Considering all the work I did to get the perfect ring, I figured that I would need to make the proposal extra special – or at the very least a surprise. Now, if this were about me, I’d have gone NASCAR-themed all the way. But since it wasn’t, I wanted to do something Nadia would enjoy. I started kicking around ideas.

Nadia had to go to Missouri the weekend of July 31st. So, I tried to make an appointment to get the ring appraised while she was out of town. That way, I wouldn’t have to explain where I was going. But, the appraiser didn’t have any appointments until August 7th. I took it, figuring I’d come up with a story why I had to run an errand and she couldn’t come.

About 40 minutes later, he called me and said he had a last-minute cancellation and that he could fit me in on Saturday, July 31st. Knowing that everything was going to be complete with the ring, I started to think about when and where I wanted to propose.

One of my first ideas was to plan a trip to New York City. Nadia loves NYC, so I thought it would be a great place to propose. I considered several different ways to do it, but I didn’t really like any of them. Most, if not all, of the ideas I came up with were terribly clichéd: hansom cab ride with champagne, top of the Empire State Building, Top of the Rock, etc.

Out of the ideas, I liked the hansom cab ride the best, but Nadia would’ve suspected something if I suggested it. (Riding behind horses is not our usual pastime.) For a standard 20-minute ride, I couldn’t make a reservation. So, we would’ve had to walk up and wait. I’m good… but how would I have explained the champagne bottle? It was going to be hard enough to conceal the ring without a jacket.

To reserve a cab ride, we would’ve had to pay for a 41-minute tour. That’s almost as long as two episodes of Seinfeld. And, it was considerably more expensive. Plus, I’d be screwed if it rained, or if it was above 87 degrees because the carriages don’t operate when it is that hot.  If I was going to spend the extra money to reserve the cab, I would’ve insisted that we ride it rain or shine, which would have made Nadia suspicious. So that was out.

My next idea was to look into wineries because Nadia is always up for visiting them. But, which one? And, how would I suggest it in a way that wouldn’t seem suspicious? So I kept thinking about it.

Nadia’s mom was out of town, and wasn’t coming back until August 9th. I was picking her up from the airport that day, so I thought that it would be a good time to ask for her blessing. Talking to her before I proposed was important, so Saturday, August 14th was shaping up to be the best day to pop the question, even though I didn’t know where I was going to do it.

The appraisal went smoothly, and I was happy with it. With the ring complete, and insured, I now turned my attention to the location of the proposal.

I looked into Virginia wineries, but there were only a handful with which I was familiar, and none that Nadia has mentioned as places she wanted to go. Matter of fact, there’s only one winery she has mentioned wanting to visit a few times: Horton Vineyards. It was perfect! It was far enough away that we wouldn’t just go there on a whim, but close enough that we could go there and back in a day without it being a hassle. Also, Nadia really likes a few of their wines so it made sense.

But, if I just asked her if she wanted to go to Horton out of the blue, she would be suspicious. If Nadia and I are going somewhere – anywhere – and I don’t tell her exactly where we’re going, she keeps asking and asking because she needs to know what’s going on. There was no way I’d be able to trick her into a two-hour car ride without her calling me “shady” and being annoying.

So, I needed another destination close by. Google Maps showed me that Shenandoah National Park is about 20 miles from the winery. Nadia has mentioned hiking around the park a few times, so I figured that would be a good way to get down there without her being too suspicious.

On Sunday, August 1st, I decided that on Monday, I would drive to the park and the vineyard. It was the first Monday in a while that I had free, despite having had Mondays off for more than a month, so it was the perfect day to go.

I wanted to time the trip and make sure the GPS had the correct directions. (In retrospect, I took a pretty big gamble that Nadia wouldn’t look at the previous destinations list on the GPS before we visited the winery. Fortunately, she didn’t.)

I drove to the park and checked it out. It was easy to find. I verified the price-per-car and then headed to the winery. The winery and park are located on the same road, 20 miles apart so I didn’t think it would be too hard to find. But, the GPS had the winery in the wrong location. It was 1.5 miles farther down the road. Not a big deal, but if it was the day I was going to propose, I might have freaked out.

I spoke to a woman at the winery and told her of my plans. She told me that I could propose in their private tasting room, but on weekends, they have the red wine tastings there, so there would be people around. She showed me around. The private tasting room wasn’t very private so I asked if there was anywhere else.

She suggested proposing in the vineyard, which seemed like a better idea. Horton has a sizeable vineyard in front of the building, and it was very pretty so I decided that it would be better to propose there than in the tasting room. I asked her if there was a tour. Unfortunately, tours are for parties of 16 or more. How they came up with 16 people is beyond me, but whatever. She said that we could walk around the vineyard, and that she thought it would be a great place to do it.

