A Shameless Plug... Again

It was about a year and a half ago that I last blogged about something I was doing at work. It was Valentine's Day. And I was throwing 14 weddings. Again.

I typically shy away from writing about my job, in part because a few colleagues actually read this thing. I don't need to become a living urban legend: Girl Who Got Fired Over Work-Related Griping in Personal Blog.

But today, I feel compelled to share what's happening this week for 2 reasons:
1) it's just a cool event and I'm psyched to have pulled it off, amidst all the chaos in my life, and
2) it's such an ABSURD thing to be doing, given all the chaos in my life

In my dating days, I likened working at a bridal website to working at a leper colony. Guys didn't want anything to do with it. But I've recently realized what's infinitely worse than being single while working in bridal is having your relationship/engagement crumble before your eyes, while working in bridal.

Ouch.

Not a day -- not an HOUR -- goes by without rubbing salt in this particular wound.

Just last week I was in a meeting. We were looking at some product samples, and amidst all the hoodies and candles and picture frames, were the exact same wedding invitations I wanted to use (a lovely Kate Spade number with cheerful yellow or green flowers), and the exact same toasting flutes and serving set (the classic Vera Wang Love Knots) that we actually received as engagement gifts.

Everything I do professionally revolves around helping other people plan their weddings. Right now, if I were to sum up my job in one word, it would be excruciating.

Anyway, back to my shameless plug!

It's a project I've been working on for months -- called The Love Truck. And don't go getting the wrong idea. The shaggin' wagon this is not.

What this IS is a glass box truck that will be parked in Times Square, Union Square, and Soho over the next 3 days so that we can... wait for it... videotape people sharing their LOVE STORIES!

The irony of this is not lost on me.

Anyone who has NOT been kicked in the butt by love should come visit us at the truly adorable-looking Love Truck (and please bring me one of those new Starbucks frozen strawberry Frappucinos and/or a Dunkin Donuts watermelon Coolata -- they look delicious and if I drink them superfast, they just might give me a brainfreeze to dull the pain).

If you're not in NYC, or not into public displays of affection, you can also upload your loooove story straight to the site. The top-rated videos will each receive cool prizes, so give it a whirl. We could even rig it so that you win!

JOKES -- just jokes, people (and by "people," I mean lawyers).

That may be precisely the kind of thing you get fired over.

Let You Down

I don't know how to say this. I can't even find an image to depict what I'm feeling, so this is my first blog post without one. I'm just going to rip it off like a bandaid:

I'm not getting married anymore.

And just like that -- poof -- my future, my family, my home, my wedding, my precious ring, and the love of my life have simply disappeared. No one is more shocked than I am. I wish I could say it was mutual. But it wasn't.

When he asked me to marry him back in December, I came up with a slew of adjectives to describe how happy I was. I said it was "super-terrific-happy-HUGE-totally awesome-fantastically wonderful-can't even believe this is happening-somebody PLEASE PINCH ME news." Those same words held true when I moved in with him a mere 2 months ago.

And as I've spent the last week sobbing, packing, and moving out of the home I thought we were creating together, I came up with a whole new list of adjectives to describe how I was feeling.

You can use your imagination, but one remained, "can't even believe this is happening."

It's funny, before we met, I'd resigned myself to the fact that I likely wouldn't ever get married. So when I was over the moon about our engagement, it wasn't because my marriage clock was ticking and he just fit the suit. It wasn't a "to-do" to check off a list. Quite the opposite. I never HAD that list before him. It was because of him that I could even imagine becoming a wife and a mother. That I could finally have the kind of life that came so easily to everyone around me. That it was MY turn.

I told myself it was worth the wait. And it was.

It took everything I had to get out of my own way and fall in love. I was SO guarded. But there comes a point in any relationship where you have to make a choice to move forward. To trust someone completely. To have faith. So, I leapt, and he caught me. Willingly, I think. But I must have become too heavy along the way, and he let go.

So now here I am. Devastated, numb, humiliated, and alone.

I could rehash for you the myriad things that went wrong, or second guess every move, or play armchair psychologist, or dole out blame. But honestly... what's the point? It won't change things. And it certainly won't help me put my life back together.

Really, all I can do here is question my own judgement. I'm a smart girl, so how did I not see this coming? I've been on my own for most of my 36 years, so how did I allow myself to become so dependent on someone else? And I believed this was forever, so how can I ever expect to go down this road with someone new and NOT be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop?

