(Thank you to those responsible).

Kevin said I can post a picture of it as long as I inform you it’s “the place where the magic happens.” And it is, if you consider “magic” the fact that I can go to sleep under the (500 thread count!) sheets and wake up with half of the material on the floor and the other half tangled around my scrawny legs like I’m Houdini in a great sleep escape, while my hair attempts to imitate Medusa and mouth dribbles out drool. See what you have to look forward to Kevin? And I didn’t even mention the makeup that by early morning has went from eye liner to black eye. It’s like you’re marrying a rabid raccoon.

Sexy.

Also. I used to make fun of people that sleep with pillows between their legs.

That was before, when all had was a twin bed and ONE pillow.

Now?

I totally sleep with a pillow between my knees. And it’s the firmer pillow – the one I think we intentionally bought for Kevin? Sorry, Kevin.

(But not really).

And then there is this thing. This huge, ginormous…

NO not the speakers. Let me finish.

I’m talking about the TV. My parents (bless them) walked in with this literally two minutes after Kevin and I finished setting up all our electronics on an entertainment stand his brother loaned us. My parents were all, “We’re sorry! We’ll take it back!” and I was like what, no. It’s a TV! And it’s HUGE! And it’s FREE! So Kevin and I ran out and bought a new entertainment stand. And if you’re looking closely at the picture, don’t judge our movie choices. It was a PG 13 movie! Just don’t ask me what it was. The only thing I remember is that redbox made some good money off of us for not returning it. Redbox: 1. Us: minus 5.

And then.

Then I got a call from my mom saying someone mailed us a big package and she’s pretty sure it’s a vacuum because, well? It says vacuum on it and who the hell would send us that?

My friend. A very good, very generous friend (SERIOUSLY PEOPLE STOP. Thank you cards aren’t going to cover all of my appreciation for your friendship alone. I can’t handle the gifts too!)

But wait. Bottom right corner. . . what is that?

Oh you know, just my helper.

Someone’s gotta help me. I can’t take photos of vaccuums when I could take photos of big brown eyes, and big ugly teeth.

I swear. He kills me.

Since he decided to be so in the way, I threw on his new harness and snapped some shots.

For the record?

Kevin hates the new harness.

It sparkles.

Glitters.

Glams.

Blings.

But I still bought it because Ollie needed a new one.

And even though he hated it, Kevin let me buy it but only because I threatened him that if he didn’t let me buy this one I was getting the bright pink one and then he would look FAB-U-LOUS! What neutered dog doesn’t want to look like a Diva?

Model on, Ollie. Model on.

And this was my hand last night.

Notice anything missing?

Don’t worry. The wedding isn’t off. The ring is just getting rerhodium plated so it can be all shiny for the wedding day.

But how did we get from dating to engaged?

Why, we went ring shopping of course!

It’s no secret that Kevin and I always knew we’d get married. I’d love to tell you how that conversation happened, the only problem is I don’t remember – my best guess is it was branched off of something like, “How many kids are in your family? How many do you want? Do you like cheese? Do you wanna get married together some day?”

So WE knew we were going to get married sometime in the fall of 2010, but we didn’t necessarily tell anyone else. I told Kevin that I wanted him to choose my ring. My only requirements were that it be princess cut and white gold. This was all discussed in October and November.

A day came in December where I don’t know what it was, but I was in a funk. And it wasn’t just a funk. It was a funky funk. One of those ones where you’re so down, you’re actually mad at yourself for it, so then you’re sort of stuck in some weird vortex where you keep sinking down because you’re mad and because you’re mad you keep getting madder and more downer and wow.

This post is depressing.

And that’s where I was at mentally when Kevin peeled me off my spot on the couch. “Come on, I have somewhere we’re going that’ll cheer you up.” We drove for a few minutes before we stopped in front of a red brick building.

Internet, he went to Jared!!

Okay, sorry. Sorry.

Had to.

But we didn’t really buy our ring there. Why? Well. . .Jared is, for lack of a better word, efficient. Which isn’t a bad thing for car mechanics, but when a ring salesmen (or five) sets you down at a “U” shaped counter and tries to shuffle you through it as fast as possible, well, it’s kind of ANNOYING. PEOPLE OF JARED: This ring? It’s going on my hand for the rest of my life. It’d be in your interest to let me take my time choosing.

Plus Jared played the, “which one was your favorite?” game. They’d hold up two bands and make you choose, and then put the lesser one back in the counter. I didn’t feel like I was able to go back to other rings, and they hassled us the whole time about how they are so much better.

Ugh.

So we still hadn’t found “the” ring, but Kevin was right, I was happier.

But then.

OH THEN.

Two nights later I had a sparkling three stone ring on the fourth finger of my left hand, and lets just say things didn’t go as planned. . .

Picking THE Ring will continue as soon as I get off my tush and get motivated. Stay (sorta) tuned people. You’ll wanna hear about the most embarrassing night in my life!