Thursday, January 21, 2016
HEYO
Wow, I completely forgot about this blog. Which is sad, because I posted on here only a year and a half ago. And I see it listed every time I log into blogger. I'm pleased to discover I'm just as strange and sarcastic and self effacing now as I was five years ago, except I can cook very well these days, so I should probably accept this is the best I'll ever be.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Serious Business.
How To Cut Your Own Hair: A Tutorial By Shelly:
1. "Dang, my brows are looking fresh, too bad no one can see them"
2. Cut bangs to mid forehead
3. Decide what kind of overall haircut you want, since now that you've started, you can't stop. Wrestle with the idea of an inverted bob, which is something you've never done before...you tell yourself in a bold face lie.
4. Acquire two mirrors and start hacking.
5. Realize you're chopping away with both hands without noticing at first, not unlike you do while painting. Feel smug about ambidextria.
6. Curse prior arrogance!
7. Remember that hair grows.
8. "Holy weight lines, Batman, wear my thinning shears at? Damn you God for giving me this much hair!"
9. Walk from bathroom to bathroom, clutching perfectly sectioned piece of hair until shears are found.
10. "I could be Mia Wallace for Halloween."
11. You don't look anything like Uma Thurman, no you can't.
12. Style
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
A tiny bit of growing up Vandervest
My parents are no longer together, but individually, they are unusually clever people. I can remember happy days from my youth, seeing them in love. For the most part, they talked. They talked so much, and so much I would overhear and question, and they would always answer. They were (and are) very verbose, and I can confidently say my siblings and I are very much so. Larry and Josie are so smart in their own rights, they scare me in an exciting way.
One of my favorite points of youth was when I watched the Pleiades meteor shower with Mom and Dad. I don't know if Larry had been born yet, but I was old enough to appreciate it, probably around 5. I remember my mom waking me up after telling me the night before, and my sleep light with anticipation, vaguely dreaming of stars. My dad was laying out on blanket in the front lawn, still in his softball socks and pants. They were (and are) intellectually curious people, not without a sense of wonder. Laying on my back, the shooting stars captivated me, and I couldn't keep up with wishes. They seemed to come down too fast.
I can still remember my parents being very young. My dad was 25 when I was born, and my mom was 26; she turned 27 a day later, and my dad turned 26 in the next couple of months. They were essentially the age I am now, and I have fond memories of their friends coming around to play cards, talk and just be 20-somethings. It was a social atmosphere to grow up in. I was rarely bored, and my dad was an especially social creature. I grew up with teasing young men giving me a ribbing, and becoming a mouthy youth because of it. My mom took me to work as a waitress in a diner, and later as a bartender in supper club. I grilled all the staff probably more than they would have liked. Basically, I grew up around adults, talking to adults, and developed an odd demeanor because of it. My parents were also more poor than either is ready to admit, so these interactions were common treats I grew fond of.
I can't remember how old I was, but I was in grade school, before Jo was born. My parents were still very young, some point in their 30s. They were (and are) very competitive. Mom and Dad were in an especially giddy mood one afternoon, and they decided to take turns locking each other in the basement of what is now my mom's house. The latch is an external hook and eye, set at nearly the top of the door, so none of us could accidentally open it and fall down the stairs. They wanted to see how the other got out, and who could do it the fastest. There was no cellar door access, just the door in the hallway of the house.
My dad took a screw driver and carefully popped out a storm screen and pushed open the easiest, lowest window. He was always (and is) a naturally gifted athlete, in the aforementioned softball, and hockey too. He still golfs, and I will never beat him in pool. He easily hoisted himself up and shimmied out the window. He came through the front door, after pushing the window back in place. He refused to tell my mom how he did it, but it was obvious to her. To me, it was magic again.
She was in the basement for half the time he was. She popped out of the door after barely 10 minutes. She had rummaged around the basement and found a yellow ruler. She slid it through the crack in the old basement door and pushed up the hook, turned the handle and was out, absolutely beaming with her success. My mom has always been (and is) one to gloat. They are both arrogant in their own ways, but my mum is the one more likely to immediately dance around you after success. I've never beaten her in pool either, and she doesn't let me forget. My dad will just sit back and smirk despite himself, likely to laugh eventually. I am very much equal parts of them.
Despite the past becoming darker as time went on, I do not forget those little lights of youth, and what my parents were (and are). I have made (and will probably continue to make) some of the mistakes they made, but I will always, always remember those delightful, persevering strengths. Their curiosity lives in their children, the wit is sharp in both, and even when they are gone, my sibling and I are proof of how quick they both were (and are).
