Archive for March, 2012

A text message conversation with la Stepdaughter, circa like 6 months ago-ish:


In case you’re wondering: I firmly believe that introducing her to Tim Riggins and Logan (Veronica Mars, not pictured texted, but still high ranking in our affections and yes I am conflicted about that given his concerning tendencies but I’m working past it and making it a teachable moment and all that because: Logan) is one of the better things I’ve done as a stepmother. Culture is important, people!

(This text was also sent around the time that she complained “Ugh, I have NO idea why you think Alcide is so hot” and I had to explain that it was likely because we make her cover her eyes when he takes his shirt off. It’s hard to be a kid. Someday she’ll see The Truth)

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Where I’ve Been

Lots on my mind the past couple of weeks, so much so that my only real coping mechanism has been to go home from work every night and watch four or five hours of The Vampire Diaries.

It started innocently enough. My stepdaughter mentioned she loved the show, so we downloaded the first couple of episodes to watch while on bike trainers, thinking we should at least be cognizant of the stuff she’s into, and we need stuff to watch while training, so, hey: win. (Had nothing to do with the two male leads, nothing at all) (Seriously. Nothing at all.) (Ahem.) And then: Oh, man. It’s so good, you guys. Not like, Battlestar Galactica good, or West Wing good, but maybe juuuust a notch below Veronica Mars good. Good enough, I should say, that we’ve made it through the first two seasons and 18 episodes of season three in abbbbout a two week window.

One thing that makes me laugh, however, is how OLD I’ve gotten for a show like this. Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy a good vampire story on the CW as much as the next 15 year old, but I came across a quote from an episode recap on TWoP that summed it up perfectly:

Now, on The Vampire Diaries, Damon’s in the shower, and I can’t decide which I find more appealing — wet, nekkid Damon, eye-thinging at himself in the mirror, or that bathroom, but I’m leaning toward the bathroom, which tells you more than you need to know about my age

It’s true, you guys. Every time that bathroom is on screen, Mike and I go “Oooooh, that bathroom is AWESOME” The half naked pretty people in the bathroom? Secondary mention at best.

And they say adults can’t enjoy pop culture with their kids. Pshaw.

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Every Fricken March

So, I’m not really a fan of March. It’s hard to dress for (20 degrees yesterday! 70 degrees today!), usually kind of drafty, bright enough to pretend it’s spring, but not warm enough for green grass, so everything is kind of brown and gray and … bright. I mean, be cold and wintery white or be warm and green, right? However I slice it, I dislike March, and I super dislike running outside in March. It’s just no fun.

So of course every March I seem to re-enter the world of running and racing, with this March being no exception. In case you’re keeping track at home: my last race was Ironman CdA in June 2010, after which I took a nice long recovery so I could be refreshed enough to rock the Running of the Green 7k in March 2012. 

(And yes, I’m glad you asked: I *did* spend the entire race trying to figure out how long 7k is. “If 10k is 6.2 miles and a 5k is 3.1 miles then a 7k must be…” Sadly, the last – wait, two years ago- March race I did was an 8k, so the mental gymnastics I did figuring out that distance did me NO GOOD AT ALL. If we ever switch to the metric system I am so hosed.)

Anyway! Race pics! Which reminds me: one thing I really did love about this race was going with a group of friends from our gym. The majority of my good good friends in DC came from long weekends on bikes or in cars traveling to races, and it was really enjoyable to be spending my time in this fashion again. Both Mike and I went to be Sunday night saying “man, what a great weekend”, and I know that the act of being back in a race setting with friends had a lot to do with it. So much so that it can even have me enjoying a March day.


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What A Guy

My uncle died a few weeks ago. It was sad (horrific, unimaginable, tragic) but not necessarily unexpected. He was diagnosed with cancer last April and it was up and down until it was mostly down, and then, as these things go, it was over.

I liked my uncle quite a lot, and I’m sad for many reasons that this has happened, but the thing that I can’t shake is how terrible it is for my grandmother; this is the third child she has buried and, I mean, I get that it’s not really the quantity of loss that makes my uncle’s death sadder than other untimely losses, but… no one should have to bury any children, let alone have to suffer the gut punch of losingthree.

Anyway. At the risk of this turning into an entry detailing exactly how deeply his loss will cut across those who love him (his wife, his goddaughter, his three remaining siblings, etc), I’d rather share one story about my uncle that I heard at the funeral that has had me smiling for a few days: his coworker was describing my uncle’s last performance review at work. Performance reviews are (in my experience and certainly for lawyers, which my uncle was) an opportunity to talk at great length about one’s accomplishments, and to go on and on in order to really hammer home the point of one’s talent and brilliance and all around value.

My uncle, for his review, simply wrote: “Mike Pescatello: What A Guy”


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