In the end, I think I let myself down. My bad judgment has had a sickening ripple effect across my life, and the lives of my family and friends. And I'm crushed. CRUSHED. But in the moment, I guess I heard what I wanted to hear and saw what I wanted to see.

I don't plan to make this blog all woe-is-me now. That's not what you signed up for. And frankly, that's not who I am. I WILL cheer up and post my random thoughts about silly things. As cliche as it sounds, I will get my groove back.

Eventually.

It's just that when I created the "getting married" tag for this blog, I never in a MILLION years thought my last post in that category would be about the end of our relationship. I assumed the last one would be about our wedding. How foolish I feel. I've been told repeatedly that he's done me a favor by ending things now. Surely, I can see that this is better than if we were married, or had a child. But it still hurts like nothing I've ever experienced before.

So I'll just end this post with a heartfelt thanks to everyone who has listened, comforted, packed, driven, supported, hugged, and housed me over the last week. Your kindness means more than you know.

5 Reasons I Cannot Get Down with Jersey Shore

I read that a Jersey Shore spinoff is coming, called Wicked Summer.

PLEASE don’t let me get sucked into it.

I’m just coming to terms with the fact that I watched the whole first season of Jersey Shore. All 9 episodes. PLUS the reunion special. I also Jersey Shored myself. And I discovered my Jersey Shore nickname: Jenny Pepperoni.

The whole experience was so traumatizing, only now can I speak about it publicly.

If you have been living under a rock for the last six months and are oblivious to the cultural train wreck that is Jersey Shore, let me explain it in MTV’s own language...

If the Real World is the story of seven strangers picked to live in a house and have their lives taped to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real (I just typed that from memory, btw… scary...), then Jersey Shore is the story of eight guidos picked to live in Seaside Heights and have their fights taped to find out what happens when juiced-up gorillas stop popping steroids and start pumping fists.

Needless to say, a love letter to the Garden State, it is not.

I guess I kept watching because I was waiting for it to get better. To find something remotely redeeming about this rag-tag gaggle of goons who carted all their earthly possessions down the Parkway in a Hefty bag. But it never did get better. It got progressively worse.

Here are the 5 myths I just couldn’t see past:

MYTH #1: The cast was from New Jersey.
REALITY: Only 2 of them were! Like the Jerz doesn’t have enough problems? We need 5 bozos from New York and 1 from Rhode Island (I’m talking to YOU, Pauly D!) mucking up our already questionable national reputation? Thanks a lot, MTV.

MYTH #2: Italians are loud.
REALITY: Douchebags are loud! They come in all shapes, sizes. And nationalities.

MYTH #3: People name their bodyparts.
REALITY: No they don’t. Calling your twelve-pack abs “The Situation” is a lame attempt to distract from your Toucan Sam face or your thinning hair (aka “The Problem”).

MYTH #4: Tanning is a way of life.
REALITY: So is skin cancer. Look, I’m not really a fan of the faux tan (recall my Ooompa Loompa incident), but having a personal tanning bed in your home or going tanning in a SALON daily when you are spending the summer at the BEACH is a sign of stupidity, not status.

MYTH #5: Your hair should defy gravity.
REALITY: You shouldn’t look like you’re smuggling biscotti under your bangs. So Snookie/Snickers, just say “no” to your home-grown Bumpit. And on the topic of dumb looking hair, Pauly D., human beings do not buy hair gel by the gross (that’s 144 buckets of Dippity-Don’t to you). And finally, Vinny, please fill in those eyebrows. You look like Joan Crawford.


Ah. I feel better now. The first step towards Reality TV Recovery is admitting I have a problem.

So what do you think? Did my love of Jersey cloud my view of Jersey Shore?

Glee-union

It's been four months. Four loooooong months.

Since I last blogged? No, not quite. Since my beloved Glee last aired.

Yes, at 9:28PM last night, Glee came back! And while I didn't actually WATCH the episode because I'm waiting to see it with my fiance (and without commercial interruption), just knowing it's back makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I may break out in song. Actually, no I won't...

Did I ever tell you about the time when I was a singer? It was the end of the 6th grade, and I was 11. Grammar school. The place where they let EVERYBODY sing. I had one of many solos in We Are the World, and I did my best to channel Kim Carnes (of the Bette Davis Eyes fame), with my two fellow students, Huey Lewis and Cindy Lauper. I thought I was awesome. Total rockstar. I can even remember what I wore, primarily because it was neon.

