encouraged no less than three Facebook updates before 10 a.m. For the next six, wonderful months and 2,430 regular season games hours in bars will be slightly more entertaining, Baseball Tonight will be on the DVR for Top 10 highlights and trips to St. Louis to see the Cardinals (and my family, I guess) will be necessary. Also, a meager $19.95 was spent on MLB.com Gameday Audio to make work way better...and I type this as I listen to Opening Day ceremonies at Busch Stadium. How could I possibly miss "Jimmy Boy" Edmonds throw out the first pitch?
I'm just so giddy!
Mike Bauman, MLB columnist, probably says it better than me so I will give credit where credit is due.
Make it a great one everyone!
I'm just so giddy!
Mike Bauman, MLB columnist, probably says it better than me so I will give credit where credit is due.
It means that this is a time of beginning, of renewal...It is all new. Everyone is unbeaten. Everyone has a dream. Nobody has had time to have the dream smashed to smithereens, or realized, for that matter.
Make it a great one everyone!
Beautiful site.
My brother and I at the 2009 All Star Game at Busch Stadium. One of the greatest days of my life and couldn't have spent it with anyone else.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
0
omG girlz. Theez shoes were 300 dolla$z
Today, I attended a meeting that nearly made my head hurt. It was a large-scale presentation for the fastest growing cable network for females 18-34 and that's all I'm saying.
It sparked the following instant message conversation between myself and a STRAIGHT male co-worker.
Me: Um, were you at that meeting?
Male Co-Worker: yea. It made me give up on women
im gonna turn gay for a minute and see how that works out
Me: Nooooo
Male Co-Worker: K, thx bye
Me: That made me embarrassed to be a girl
"omg, LOVE SHOES. LOVE BOYS. LOVE PURPLE!!!"
Male Co-Worker: GURL dump HIM. UPGRADE.
Me: my brain melted when they said, "babies are hard...you're like what. omg. I have to buy diapers."
Those quotes up there, those are real. They just happened. I cannot make this stuff up if I tried (and maybe I could but surely not today). My co-worker swears his writer's block continues into the late hours of the afternoon so God help him make until 5 p.m.
Like every level-headed young woman, I like to pretend I fall into a happy medium between femininity and being a "guy's girl." I watch ESPN Baseball Tonight almost every night in the summer but wear four inch heels I can actually walk in. I won't date a guy that can't grow a five 'o clock shadow. Sometimes I drink and wear dresses and play air guitar to Bon Jovi and send stupid texts with lots of exclamation points!! I've been sucked into America's Next Top Model marathons (hate Tyra) but need to go shopping at Sports Authority this weekend for a new glove. Happy medium.
This post is me just me convincing myself that I am not the last hope for my gender and there are other females like me. Please ladies, let's keep fighting the good fight.
"Kelly, what are you going to do with your life?"
"I'm going to get what I want."
It sparked the following instant message conversation between myself and a STRAIGHT male co-worker.
Me: Um, were you at that meeting?
Male Co-Worker: yea. It made me give up on women
im gonna turn gay for a minute and see how that works out
Me: Nooooo
Male Co-Worker: K, thx bye
Me: That made me embarrassed to be a girl
"omg, LOVE SHOES. LOVE BOYS. LOVE PURPLE!!!"
Male Co-Worker: GURL dump HIM. UPGRADE.
Me: my brain melted when they said, "babies are hard...you're like what. omg. I have to buy diapers."
Those quotes up there, those are real. They just happened. I cannot make this stuff up if I tried (and maybe I could but surely not today). My co-worker swears his writer's block continues into the late hours of the afternoon so God help him make until 5 p.m.
Like every level-headed young woman, I like to pretend I fall into a happy medium between femininity and being a "guy's girl." I watch ESPN Baseball Tonight almost every night in the summer but wear four inch heels I can actually walk in. I won't date a guy that can't grow a five 'o clock shadow. Sometimes I drink and wear dresses and play air guitar to Bon Jovi and send stupid texts with lots of exclamation points!! I've been sucked into America's Next Top Model marathons (hate Tyra) but need to go shopping at Sports Authority this weekend for a new glove. Happy medium.
This post is me just me convincing myself that I am not the last hope for my gender and there are other females like me. Please ladies, let's keep fighting the good fight.
"Kelly, what are you going to do with your life?"
"I'm going to get what I want."
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