I spoke with the woman for a little while longer. She told me about their sparkling viognier wine, which is like champagne, and said it would be perfect. I confirmed the hours, and then headed out. The plan was set.

On Friday, August 6th, Nadia told me that one of her relatives from Egypt was still in New York (Nadia thought she already went back to Egypt) and that she was going to visit her on… wait… for… it… August 14th. #$@%^!  I couldn’t tell her not to go, since she’s not likely to see this family member for a while. But, come on! Had I not planned the proposal, she wouldn’t have had to go – I’m sure of it.

I was frustrated and defeated. When I found out, my mood changed. Nadia kept asking if everything was alright. I gave monosyllabic answers – I was annoyed. I kept trying to tell myself not to blame her because she didn’t know. But, blame her I did.

I rarely, if ever, plan anything. And the few times I do, she finds a way to unknowingly ruin those plans. Why did I expect this time to be different? I don’t know.

Anyway, once I calmed down, I figured I’d do it on the 15th. But, I need to make sure that I told her something so she wouldn’t make plans for that Sunday.

Since she was out of town the weekend before, and I currently had Nyah, I told her that we hadn’t spent much time together the last few weeks. So, I wanted to do something the 15th. I mentioned going to Shenandoah. She said okay, and didn’t suspect anything.  

That night, I talked to Nyah about my plans to propose. At first she said I couldn’t marry Nadia because she was going to marry her. I then explained to her what marriage was. I showed her the ring and told her it was a secret. She liked it and gave her approval.

Saturday night, Nyah, Nadia and I were hanging out, when Nyah came over to me and loudly whispered, “Can I tell her about the ring?” Fortunately, Nadia didn’t hear her, and I was able to reiterate that it was a secret without Nadia hearing. Whew.

On Monday, I spoke with her mom. I don’t remember exactly what I said – it was a blur – but it went well and I her mom gave me her blessing.

The next few days were spent sorting out the minor details: how I’d hide the ring, what I would say, how I’d present the ring, etc. The plan was to load up my backpack with water for the hike, that way I could also hide the ring in there.

Before I knew it, Sunday was here. It was raining, so I didn’t know if Nadia would still want to go to Shenandoah. She left it up to me, and I said let’s go. Normally, rain will prevent me from walking, so I thought by being so gung-ho about it might make her think something was going on, but I took my chances.

It sporadically rained all the way to the park. But, once we got there, the skies cleared and it was sunny and breezy. I thought this was a good sign.

We drove up to the park entrance and were informed that it was a “Fee Free Day,” meaning we got into the park free. This was also a good sign.

We drove up Skyline Drive, stopping at the scenic overlooks to take pictures. We also stopped and hiked up a steep trail. Nadia wanted to keep going but I convinced her to turn around because rock climbing was not on the agenda.

We stopped by the visitor’s center, which is where I suggested visiting Horton, since it “was close by.” Nadia liked that idea so we headed back down Skyline. We stopped for a couple more pictures and then headed to Horton. We stopped at Subway on the way so we could have lunch at the winery.

When we arrived, I suggested that we eat at one of the picnic tables. While she walked over, I got the ring and put it in my pocket. Obviously, the box created a huge, odd-looking bulge but I didn’t want to take it out and get finger prints on it. So, I had to cover the bulge with my hand as I walked, which made it look like I was doing an awkward pimp walk. She didn’t notice, though.

After we ate, we decided to walk through the vineyard. Nadia wasn’t sure we could, though, and wanted to ask to make sure it was allowed. I couldn’t tell her that I knew we could because as far as she knew, I’d never been there before. So, we went in and confirmed it was okay.

We took some pictures in the vineyard (we were the only ones out there because it was wet). We came up on row 32, which prompted me to tell Nadia how I liked the number 32 and that it was my favorite number.

She said that must mean that this was going to be the best year of my life, since I’m 32, and that it’s all downhill after this. I grabbed her hand and said that my life was going to get better as long as she was in it. I pulled out the ring and got on one knee.

She started breathing heavy and shaking.  She exclaimed, “Oh my God” a few times before saying, “Of course… yes.” We embraced for a few minutes, enjoying the moment. Then, I asked if she wanted to taste some wines.

As I turned to walk away, she still stood there. It appeared she was having difficulty walking – I guess she was still in shock and surprised. I asked if she was okay, since she wasn’t moving. We hugged and kissed again, then started heading back to the Horton building.