Anyway, when I went to middle school the following year, I eagerly signed up for 7th grade chorus. I sang my heart out to the tune of the Star Spangled Banner, which would determine if I should have been grouped with the altos, the sopranos, the tenors, the basses (bases?), or the baritones. It was that day, I learned there was actually a sixth group in chorus: the mutes.

I was informed, in no uncertain terms, that I should, "sign up for art class instead, Jenny." So I did. After all, you don't have to sing when you're drawing or painting or sculpting. Hell, you don't even have to talk! Maybe that was her point.

So now that I'm 26 (ahem, plus 10), my singing is relegated to long car rides... alone. Trust me, it's for the best.

Back to Glee. You know what I love more than the show, or the singing, or the Slurpees, or even the almighty jazz hands? Sue Sylvester, aka Jane Lynch, the diabolical head coach of the Cheerios and arch nemesis to all Gleeks.

The devil wears Adidas.

And after next week's episode, I hear she Vogues, too. Every line out of her potty mouth should be put on a bumper sticker. I would even put them on my car. If I had one. So, in honor of Sue, here are a few my fave lines:

"I'm going to ask you to smell your armpits. That's the smell of failure, and it's stinking up my office." (Episode 3, Acafellas)

"All I want is just one day when I'm not visually assaulted by uglies and fatties. Seriously, Ohio, these retinas need a day off." (Episode 12, Mattress)

"Me, I never wanted kids. Don't have the time, don't have the uterus." (Episode 6, Vitamin D)

"I, for one, think intimacy has no place in marriage. Walked in on my parents once, and it was like seeing two walruses wrestling." (Episode 8, Mash-Up)

"Let me break this down for you, okay? I empower my Cheerios to be champions. Do they go on to college? I don't know, I don't care. Should they learn Spanish? Sure, if they wanna become dishwashers and gardeners. But if they want to be bankers and lawyers and captains of industry, the most important lesson they could possibly learn is how to do a round-off." (Episode 7, Throwdown)

"You'll be adding revenge to the long list of things you're no good at -- right next to being married, running a high school Glee Club, and finding a hairstyle that doesn't make you look like a lesbian." (Episode 13, Sectionals)

"I will go to the animal shelter and get you a kitty cat. I will let you fall in love with that kitty cat. And then on some dark, cold night, I will steal away into your house... and punch you in the FACE!" (Episode 8, Mash-Up)

"I like minorities so much, I'm thinking of moving to California to become one." (Episode 7, Throwdown)

"You wouldn't even know if your Glee Club was using your office to breed rabbits for pets or for food. You know why? You're too busy chasing tail and loading your hair with enormous amounts of product. I mean today it just looks like you put lard in it." (Episode 12, Mattress)

"You want to be creative, you want to be in the spotlight. Face it. You want to be me! So here's the deal: You do with your depressing little group of kids what I did with my wealthy, elderly mother. Euthanize it! It's time, and I'll be happy to offer you a job as my second assistant on Cheerios. You can fetch me Gatorade, launder my soiled delicates. It'd be very rewarding work for you." (Episode 2, Showmance)

"I am about to vomit down your back." (Episode 7, Throwdown)


See any I missed? Add them below! Unless, they're from last night's episode. In that case, wait until next week...

Put a Date on It

Um, hello? Is this thing on? I haven’t blogged in ages. I mean AGES. I owe you an apology.

(Sorry)

Actually, I’m probably just talking to myself at this point. You aren’t even reading this because you’ve given up. Given up on me. Given up on this blog. Who can blame you?

You might think I’ve just had nothing to say over the last 7 weeks. Ha! Me? Nothing to say? Oh, please…

I just haven’t made the time to say what’s on my mind. It’s as simple as that.

Sure, I’ve started crafting many a blog post in my head on my walk to work, but sadly, that’s where they remain. So, if you hoped this post would contain my musings on highly persuasive AT&T pitchman, Luke Wilson, you’re out of luck (though I should tell you I'm thisclose to ditching Verizon and getting a iPhone).

You will also be disappointed if you stopped by on the off chance you’d learn how Gary “Scary” Coleman’s recent arrest inspired me to develop a gallery of celebrity mug shots. Or why I think you need to be watching Undercover Boss and The Marriage Ref (seriously, get on that). Or when I became the crazy deodorant lady because my 24hr antiperspirant took a half day (don't ask).