One of my favorite points of youth was when I watched the Pleiades meteor shower with Mom and Dad. I don't know if Larry had been born yet, but I was old enough to appreciate it, probably around 5. I remember my mom waking me up after telling me the night before, and my sleep light with anticipation, vaguely dreaming of stars. My dad was laying out on blanket in the front lawn, still in his softball socks and pants. They were (and are) intellectually curious people, not without a sense of wonder. Laying on my back, the shooting stars captivated me, and I couldn't keep up with wishes. They seemed to come down too fast.
I can still remember my parents being very young. My dad was 25 when I was born, and my mom was 26; she turned 27 a day later, and my dad turned 26 in the next couple of months. They were essentially the age I am now, and I have fond memories of their friends coming around to play cards, talk and just be 20-somethings. It was a social atmosphere to grow up in. I was rarely bored, and my dad was an especially social creature. I grew up with teasing young men giving me a ribbing, and becoming a mouthy youth because of it. My mom took me to work as a waitress in a diner, and later as a bartender in supper club. I grilled all the staff probably more than they would have liked. Basically, I grew up around adults, talking to adults, and developed an odd demeanor because of it. My parents were also more poor than either is ready to admit, so these interactions were common treats I grew fond of.
I can't remember how old I was, but I was in grade school, before Jo was born. My parents were still very young, some point in their 30s. They were (and are) very competitive. Mom and Dad were in an especially giddy mood one afternoon, and they decided to take turns locking each other in the basement of what is now my mom's house. The latch is an external hook and eye, set at nearly the top of the door, so none of us could accidentally open it and fall down the stairs. They wanted to see how the other got out, and who could do it the fastest. There was no cellar door access, just the door in the hallway of the house.
My dad took a screw driver and carefully popped out a storm screen and pushed open the easiest, lowest window. He was always (and is) a naturally gifted athlete, in the aforementioned softball, and hockey too. He still golfs, and I will never beat him in pool. He easily hoisted himself up and shimmied out the window. He came through the front door, after pushing the window back in place. He refused to tell my mom how he did it, but it was obvious to her. To me, it was magic again.
She was in the basement for half the time he was. She popped out of the door after barely 10 minutes. She had rummaged around the basement and found a yellow ruler. She slid it through the crack in the old basement door and pushed up the hook, turned the handle and was out, absolutely beaming with her success. My mom has always been (and is) one to gloat. They are both arrogant in their own ways, but my mum is the one more likely to immediately dance around you after success. I've never beaten her in pool either, and she doesn't let me forget. My dad will just sit back and smirk despite himself, likely to laugh eventually. I am very much equal parts of them.
Despite the past becoming darker as time went on, I do not forget those little lights of youth, and what my parents were (and are). I have made (and will probably continue to make) some of the mistakes they made, but I will always, always remember those delightful, persevering strengths. Their curiosity lives in their children, the wit is sharp in both, and even when they are gone, my sibling and I are proof of how quick they both were (and are).
Monday, April 14, 2014
I wrote my best friend a love letter.
Remember when we were 14? We went to go see Good Charlotte, and this was our first real concert in Green Bay. Your mom hung out in back of the Brown County Arena, like a sweetheart. We had a room even, with your dad and Baby Katie along for the fun. I remember adjusting my bandanna in the hotel bathroom mirror. It was fantastic! We met a girl with a fake nose ring, and some older boys who were pretending to be drunk, but we just rocked the fuck out. We weaseled our tiny-teen bodies to the front, and tripped over lost shoes.
The next weekend, the family got a call, and Mom answered. Suddenly, Lare and I found out about what Dad was "up to," very clearly based on the shrieking. You and I were maybe 3 weeks into high school, shortly after your birthday. I watched the big blow-out erupt from my mom, while Dad dehydrated venison jerky cuts, and pretended it wasn't happening. It was a very cataclysmic point in my life, and I'm so glad you were around.
The house went into a complete frenzy. Jo was just a toddler, but Larry ran outside. I ran to my room, and my little brother and I screamed at each other through my screen window, trying to break it open so we didn't have to see our parents, and just get away. We were crying, yelling, and incoherently sputtering at each other. He was 9, fucking 9 years old. Even so young, he said "Just go, Shell! GO!"
The panic and adrenaline kicked in, and I just ran straight down the hall, and bolted out of my house to your house, booking it down the highway.