We took a couple of pictures of the ring, and then went inside to taste some wines. We never got around to tasting their sparkling viognier, but we did taste several of their other wines.

From there we met her mom and sister for dinner at Red Lobster. Surprisingly enough, they had champagne so we toasted this momentous occasion there.

Photo Gallery: The Proposal

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment when I thought, “I want to spend the rest of my life with Nadia.” There wasn’t an exact moment where a switch went from off to on. It was more like there was a series of moments and feelings that cumulatively amounted to everything feeling “right.”

The problem was that things felt right around the time that Nadia’s sister announced her engagement. So, to avoid committing a faux pas, I decided to wait to propose until after her sister was married. This was actually good thing because it gave me plenty of time to shop for the perfect engagement ring.

I didn’t want to go buy the ring with Nadia because I wanted it to be a surprise. Why? Because Nadia needs to know everything that’s going on, and if she doesn’t, she’ll keep asking until she does. So, I was determined to get the perfect ring without her knowing.

I looked online, first, to get an idea of styles and prices. Then, I went to Jared. (What’s a 13-letter phrase for marriage proposal? He went to Jared!)

I went to Jared mainly because of the commercials – you see them a lot here. When I got there, I was walked through the “Jared Experience”: basically why I should buy from them instead of Roscoe’s Chicken and Engagement Rings.

After watching a video about Jared’s process, I was introduced to a saleswoman. She showed me a few rings. The very first ring I looked at, I liked. It was a 14K white gold, .5 ctw ring with six round, channel-set diamonds. I looked at it with a princess (square) cut diamond. The one issue is that it sat really high on the hand, even with a small diamond. So the chances of it getting snagged were high.

I never got that feeling that it was “the ring.” But I liked it, and nothing else they had really jumped out at me. So, the woman wrote down the specs.

When all was said and done, the price was higher than I expected it to be. Jared charges you to set the diamond ($165) even if you buy the diamond and setting from them. And she cleverly added their protection plan to the price ($200.)

I put the paper in my pocket. That night, Nadia went to give me a hug and heard the paper crinkle in my pocket, and asked about it. She never asks what’s in my pocket! I told her to mind her own business and changed the subject. She called me sketchy or shady, but didn’t press the issue. Whew.

The next week, I visited three jewelers: Kay, Shaw and Fink, all located in the mall. None had anything of interest. The lines they carry are of a lower quality than I wanted. For example, there you can get a complete ring for $1,000 while most jewelers will charge that for a decent setting.

The mall jewelers didn’t know very much about diamonds. Beyond the four Cs, they couldn’t tell me much about the diamonds. And the women tried to use their “assets” to sell me a ring. I encountered four women, and all were wearing low-cut blouses and leaned forward when going for the sale. Needless to say, I didn’t buy from them.

I solicited Nadia for feedback. There was no way I’d be able to send her pictures of rings without her thinking that I was shopping for them. So, I told her I was “just getting some ideas.”

I sent her links to 10 rings with the goal of giving her so many options that she wouldn’t have a clue which one I was thinking about getting. In the first batch, I sent her the ring from Jared, which at the time was my top contender. She instantly balked. “It’s too square. It looks like a man’s ring. I don’t like it.” Again, I didn’t feel like it was “the ring,” but I liked it, so hearing this was like getting kicked in the gut.

After sending her another batch of rings, I started to pick out the patterns. She liked white gold, three-stone settings, side diamonds, and round shapes.

With that info I went to a local jeweler and met Larry. He had three rings that fit those specs. The first ring was a white gold, three-stone setting. It had four small diamonds on each side, two larger side stones, and a round center diamond. I saw it and instantly said, “That’s ‘the ring.’” We looked at the other two, but I knew the first was “the ring.”

Larry emailed me the ring so I could remember it. He also gave me the price of it with a 75 point diamond and a 96 point diamond with a price difference of $1,000. The price of the setting was more than double my setting budget.

I sent Nadia more batches, one with “the ring.” Her reaction to it was, “Ooooh, I like that.” It also just so happened to be the most expensive setting I sent her to that point.

I kept sending her rings. I accidently sent her a couple of the rings twice. When I noticed this, I asked her if she liked them. (Keep in mind that she previously said she did.) She said she didn’t, and then pointed out what she didn’t like about them. I was worried that she wouldn’t still like “the ring.”

I visited another jeweler and met Bobby. Bobby was straight-forward and genuinely nice. Unfortunately, he didn’t have anything that I liked as much as “the ring.”