Nope. You won’t find any of that here.

I know, excuses, excuses. I’m not the only one who’s busy. We all have lives. And the majority of the last 7 weeks of mine has been spent doing a MILLION different things. But one thing I have NOT been doing is planning my wedding.

And it’s not that I don’t want to. Really, I do.

It’s that we haven't set a date set yet. Mainly because we don’t have a budget yet. Welcome to wedding planning, recession style! But one thing we DO know is that we’re getting hitched this summer.

Yep, you read that right: THIS SUMMER. (And no, I'm not knocked up.)

Sounds crazy. I mean, being in the biz, I know the average wedding takes 12-18 months to plan. I also know that the average wedding costs roughly $26K (make that $42K in the NYC area). And I know that the average bride-to-be spends nearly 30 hours each week planning her wedding -- it’s basically a second job.

But that’s not me. I am the anti-bride.

I really don’t care to be engaged for a year and a half, obsessing over every minute detail, I cannot fathom spending what could amount to a down payment on a house for a silly little party, and I do not need a second job planning my wedding when my FIRST job involves helping other people plan theirs.

Personally, I’d rather just be married and move on with our lives. And luckily, so would he.

Blasphemy? Maybe. I don’t care. I’m not a princess and this certainly isn’t my “big day.” I’m 36 years old for God’s sake!

That ship has sailed.

The fact is, whatever the budget, whenever the date, I've met the man of my dreams. What else do I really need? Well, maybe two more things: 1) a wedding that feels like us and 2) to have our closest family and friends there to celebrate. I know I DON'T want a generic, cookie-cutter, insert-bride-and-groom-here-style soiree that focuses more on what you’re SUPPOSED to do than who you actually ARE as individuals and as a couple.

Huh. And all along I thought I was so conservative and traditional. Who knew?

If anyone out there is still reading this blog, inspire me! Did you do anything non-traditional when planning your own wedding?

The Skunkies

What is $34.50, involves oily butter, and makes your feet stick to the floor?

Why it’s a trip for 2 to the movies (plus snacks), of course!

With this kind of investment, you’d probably want to spend your hard-earned movie money wisely, right? And there are PLENTY of people out there to help you do just that. From Razzies to Rotten Tomatoes, there’s no shortage of sites sniffing out the movie bombs.

I know this. Really I do. And yet, I keep watching stinkers.

And I don't mean movies of the “so bad they’re really good” variety. I mean just plain awful ones. The kind that make you want to plop down on your couch to watch TV instead because if you don't like the show, at least it was free (sorta). Or make you want to eat healthy carrots instead of a bucket-o-faux-buttery popcorn, because they help improve your night-vision (or so I hear).

For whatever reason, I continue to turn a deaf ear to the critics. So tonight, I am compelled to share 10 painful films that I have endured over the past decade. Let this be a cautionary tale.

I’m almost embarrassed to admit seeing most of these. And I’m certain I’ll never get the precious hours back that were spent throwing up in my movie-loving mouth as these interminable films droned on.

So, on with the show! Here are my WORST movies of the decade.

And “The Skunky” goes to…

2000: Battlefield Earth
Tagline: “Prepare for Battle.”
Star Power: John Travolta, Forest Whitaker
10-Word Synopsis: Futuristic Scientologists destroy Earth, enslave humans. Accidental comedy.
Stink Factor:

2001: Glitter
Tagline: “In music she found her dream, her life, herself.”
Star Power: Mariah Carey, Terrence Howard
10-Word Synopsis: Big-haired singer with dream. Should stick to singing, not acting.
Stink Factor:

2002: Crossroads
Tagline: “Dreams change, friends are forever.”
Star Power: Britney Spears, Dan Aykroyd, Kim Cattrall, Justin Long
10-Word Synopsis: See Mariah.
Stink Factor:

2003: Gigli
Tagline: “Murder, blackmail, temptation, redemption. It’s been a busy week.”
Star Power: Ben Affleck, Jennifer Lopez, Christopher Walken, Justin Bartha
10-Word Synopsis: Set in Jersey -- spoiler -- can't believe they didn't work out.
Stink Factor:

2004: Catwoman
Tagline: (they didn’t have one, so I’m adding my own: “Me-Ouch!”)
Star Power: Halle Berry, Benjamin Bratt, Sharon Stone
10-Word Synopsis: Woman becomes cat, fights crime. Really, Oscar winner? REALLY??
Stink Factor:

2005: The Gingerdead Man
Tagline: “Evil never tasted so good.”
Star Power: Gary Busey
10-Word Synopsis: Psychokiller comes back to life as cookie. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Stink Factor:

2006: Basic Instinct 2
Tagline: “Sometimes obsession can be murder.”
Star Power: Sharon Stone
10-Word Synopsis: Nobody needs to see your lady parts again, Sharon. Seriously.
Stink Factor:

2007: Who’s Your Caddy?
Tagline: “This summer, it’s the street vs. the elite.”
Star Power: Sherri Shepherd
10-Word Synopsis: Racial stereotypes abound. Title is most clever thing here.
Stink Factor:

2008: Pineapple Express
Tagline: “Put this in your pipe and smoke it.”
Star Power: Seth Rogan & James Franco
10-Word Synopsis: Must be high to understand unfunny reefer comedy. Have munchies.
Stink Factor:

2009: Jennifer’s Body
Tagline: “She’s evil… and not just high school evil.”
Star Power: Megan Fox, Amanda Seyfried, Adam Brody
10-Word Synopsis: Can’t resist things named Jennifer. But it’s no Juno, Diablo.
Stink Factor:

Ok, now it’s YOUR turn. Surely I can’t be the only one who watched horrible movies in the past decade. Add your own stinkers below!

Blogger-In-Law

Happy 2010!

(If you are reading this aloud to friends, that's "twenty-ten" NOT "two-thousand and ten" or the dreaded "twenty-o-ten").

Yes, I’m 15 days late with my New Years greeting. Or maybe... I'm 30 days early! Chinese New Year begins on Feb 14, after all, and I hear it's the year of the tiger.

Roar. Or is it grrrr? Meow? I dunno.

Anyway, since we are at the dawn of a brand-new decade, I resolve to exercise more (no I don't). And eat healthier (nope -- couldn't even keep my 2009 resolution to eat more junk!). And blog more (well, TRY to blog more).

But you know who’s NOT a blogger slacker like me? My brother-in-law-to-be! He just started his own blog. And it’s the perfect antidote to the estrogen-fest happening here. Plus it gets updated MULTIPLE times per day.

I have blog envy.

Now, you may be wondering, how do I know if his blog, The Lighter Side of Sports, is right for me? If you answer “no” to the following questions, I think you’ll enjoy his Sports Center meets The Onion mash-up:

1) Do you like watching the commercials MORE than the actual Super Bowl?
If no, click here. If yes, do not click here.

2) Do you go to a baseball game JUST for the snacks?
If no, click here. If yes, do not click here.

3) When a body check happens on the ice, are you at the AIRPORT in winter?
If no, click here. If yes, you know the drill.

Unfortunately, I DO watch the Super Bowl for the commercials. I’m ALL about the baseball snacks. And I once got body checked in the Calgary airport (let’s just say it wasn’t pretty to be manhandled by a large woman named Shirley).

So I won’t be reading his blog. If anything funny happens, let me know.

(I kid!)

Seriously, check it out if you’re smart. But ONLY if you’re smart. I don’t need a bunch of dummies going over there telling Colin that Jenny sent them...

Any other blogs we should be reading? List them below!

Dear Santa...

As I type this, you are in Pittsburgh. At least, according to NORAD.

And I know that I’ve already received the ultimate Christmas gift. His name is Justin. But I have been very, very good this year. So just in case you are feeling ultra generous, here are 12 things I wouldn’t mind finding under my tree when I wake.

For your convenience, I've listed them in price order. Not that money should matter to a man with elves...

-- A Big Top Cupcake Maker (got it already, one down!)
-- A Starring Role in a Classic Novel ($25.50)
-- The World’s Largest Gummy Bear ($29.99)
-- A Pair of Feety Pajamas ($44.99)
-- An iPhone on Verizon (make it happen!)
-- A Subscription to the Bacon of the Month Club ($575.95)
-- An Arts & Crafts Closet ($1,301.36)
-- The Backyard Blizzard Snowmaking Machine ($2,689.00)
-- A Trip for Two to Learn to Cook in Tuscany ($5,590.00)
-- A Zoltar Fortune Telling Machine ($8,999.95)
-- A Cupcake Car ($25,000.00)
-- The World’s Largest TV ($149,000.00)

So… I think that’s about it. Until next year.