I made it almost to the corner of K and 47 when my dad picked me up, maybe a mile down the way. It was probably only between 5 and 10 minutes, but in my mind I had been running forever. I climbed into the cab, and he knew right where I wanted to go. I'm so glad you lived so close, and even my battled parents had the presence of mind to figure where I was going.
Dad and I didn't say a word to each other, and he dropped me off on Lynne Street. My mom had called Sara (your fantastic mom) to let you guys know I was coming, and gave the briefest explanation of what was happening. You were just there, outside, calm as Hell, waiting for me. Even at such a young age, you had presence about you. We walked across the field, and sat in the fort/playground behind West School. We didn't really directly talk about "it," just vaguely chatted about angst and existentialism, and you made me feel better. My mom eventually picked me up, too worn down to talk herself.
I am overtired, and getting a little teary and nostalgic. I need you, and you know I'm better at writing than talking, but I am effortless with you.
Leah is hilarious, and smart and spunky, and I know you'd be proud.
Miss you so much, it hurts. I can't wait to see you again, because we always just fall into gabbing like no time has passed.
Texas is too far away. <3
The next weekend, the family got a call, and Mom answered. Suddenly, Lare and I found out about what Dad was "up to," very clearly based on the shrieking. You and I were maybe 3 weeks into high school, shortly after your birthday. I watched the big blow-out erupt from my mom, while Dad dehydrated venison jerky cuts, and pretended it wasn't happening. It was a very cataclysmic point in my life, and I'm so glad you were around.
The house went into a complete frenzy. Jo was just a toddler, but Larry ran outside. I ran to my room, and my little brother and I screamed at each other through my screen window, trying to break it open so we didn't have to see our parents, and just get away. We were crying, yelling, and incoherently sputtering at each other. He was 9, fucking 9 years old. Even so young, he said "Just go, Shell! GO!"
The panic and adrenaline kicked in, and I just ran straight down the hall, and bolted out of my house to your house, booking it down the highway.
I made it almost to the corner of K and 47 when my dad picked me up, maybe a mile down the way. It was probably only between 5 and 10 minutes, but in my mind I had been running forever. I climbed into the cab, and he knew right where I wanted to go. I'm so glad you lived so close, and even my battled parents had the presence of mind to figure where I was going.
Dad and I didn't say a word to each other, and he dropped me off on Lynne Street. My mom had called Sara (your fantastic mom) to let you guys know I was coming, and gave the briefest explanation of what was happening. You were just there, outside, calm as Hell, waiting for me. Even at such a young age, you had presence about you. We walked across the field, and sat in the fort/playground behind West School. We didn't really directly talk about "it," just vaguely chatted about angst and existentialism, and you made me feel better. My mom eventually picked me up, too worn down to talk herself.
I am overtired, and getting a little teary and nostalgic. I need you, and you know I'm better at writing than talking, but I am effortless with you.
Leah is hilarious, and smart and spunky, and I know you'd be proud.
Miss you so much, it hurts. I can't wait to see you again, because we always just fall into gabbing like no time has passed.
Texas is too far away. <3
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Huh.
This is not meant to speak to any specific person, just trends I've noticed among the ignorant. I find it so puzzling when people who are older come at me for being young and/or not college educated, and in simply doing so expresses immaturity on their part. As if age/informal education insinuates I don't know how to do legitimate research, form thoughtful opinions, or conduct myself civilly. In response to the question "You're 24 and/or didn't go to school, what do you know?" I answer, "Not as much as I want." The fact that one wouldn't have the same mentality appears to be the issue.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
The SAM System for the Alliterative Alcoholic
As a disclaimer, I feel I should mention we aren't actually alcholics. Obvious reasons for this being a bad life goal aside, we simply do not have the time or money to execute this properly. I also cannot take full credit for this system, as it was a collaboration between myself, Ally and Mitch (ergo SAM), our friend, Seth, and my Baby Uncle, Ethan.
My only woe is that no day of the week begins with "V."
Mexican Monday:
The humble Seth works at Bennigans, which is known for Dollar Corona Sundays. This deal extends after midnight, which is shortly after Chipotle is done closing. Bennigans is a block from work, and has become our after-work haunt for many of my coworkers. Mexican Monday started with a Mango Mojito, as suggested by Seth for the alliteration. This also conviently includes Margaritas and Modelo.
Tequila Tuesday:
Basically, still Mexican Monday.
Whiskey Wednesday:
Aw, yeah.
Thirsty Thursday:
Drinkers choice...so for me, it's still Mexican Monday!