At this point, it had been about a month and a half since I visited Jared. I ended up going to three more jewelers before settling on “the ring.” I really liked it, but I didn’t like Larry’s price. So, I looked for another jeweler to use as leverage against Larry.

In the picture Larry sent me, there was a watermark with the manufacturer’s name on it. I found their website, found the ring and tried to order it. Unfortunately, the manufacturer only sells to members of the jewelry trade. Blimey!

They had pictures of different angles of the ring. So, I sent them to Nadia at different times. It ended up being the only ring she consistently liked. I don’t think she realized it was the same ring because I sent her so many.  

Knowing that she liked it, I scoured the web for other jewelers who sold it. I searched for the item number and the manufacturer and got nothing. Weeks went by without any leads. I was getting discouraged and was close to biting the bullet and going over budget to get the ring from Larry.

Then, I started looking for similar rings. I thought that maybe I could get something that looked the same, but was cheaper online. As I searched, I learned that having the tiny side stones held in place by prongs instead of by a channel is called pave. I began searching for pave settings but didn’t find anything similar. But, I did find websites I hadn’t visited.

One of those sites told me that the name of the head style she liked was trellis (It looks like interlocking Us… or as Nadia calls it, a tulip). I started searching for a trellis, pave ring.

Four sites came up with similar rings. One only sold the ring with a small, low-quality diamond in it (and their site seemed sketchy). Two had “the ring” for the same price as Larry, and one had the ring for nearly 66% less than anywhere else.

I was excited but skeptical. I thought that maybe they were selling the ring with no diamonds. Adding the diamonds to the ring would’ve been more expensive than buying it with them included so, I emailed. I waited a day and then decided to order it without waiting for a reponse.

I had Gmail open while I was ordering it and received a message from the website as I was adding it to my cart. A woman named Meghan who worked at the website I was about to purchase the ring from wrote:

I discovered errors in listings for all of the new settings we recently added to our engagement ring gallery.  This included the ring you inquired about.  We are working on finding the source of the errors and correcting them.  Once I have the proper pricing and details ironed out, I will follow up.

I was very angry. I felt like I was baited with the ultra-low price and then they switched it on me.

I was considering paying Larry’s price when Megan emailed me. Her price was over my budget, but a few hundred dollars cheaper than Larry’s, and she gave me a 10% discount. Still, it was going to be hard to pay Megan’s price, knowing the original price they advertised. I told her about the cheaper ring I found on the sketchy website.

I told her I’d prefer to buy from someone I trust, but would go with the sketchy one if the price made it worth it. I told Larry the same thing. The goal was to get them lower their prices. Megan asked for a link to the ring. Larry dropped his price and said it was the best he could do. His new price was $75 more than Megan’s discounted price.

Megan pointed out why it was cheaper: it had smaller diamonds and smaller proportions, which meant it had less gold. She also hyped her company’s diamond selection and cutting procedure, calling it superior.

I maintained that I didn’t care as long as it “looked decent.” I also mentioned that Nadia wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.  I also said that Nadia liked lighter, thinner rings because they look “more feminine.” 

I wrote, “I’m buying that ring. It’s just a matter of buying it from you or someone else.” I told her I wanted her to come down 30% , on top of the 10% off. She came down 28% more, and we had a deal. I ordered it that day. It took two weeks for them to make. I received it and was pleased with it.

Photo Gallery: Ring Shopping

The Diamond

Getting the ring at a heavily discounted price convinced me that I could get a similar deal on a diamond but, I’d need to research it. I went beyond the four Cs (carat, cut (shape), color and clarity). I researched info on the lab, table, depth, culet, cut grade, girdle, polish, symmetry, and fluorescence.

The ring was designed for a round, 3/4 ct diamond. It could probably fit a 1 ct round, but I didn’t want to bend the prongs any more than needed and risk damaging the ring. I looked for diamonds around 73-75 points.

I found that GIA is the gold standard in diamond grading. AGS is another acceptable diamond grader. Any other grader (EGL and ICI) will not be as accurate. A diamond with a G (near colorless) color grade with GIA may be an E (colorless) with EGL. EGL and ICI are said to have looser standards, which is why some people don’t recommend them.

The general consensus is that whatever the store price is for a diamond; assume that the seller paid half of that to get the diamond.

So taking that into consideration, I came up with grade and price ranges and only shopped for diamonds in those ranges. Originally, I wanted a colorless diamond (F or better.) But, after learning more, I realized that putting the F diamond next to G side stones would make the Gs appear darker. The naked eye can’t tell the difference between an E and G, unless they’re side by side. So, choosing a G would make the whole ring appear brighter. Choosing a higher color grade would make the center stone appear bright and the others appear yellow, which could hurt the value. So, I settled on G.