Merry Christmas & enjoy the cookies (homemade, just for you!),
Jenny

The Rachel

So I’m down in Del Boca Vista for the holidays visiting my parents, which is great. Except for one thing: I miss my fiancé something awful.

Spending two weeks in the retirement community to end all retirement communities is certainly relaxing (which I need), but it also means I’ve got lots of time on my hands. And a lot of time to miss him. So I’ve been trying to keep busy. Shopping. Cooking. Eating. Decorating. Watching movies. Going swimming. Driving around the neighborhood. Getting my hair cut.

Yep. You heard me right. Getting my hair cut. In Florida. At a retirement community.

Brave? Nah!

I’ve been thinking about getting it chopped for a while. Admittedly, it was overgrown, shaggy, shapeless, lifeless and all-around unflattering. You know, when the split ends are 5 shades lighter than the roots? Pretty. I needed an intervention. But in my defense, I attribute my hair-don’t to the fact that my hairstyle doesn’t require much maintenance. Actually, I'm lying. I don’t even have a hairstyle. I just have hair. And LOTS of it (being from Jersey and all).

My mom and I thought it would be fun to go get our hair done together. So we cheated on her normal salon -- Root 466 -- and made an appointment at a new one closer to my parents’ house. It was called Dimensions, which doesn’t really sound like a salon to me -- frankly, it sounds more like a rehab facility or a special ed program.

But we went with it and got appointments with a stylist named Josephine and the ambiguously-gendered Chris. Going in, I was 95% sure that guy or girl, I was choosing Chris. The name Josephine made me think of a chain-smoking, bourbon-drinking old broad with a hairy chin.

Well, a goateed, gap-toothed man in an embroidered black and white bowling shirt approached us. In the most friendly southern drawl I've ever heard, he said, “Well hey there, gals! My name's Chris!” I immediately turned to my mother and whispered, “I’m rolling the dice with Josephine.”

Call me a snob, I don’t care.

Next, in walks Josephine. And she didn’t have any hairs on her chin at all! She looked normal. Roughly my age. And in the first few minutes, she told me she was from Long Island. Now we’re talking! I decided to be bold and take my hair by the roots: I’m here for a cut, let’s get a CUT!

"Long layers!" I declared, and off we went.

After my scalp took a beating in the shampoo chair and she liberally applied detangler to my mangy locks, Josephine went to town. And by went to town, I mean that by the end, there was more hair on the floor than there was on my head. Seriously. She had to sweep 3 separate times. You know like when Edward Scissorhands is at work and his eyes glaze over and stuff is flying everywhere? Yeah. It was like that.

After almost an hour of snipping and moussing and drying and curling and straightening and spraying (and praying) and balming, she was done. I spun around towards the mirror, not knowing what to expect.

Now, I wasn’t particularly nervous, mind you. My philosophy -- ever since a truly horrendous perm I once got back in the 10th grade -- is that it’s just hair. It grows back.

Anyway, I took a look at the front and the back with that little hand-held mirror thingy. And I actually liked it! Huh?!? Go Josephine!! There was just this one thing. This nagging thought...

I’ve seen this look before.

Anyway, my mom came over and her hair was exactly the same as when we walked into Dimensions. Seems she got an un-cut from Chris (who incidentally was from Arkansas -- is that considered the South? -- I dunno).

We went over to pay and the bill was $64. Naturally, I assumed that was for each of us.

Nope.

It was for BOTH of us! $64 for TWO haircuts. Plus my mom had a $10 gift card from some promotion they did a YEAR AGO. And they honored it! So that’s $54 for two haircuts. Or… $27 PER HAIRCUT. My brain exploded thinking about the cheapness of it all. I don’t even think you can get ONE eyebrow waxed in NYC for $27. Unbelievable! Like a Christmas miracle.

So I literally skip out of the salon, after spending mere pocket change on a haircut I'm loving more and more each minute. I feel 5 lbs lighter. Then it dawns on me, where I’ve seen it before.

It’s The Rachel.

Freaking Josephine from Long Island gave me a 15-year-old haircut! Awesome. I thought about getting annoyed, but for $27, really, who gives a crap?

I just hope my fiancé likes it. And if not… it grows back.

Joy to the World

I have been a blogger slacker. I know this. You know this. We all know this. Mea culpa.

