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?
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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.
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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.

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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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

G-Unit makes sauce of the Bad Apples. (Ya, I went there.)

Chapter three of my weekly softball e-mail.

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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