The Good Stuff

I have had this grand plan of chronicling our entire New York-Paris trip-- and I will, I swear!-- but really, I am in no mood to write about anything but what might arguably be called the highlight of the trip.

I got engaged in Paris!

Yes, apparently we are those types of people, the ones who go to the most romantic city in the world and go and get engaged. Truthfully, I had no idea it was coming-- I had been hearing from so many people, "Oh, he's going to propose there! Of course he will! It's Paris!" that I was convinced that there was no way that was going to happen. I didn't want to come back from the trip snapping at everyone who asked to see my left hand, so I was determined to have a simply amazing trip, diamond ring or no. Rest assured, friends, that I am completely appreciative that it did happen there, and that an already-wonderful trip was highlighted by a perfect proposal. What happened, you ask? Well...

It was the fourth day of our trip, one that started with a visit to the Louvre with GP's parents, but the two of us decided to make an Express Trip of it: Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, Hammurabi's code, and the Winged Victory, a couple more things along the way, and we were headed out. Lunch in the Marais, with its labyrinthine streets and slight drizzle, peeking out from under an awning and finishing a bottle of wine. Then it was a few hours in the Picasso Museum, and back to our local supermarche in the 16eme (where our apartment was) to get some picnic items. The plan was to head to the Bois du Boulogne for a picnic, complete with a fresh baguette, some insanely cheap and delicious French wine (seriously, not a bad bottle was had on this trip), and a blanket that we had pilfered from the apartment (likely not intended for outdoor use).

Now, between the two of us, we knew that "bois" meant "woods." Why we went to a park that translates into "the woods of Boulogne" for a picnic may seem silly now, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. After wandering through several of the park's trails, surrounded by trees and any number of Parisian predators, ready to spring out of the aforementioned trees and grope one or both of us, we found a suitably grassy area and spread our blanket under a tree. Bread was broken, wine was drunk, and pigeons were shooed away. It was a perfect "early" dinner-- apparently in the summer, the sun is up in Paris until about 10:30pm, so this picnic began at about 7. I had already been talking about what we had to do when we came back to Paris, and GP began talking about how we have to come back to Paris now, as he pulled an Estee Lauder gift-with-purchase bag out of his pocket. What follows is a combination of what actually was said, and what was going on in my head...

Huh. What is this? Did he get me mascara?
GP: I never want to go anywhere without you, ever again. And I want us to always remember this trip...[He pulls a small green box out of the bag.]
What?! The boxes from New Brother-In-Law's jewelry store are green! It's too small to be a bracelet, or a necklace...did he get me earrings? What a wonderful way to remember a trip...
GP: [Opens the box, which contains my beautiful, cushion-cut solitaire on a white-gold band, ring] Will you marry me?
Me: Oh my God! Yes!!! [Begin crying, because really, who does this?]

So, that's about it, folks. That's how it happened. Now we're back home, and as surreal as it felt to be engaged in Paris, it is even more surreal to be engaged at home, and to begin to think about a wedding, my wedding, and a marriage, and a husband, and forever. But you know what? I can definitely get used to this...

Les nombres

Dear France (and other French-speaking countries),

I have just been informed that your people are unable to use single words/word pairs for the numbers 70-99. Now, I think we can all agree that that is just plain stupid. I mean, you guys have math, right? And numbers? I know this isn't a Latin-roots thing, because my Spanish-speaking ass is here to tell you that I can count to 100 (and beyond!) using such handy words as ochenta, and, at worst, setenta y nueve. I ask you, French-speaking nations...what the hell? I love you to death, and am in a constant state of joy that I am visiting your lovely capital in one week, but seriously, get on the ball with the counting-- I am freaked enough about the language as it is.

Love,
Megan

P.S. Yeah, I know "nombres" is Spanish for "names," but seriously, just shut up about it.

What I won't miss about my job

I was reminded by a friend and former colleague of one of my least favorite parts of my job: all the menial stuff that is in constant competition with much higher-level tasks. (Note to Boss: Do you want an admin, or do you want someone who will help your business work better? You don't necessarily even have to pick one, just don't be surprised when the more sophisticated tasks get higher priority, mmkay?) I laughed out loud for real when I read this email today:

"Also keep in mind that training is a good time to create and perpetuate myths/legends/lies/exaggerations…For example, you could tell her that the reason [Swedish girl that used to work here] went back to Sweden was because one day [Bossman] wanted a diet coke and there weren’t any in the fridge (even though there were some in the locked room) and he had her deported."

Background information, so you get the joke, too-- I am "training" my summer replacement (wow, wish I had had some training when I started...), and refrigerator stocking is an Essential Part of My Job. Feel free to laugh or cry as needed.




Note: there will, of course, be things that I do miss, but I had to share this because I thought it was too hilarious to keep to myself. All for you, internets.