As a peace offering, I come bearing good news. Actually... scratch that. This is super-terrific-happy-HUGE-totally awesome-fantastically wonderful-can’t even believe this is happening-somebody PLEASE PINCH ME news.

I am engaged!

I KNOW!!! News this good bears repeating: I. Am. Engaged. WOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO!!!! You may think it’s kinda sudden, but I say, when you know, you know. And, believe me, we know.

You know?

Of course you do! You faithfully followed my online dating disasters. You cheered when I officially took myself off the market because I met a truly wonderful man. And now, I believe it is only fitting to share how this perfect engagement happened.

Facebook may have known it first, but YOU’LL know it best…

We’d been talking about getting engaged for a while. I knew it was looming. Hell, I even picked out the ring! I kind of assumed it would happen over a weekend, either before or after the holidays.

So, my parents recently came up from Florida -- 5 whole days (and nights) in my 550 sqft deluxe apartment in the sky, and we had a great time! But since my boyfriend and I didn't have very much time together that weekend, I suggested that I visit him in CT on Monday, after my mom and dad were safely back in the Sunshine State.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll just see you on Wednesday.”

“Fine,” I said, and hung up the phone. Disappointed.

Shortly after, I received a text saying he’d reconsidered. Turns out, I was right! I really should come up for a visit on Monday night.

I paused momentarily on the fact that I was right. (That’s always lovely to hear.) And then I made plans to come visit, all the while thinking this was MY idea...

Fast forward to Monday after work. I caught the 5:28 out of Grand Central and arrived in Stamford around 6:15. He picked me up at the train station, as per usual, and let me know he’d ordered us pepperoni pizzas from a local place we love, Colony. Yum.

We grabbed the pizzas and drove back to his condo. When we walked in the door, I saw his halls were all decked out for Christmas. His tree was framed in the picture window. Amidst the twinkle lights, about a hundred different ornaments hung from the branches -- ranging from Jimmy Buffett margaritas to Dolphins helmets to Montauk lighthouses -- each one with a special significance. The house smelled of the holidays, a mix of cranberry and evergreen. And three little stockings hung from the windowsill.

One for him. One for his 7 year old daughter. And one for me. (Awwww!)

It felt like a normal night, with a dash of holiday cheer. We chatted and enjoyed our pizza. We watched two episodes of The Office. And I told him the most long-winded, never-ending saga about a good friend’s horrible date (remind me to tell you about it sometime -- it’s a doozy!).

I must have blathered on for thirty minutes straight. At least.

Around 8pm, I flipped on the TV Guide menu to see that Santa Claus Is Coming to Town was on ABC. We were totally in the mood for a Christmas cartoon, but not that one. So he dug into his extensive DVD collection and popped in ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. You know the one -- with the mice? And the broken clock? Love it.

Anyway, just before he hit play, he disappeared. I didn’t think much of it. When he came back into the living room, I saw a flash of orange in his hand. “Score,” I thought. “A Reese’s peanut butter cup!”

Um… it wasn’t a peanut butter cup.

He approached me as I was sitting on the couch, by the light of the Christmas tree, and dropped to one knee. The orange flash was actually a ring box. And inside was the most beautiful ring I’ve ever worn. And the most precious gift I’ve ever received.

The ring has three stones -- one to represent him, his daughter, and me -- with a sparkly deep blue sapphire in the center, which just happens to be the birthstone for September (the month he was born).

I was SO stunned I may have blacked out for a minute. (Is that what I THINK it is? Is this happening?? Did he fall off the couch, or is he really on one knee? OMG, it IS happening!!!) At first, this inner dialogue prevented me from hearing the lovely words coming from my boyfriend’s -- now fiancé’s -- mouth. But once I snapped out of shock, I said yes. Yes. YEESSSS!

And I’m pretty sure I thanked him about fifty times.

That’s when the waterworks started. Now, I don’t consider myself a big crier, but these were tears of joy. When I went to hug him and pulled away, a giant streak of my black/brown mascara went across his cheek like he had just been accosted by Tammy Faye Bakker. It wasn’t pretty.

But it was perfect. Perfectly romantic. Perfectly us.

So that’s the story. And before you ask, we have NO idea about a wedding date yet, but it will be sooner than later. We’re thinking this summer, maybe?

Because as much as I love being his fiancée, I truly can’t wait to become his wife.

xoxo