Maria Sestito is the Napa Valley Register’s public safety reporter. She’s new to not only Napa Valley, but to California. As one of the newest and youngest reporters at the Register, she shares her unique perspective on life in her column “Jersey Girl,” which runs every other Monday.
Tinder is a lot like Pinterest except instead of looking at DIY projects I’m not going to make, I’m looking at men I’m not going to date.
I’ll always be a Jersey girl, but I realized the last time I went home that it doesn’t feel like home anymore.
If you’re devout, I might be the worst person to go to church with and it has nothing to do with my beliefs. I just can’t handle it.
Dating is a full-time job. Unfortunately, in most cases, it doesn’t pay. I mean that both literally and figuratively.
A guy recently told me that he wanted to make it into my column. I told him that my next few subjects were already lined up, so he would have to stick around for a few weeks. He found a loophole: he ghosted me.
I’ve never been much of a sports fan, but when my team made it to the Super Bowl, I suddenly became a Phanatic – a Philly Phanatic. (Yes, that’s the baseball team mascot, not the football team. I do know that much, but it works.)
Nothing reminds you of the importance of self-care like getting sick twice in less than 30 days.
Something strange and amazing happened to me one night last week: I was too happy to sleep.
It’s been a rough year.
When it comes to writing my column, there aren’t many lines I won’t cross. But, I’ve discovered, just because I’m willing to share details of my personal life, doesn’t mean that my partners, friends and family are.
This weekend I’m unplugging.
I’m officially the only “Beginner Adult” ballerina at The Arts Academy in Napa.
When the “Me too” movement revived last month it was amidst a whirlwind of wildfires scorching areas of Northern California. I saw my friends on Facebook posting away, joining others who have been sexually harassed or assaulted with either a simple #MeToo or by describing their own experience.
“Are you OK?”
I recently started standing in what I refer to as “the food line.”
There’s something to the term “retail therapy.”
The last few weeks have finally felt like summer in the Bay Area – at least to me.
Cosmo needed a friend. It didn’t even need to be a friend, actually, just something to keep him company while I was working. So, I did a thing. I bought a fish.
While I stuffed my face with bacon cheesecake, bacon upside down cake and what could have been a bacon birthday cake, pounds and pounds of food were going bad around me.
I recently had a night of revivals – Jamestown Revival and The Revivalists performing at Robert Mondavi Winery. Both bands were good, but the special thing about this night was that it was the first of many events I’ll be going to sans a boyfriend.
I once had a Spider-Man T-shirt that read: “I met my boyfriend on the web.” I don’t have that T-shirt any more, but I still have a crush on Spidey.
I gave it my all, but being blonde isn’t for me.
Kathy Griffin can be mean. She’s crass, says gross and inappropriate things and makes fun of people.
The first night of BottleRock, I found myself being taken by the hand and led to the front of the night’s biggest concert by a 17-year-old girl.
After a dip in the ocean and about an hour of reading on the beach, the best thing to do is walk up to the boardwalk to grab a cold lemonade and something to eat.
No matter how much you didn’t like living at home or how badly you wanted to leave, there is something special about going back.
My freshman year of college I went to Emerson in Boston, Massachusetts. It wasn’t the best financial choice, but my gut told me to go there. After a few months of being there, though, my gut told me to leave.
Yountville is the last place I expected to be walking barefoot, carrying my shoes in my hand, doing what must have looked like a walk of shame. Except I wasn’t hungover and the shoes weren’t high-heels.
I need to not only learn how to walk but how to stand.
When I decide I’m going to clean, I typically start with my closet. I love to organize and reorganize my clothes, sometimes planning a few outfits ahead of time or even putting a few items in a discard/donate pile. This week when I went through my closet, though, I got a little sad.
Like the responsible adult I am, I file my taxes each year.
After a few failed months living with my ex and a couple of weeks couch surfing, I’m moving into my own place. It’ll be the first time in my life living without some sort of roommate, housemate, live-in boyfriend, ex-boyfriend or parent. And, I gotta say, I’m excited.
I have sort of a thing for Christmas trees. Not an obsessive thing – more of a nostalgic thing.
My dad got engaged over the weekend and told me through a text message.
Readers, it’s time we talked about poop.
As of last week, I’ve moved about 18 times throughout my life.
Halloween isn’t what it used to be.
This year I spent my 27th birthday the same way I spent my 13th birthday – watching a fellow Libra jump up and down on stage belting out my favorite songs.
It’s not very often that I am able to eat both breakfast and lunch. I’m usually choosing between the two – either I can make a lunch or I can spend that 10 minutes eating a bagel, cereal or granola. I sometimes have a “good” week where I make my lunch every day and, although I’m not eating b…
Thursday was a long day.
My car makes me be a better person, but she’s also made me spoiled.
There was a time in my life when I really loved myself and my look. I was in college, working multiple jobs and at the peak of my confidence. I wasn’t quite rockin’ crop tops, but I was getting there.
Since I’ve lived in California, my diet has consisted of mostly fast food, pizza and the occasional at-home spaghetti. My boyfriend and I have tried to get better at cooking, but it seems that whatever I buy goes bad before I can use it.
I was going to tell you about how I went to the state fair and how my favorite ride is the log flume, how it reminds me of my childhood ...
I’m pretty accommodating, it turns out.
“This piece looks close to the color you wanted” isn’t something you want to hear after sitting in a salon chair for seven hours.
Editor’s note: This is the first column from the Register’s newest reporter, Maria Sestito. It will run every other week.