Friday Dry Day:
I know, I know, we are deviating from the alliteration. Consider it Linguistic Liberty. Plus everyone needs a break, right? This was almost Fleischmann's Friday, as suggested Ethan, but he is a dirty, dirty whore with horrible ideas and no one should listen to him. Actually, he's one of my best friends and I love him. But still, bottom shelf vodka? Uh, no. We are striving for classy here, clearly.
Sweet Sangria Saturday:
I aleady have a shameless giggle just thinking about it. Followed by a blinding headache.
Sunday, Bloody, Sunday:
Bloody Marys and Sundays go together like tomato juice and vodka. Also, I've had that song stuck in my head since we came up with this on Monday.
And there you have it. A week's worth of drinking, Toast, cheers, probst, salud, and whatever the French say!
My only woe is that no day of the week begins with "V."
Mexican Monday:
The humble Seth works at Bennigans, which is known for Dollar Corona Sundays. This deal extends after midnight, which is shortly after Chipotle is done closing. Bennigans is a block from work, and has become our after-work haunt for many of my coworkers. Mexican Monday started with a Mango Mojito, as suggested by Seth for the alliteration. This also conviently includes Margaritas and Modelo.
Tequila Tuesday:
Basically, still Mexican Monday.
Whiskey Wednesday:
Aw, yeah.
Thirsty Thursday:
Drinkers choice...so for me, it's still Mexican Monday!
Friday Dry Day:
I know, I know, we are deviating from the alliteration. Consider it Linguistic Liberty. Plus everyone needs a break, right? This was almost Fleischmann's Friday, as suggested Ethan, but he is a dirty, dirty whore with horrible ideas and no one should listen to him. Actually, he's one of my best friends and I love him. But still, bottom shelf vodka? Uh, no. We are striving for classy here, clearly.
Sweet Sangria Saturday:
I aleady have a shameless giggle just thinking about it. Followed by a blinding headache.
Sunday, Bloody, Sunday:
Bloody Marys and Sundays go together like tomato juice and vodka. Also, I've had that song stuck in my head since we came up with this on Monday.
And there you have it. A week's worth of drinking, Toast, cheers, probst, salud, and whatever the French say!
Thursday, April 26, 2012
BRO! Part one.
Quotes from my brother thus far:
Larry: "This my Saturn. Her name is Sheila."
Me: "My friend drives a Saturn, but his GPS is named Sheila."
Larry "Well I don't need that shit, I know the streets. But I bet they'd be friends."
Larry: "I really want to change my voicemail back the Alan Rickman answering machine message [from Family Guy.] Especially since this college keeps trying to call me."
Johanna (my sister) to Leah (my daughter): "Don't be throwing temper tantrums, you don't want to end up like your uncle [Larry.]"
Larry (yelling) "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING ABOUT ME?"
My mom's dog, Harley, make horses noises. It's a fact.
Mom to Leah: "Get off the dog, he's not a horse!"
Larry: "What are you talking about? Throw a saddle on him, he'll take you anymore! Need cigs? Harley, gas station!"
Leah is screaming for something she can't have.
Larry: "Oh my God, can we give her a sedative? I have a syringe laying around. Just kidding, I don't do my heroin with needles."
Larry starting to play Super Mario Bros.
"'Welcome to Dinosaur Land?' FUCK, this sounds awful."
Larry: "What did the one lawyer say to the other lawyer?"
Me: "..."
Larry: "Hey, we're both lawyers!"
Larry: "This my Saturn. Her name is Sheila."
Me: "My friend drives a Saturn, but his GPS is named Sheila."
Larry "Well I don't need that shit, I know the streets. But I bet they'd be friends."
Larry: "I really want to change my voicemail back the Alan Rickman answering machine message [from Family Guy.] Especially since this college keeps trying to call me."
Johanna (my sister) to Leah (my daughter): "Don't be throwing temper tantrums, you don't want to end up like your uncle [Larry.]"
Larry (yelling) "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING ABOUT ME?"
My mom's dog, Harley, make horses noises. It's a fact.
Mom to Leah: "Get off the dog, he's not a horse!"
Larry: "What are you talking about? Throw a saddle on him, he'll take you anymore! Need cigs? Harley, gas station!"
Leah is screaming for something she can't have.
Larry: "Oh my God, can we give her a sedative? I have a syringe laying around. Just kidding, I don't do my heroin with needles."
Larry starting to play Super Mario Bros.
"'Welcome to Dinosaur Land?' FUCK, this sounds awful."
Larry: "What did the one lawyer say to the other lawyer?"
Me: "..."
Larry: "Hey, we're both lawyers!"
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