Que Sera Sera

Missing the gene

Actual headlines on the cover of Elegant Bride magazine, given to me by my best friend Emily:

“Pretty Colors, Pretty Ideas”
“Gorgeous Ribbons & Bows”
“Simplify Your Seating Chart”

Last night, after five wonderful but exhausting days, I lie down on the bed and open this magazine. Nick is sitting at the computer.

“This veil costs more than our rent.”

“This woman is sitting in the sand in a giant dress, pouting. She does not seem at all worried about the tide.”

“There’s an entire spread about all the different kinds of pink makeup available to me… Nick, I definitely want to marry you, but I do not think I want to be a bride.”

“That’s okay. You can have the groom’s job: just showing up on time.”

“I’d probably be fifteen minutes late.”

At this point, Nick takes the magazine. “Is this seating chart thing for real? It reads like an Onion article.”

A minute later: “Is this a pug covered in ribbons?”

“Are you sure it’s a ribbon, not a bow?”

“I don’t know, how can you tell?”

Guess what

baaaaaaarf barf barf barf, originally uploaded by Sarah Brown.

Nick asked me to marry him, and I said yes!

I promise to tell the story of how he proposed just as soon as I can go five minutes without my phone ringing. I had no idea how many relatives I had until yesterday. Until I tell that story, I will tell you my favorite story about the day we met.

I was in Antonia’s living room on a Sunday morning, fresh off a flight after a week in Dublin, just sitting on the couch having tea, and Nick came downstairs and introduced himself. Only later did I learn that Nick first came downstairs fifteen minutes before, in his bathrobe, grumpy and in search of coffee, and peeked in through the kitchen, saw me on the couch, and immediately went back upstairs and took a shower and put on his best stripey jumper and spent the next twelve hours hanging out with us.

For the record, yesterday was not the first time Nick has suggested we get married. The first time was approximately 48 hours after we’d met. Even then, my first reaction was, “Eh, I would totally marry this guy,” which is a sentence I could never even think inside my own brain about any previous boyfriends without having a panic attack.

So yes! I am totally going to marry this guy and we’re going to have adorable children with magnificent heads of hair.

Thank you in advance for being so happy and supportive, Internet. I always knew you guys were all right.


Nick(’s hair) is famous!

Good taste is timeless.

Found in a notebook from 2004:

Things Stephen wants

I still eat string cheese, though.

the cupboard, post-nick, originally uploaded by Sarah Brown.

Before Nick, I ate like a ten year old boy whose parents worked all day. I mean, no Ecto Coolers, but I ate most of my meals standing at the kitchen counter, and they usually consisted of things you could dip into other things: hummus, carrots, tortilla chips, salsa, crackers, some sort of cream cheese. I also ate a lot of sandwiches, cereal, and popsicles, punctuated every so often by a box of Tuna Helper Tuna Tetrazzini.

I just don't cook. It doesn't interest me. I love to bake, but I don't even do that very often anymore. Which is probably good, since I'd just eat cookies for breakfast.

Anyway, it's been lovely living with someone who a) cooks, and b) does not mind one single bit that I do not. He actually likes it, because it means he gets the kitchen all to himself, and pretty much anything he makes, I go crazy over. Eggs! He can do more than just scramble them! Which I couldn't even do myself until late 2005! And don't even get me started on all the delicious dinners. Cooked dinners! With fresh vegetables! On plates!

We are broke as hell, but I'm eating so much better than I was four months ago. I've actually lost weight since he came. I guess not having Wheat Thin-based meals anymore will do that.

Gone soft

Any time I use a knife to cut up a peach or nectarine instead of just biting straight into it with my teeth, I think to myself, Pussy.

RELATED: Old Rock Dudes With Meg Ryan Hair

Respect the lions den

Below is the absolute best response we got to our ad on Craigslist looking for a new roommate.

“what up,

new dog in town on hunt for room to rent. this looks like my style, long as it on first story as i have several heavy posessions that cant go up stairs. little bout me…good looking brother (yall behave), 6’1”, 43 yrs old, work from home computer programmer. most important thing is respect to my room as my lions den: lovely ladies will be coming in and out, at different hours of the day and night, being pleased by me and pleasing me in return and then gettin they ass out the door. i see there’s a air conditioner in that room – i’m definitely going to need that because there’s gonna be a lot of sweating going on in my lions den. the heavy objects i have include “his and hers” coffins and a aluminum trapeze set (safety harness attached, don’t trip) which i will have to install into ceiling. non-smoker, but have to ask you to excuse incence and perfumes coming from the lions den, along with candlewax, spanish fly, rubber fumes, occasional smell of body heat and leather. (all natural materials.) also see in pic there are bookshelves in that room—dont need those, i school the ladies all they need to know. also, i sleep in bare, just so you know if you drop into lions den for breakfast you might end up with a buffet like shoney’s.

hit me up … at xxx-xxx-xxxx. id like to measure room for coffin space as soon as possible.”

I knew it had to be fake, but I didn’t notice until the third time I read it that they’d listed my own phone number as the contact info. So it has to be from one of our friends, only no one’s owned up to it. Why would you let this go unattributed?! It’s like da Vinci not signing the Mona Lisa! (Eh, did da Vinci actually sign the Mona Lisa? I don’t have a copy of Dan Brown handy.)

No Cringe tonight

And the September date will be changing due to Labor Day weekend. October’s will be in London, for the UK Cringe book release! Back to normal in November.

Copyright © 2001–2012 by sb
Powered by Movable Type