The value of fathers

I know that I am lucky to have such a close and strong relationship with both my dad and my stepdad-- I am well aware of the conflicts and schisms that exist in other father/child relationships. I definitely appreciated it very acutely this past weekend, as every news program was a retrospective of Time Russert's career, Russert himself the consummate family man, successful in his career, but grounded by the love he felt for his namesake father, as well as the sheer joy derived from having a son that he was proud to call his own. In Tim Russert, I saw a lot of both of my father figures: he was passionate about life, always willing to share a story, and just brimming with pride that he had been blessed with the life that he had. Watching the unending news coverage Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, I was constantly in a state of near-tears. This could have been my dad, could have been my stepdad, could have been any number of men in that same age bracket that have impacted any number of lives.

My dad spent Saturday night with us, in "his room," where we have our office/guest room. When I went in on Sunday morning to see if he was up, I found him watching Meet the Press and crying. You all know this already, most likely, but seeing your father cry is among the hardest things you will ever have to witness. My dad being the softhearted guy that he is, this was not the first time; I had seen him weep from sadness as my childhood dog was put to sleep, and with joy as I graduated from high school and college (my mom, conversely, was dry-eyed both times...because she is a total bad-ass). What made Sunday morning difficult was that I knew he was crying because he felt like he had lost a friend, a comrade-in-arms, who had lived through the same years that he had, and shared the common joys of family and country, that so many of our fathers feel. I sat next to him and rested my head on his shoulder, tearing up myself, and feeling so grateful that he was right there with me, sharing this loss and appreciating the relationship that we have.

I know that this election year will be a little quieter, a little empty, without Tim Russert's joy at each step of the way, but I also know that I will love it no less, sharing each state's electoral results with my two dads, who represent both ends of the political spectrum (sorry, stepdad, there is no way in hell I am supporting McCain...I am truly my father's daughter, hippie leanings and all).

On not having the words

This will be fleshed out at some point later, but really...I had to come home from work early today because I was so stunned at the news of Tim Russert's passing. Since coming home a bit after 2 (shhh!), I've been watching the news and tearing up, wondering what I'll do on Sunday mornings now.

Window-licking

(The title comes from my first day-trip to Paris, when I was 12. My uncles took me on a Eurostar/bus tour of Paris, and as we drove past the many, many drool-worthy shops, our native French speaker of a guide talked about "window licking," as opposed to "window shopping." Because I was 12 and a little dense at the time, I swear she said "window leaking." I did not get it.) Long intro, I know. So, without further ado, I present to you...things that I would love to own and sport in Paris, but am too depressed about the dollar/Euro exchange rate to actually purchase, courtesy of Shop It To Me.

First, the dresses. A DVF, from Nordstrom, a steal at $171 (that's half off, folks!).I am loving the bateau neck and the chic ponytail, both of which I can pull off for much cheaper. Sorry, Diane. I still think you're lovely.


Now, a great, summery Lilly Pulitzer. Not the trademark Lilly pink and green (love! Drool!), but a yellow that I know everyone is digging right now. Available from Bloomingdales, $195.


One last DVF, a bit on the safari side. I can't decide what I think about the neckline, but I am leaning towards affection. dvf.com, $207 (Yikes)



Now, the shoes! Just one today-- a Steve Madden wedge that I envision would be either on the "horribly uncomfortable" or "like a dream" end of the comfort spectrum...what do you think? $60 on shoes.com


Finally, just for comparison sake-- I give you these, which look suspiciously like a pair I got at Target for about, oh...$6. So there. I win shopping!

Best day I've had in awhile, actually

(Not that my life is that terrible, I swear! Today was pretty great, though-- I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.)

1. Idle hands are either baked goods, or a good, long Girls Next Door mini-marathon on Tivo (Bridget is my favorite-- don't judge me!) waiting to happen,
2. I love exfoliating and singing in the shower.
3. My favorite time of the day is when I first get home from work and pour the first glass of wine, feeling the weight of the day slide off my back. (Feeling so weighty today, aren't I?)
4. The last tea I drank was some Breakfast Americana that I had this morning. Coffee has been making my stomach angry recently, and tea never does, so it is my morning beverage of choice these days.
5. I like to read outside on our balcony, slathered with SPF 45 in the Summer. Yes, I am pale and nerdy in all seasons!
6. My mother always said, "Beauty is not quick, easy, or painless." And you know what? She was right. My mom is one smart lady.
7. And as for the weekend, tonight I’m looking forward to getting creative with dinner (we are out of obvious meal makings, and I am refusing to grocery shop before we leave town) and buying a brand new suitcase (!!!), tomorrow my plans include a trip up to the City to visit some friends and do some drinking, and Sunday, I want to laugh until I hurt as I watch America's Funniest Videos. Now you know my secret shame, internets.

Oh, and to clarify the travel plans in the preceding post-- we are going to NY strictly for GP's sister's Big Fat Armenian Wedding and related festivities (into EWR on the day of the rehearsal, hanging out with family, then doing the whole wedding thing), and then heading to Paris a day or so later. NYC activities, I'm afraid, are out. But-- if you have a good response to the "So when are you guys getting married?" question, fire away. I don't want to have one too many drinks and end up punching some defenseless aunt.