Oh, it's been a long month of eating junk (thanks, thesis). But I'm looking forward to cooking again in March... I already have a bolognese sauce recipe I love, but my lasagna only makes me like 80% happy, so I'm definitely going to be trying Deb's incredibly comprehensive directions for putting together a really good one with the sauce I love. David Lebovitz, as I mentioned to someone recently, kinda looks like my dad, if you look at him really quickly in passing...sort of. Sometimes I like to imagine that he's my gay, pastry chef, Paris-residing uncle. That's not weird, right? His recipes are a secret weapon for me, and I'm so excited to try this egg salad. Speaking of eggs, here is a recipe for a NY deli style breakfast sandwich. I really miss those. And chicken tacos, plus a story about Mexico city that make me want to go there!

Now.

This is a real story about the time my mom made me strap a pillow to my ass so I would agree to put on my rollerblades and skate down the street. I have chosen to tell it to you through the magic of a drawing I made on my Ipad.

My parents were always trying to get me to exercise when I was a kid, because they are MONSTERS. They have in common with each other (and the adult me) that they're not-very-diplomatic realists and pragmatic in a way that is often sort of extreme. That tendency really found its nadir in this particular moment. I was like, "I don't want to learn how to rollerblade. I feel like I'm probably going to die." Most parents would've dismissed the idea that I was going to die, but my mom was like, "Yeah, you're probably going to fall a lot. Strap this to your butt." Hey, you know one thing that really throws a newbie skater off balance? A large object tied to her ass. Also, a parent who is laughing so hard she cannot speak or breathe.

The end.