I contacted Bobby first, since he was close and I liked him. He got me 3 diamonds. He had a 74-point that met all of the requirements. He also had an 83 he wanted me to look at, but I didn’t want it because I ruled out anything bigger than 3/4 cts and it was over budget. The 74-point was inside my budget but at the very top.

A few days later, I went to the Jewelry Exchange in Bethesda, for the same reason I went to Jared… the commercials. Much like Jared, I probably see the Jewelry Exchange commercial at least twice a day. Because they are located nearly 30 minutes away, I decided that while I was in that area, I’d look at local jewelers to see what kind of diamonds they had.

My sister and I headed to the Jewelry Exchange. I spoke with a guy named Frank who showed me diamonds. He showed me mostly EGLs and one GIA. The GIA did meet most of my requirements and it cost $50 less than Bobby’s diamond.

Pretty much everything he showed me, my sister liked, which wasn’t helpful. I told him I’d think about the GIA diamond and might come back.

We headed to the next jeweler on my list. His name was Keith. When we walked into his place, there was a cleaning crew working. That was odd, considering it was Saturday. And, Keith wasn’t wearing a suit. All of the jewelers I had encountered up to this point were wearing suits – or at least jackets and ties. Keith was wearing a polo and shorts.

He told me doesn’t usually deal in diamonds that are less than 1 ct, but that he had two in stock. They both were GIA certified and 3/4 cts. One was an E, one was a G. I looked at both and asked for a price on each one. Keith’s E diamond was the same as G/H prices with Frank and Bobby. Keith’s G price was almost too good to be true.

He seemed honest and sincere, but his store looked sheisty. That plus the too-good-to-be-true prices made me suspicious. I talked it over with my sister. She and I seemed to have the same assessment of him: honest and straight forward. But, I still wanted to sleep on it, so we left.

We stopped by another jewelry store and met Connie. She was nice, but didn’t show me anything better than I’d already seen with Frank, Bobby, and Keith. Plus, Connie’s prices were double everyone else’s and she said there wasn’t much flexibility.

When I got home, I emailed Bobby to see if he would lower the price. He came down to a price I would’ve been happy to pay before going to Keith’s place. But Keith’s price was just too good. I also found reviews of Keith’s place as well as his BBB rating. Everything was in order, and there weren’t any bad reviews.

So, I went back to Keith two days later. This time, there was no cleaning crew. Instead there was a camera crew taking pictures for his website, which explained the Saturday cleaning.

I looked at the diamond again, and chose the G. (In the ring, the E really made the Gs look dull.) Keith had his jeweler set the ring for me. He said my timing was good because his jeweler was about to go out of the country for four months, so I would have had to pay someone to set the ring.

Once the diamond was set, the ring was appraised. Most sites say store appraisals are useless. They always recommend getting an independent appraisal.

Before I left, I looked at the diamond through the loupe and made sure it matched the diamond plot. I wanted to make sure the diamond I paid for was the one in the ring. It was, so I paid and left.

A few days later, I found an independent appraiser to appraise the ring for insurance purposes.  He verified that the grading report matched the diamond. Ironically enough, his appraisal was higher than the guy who appraised it at Keith’s. In most cases, the opposite is true. I ring appraised for much more than I paid for it. I was happy.  Once I had everything together, I got the ring insured.

Now, all that was left was to give to Nadia… but how? Read the story of the proposal here.

We selected December 19th because it was the last weekend before her birthday, and that day seemed to work for all of those involved. After we finalized plans and my daughter chose a Hello Kitty theme, we began planning the party. We picked up decorations and invitations, and started getting the house in order.
 
About three weeks before our party, we celebrated my sister’s birthday at our house. For that, I ordered a cake from a local bakery called Patisserie Lille. It was a very simple cake; it was to be a buttercream-frosted, yellow, quarter-sheet cake.
 
When I received the cake, everything looked good… emphasis on looked. But, the frosting ended up tasting awful. It tasted more like Crisco than buttercream. So, I never heard the end of it from my dad and sister. So, this time, I wanted to get a better-tasting cake.
 
I ended up going to Walmart for the cake because northern Virginia, at least in the Herndon area, there aren’t many local bakeries. As a matter of fact, Patisserie Lille was the only one I found that made cakes.
 
Walmart, much like many other bakeries, required 48 hours notice for a cake. So, the Thursday before the party, I put my order in. It was a half-sheet, buttercream-frosted, chocolate, Hello Kitty cake. The cake decorator who took my order said it was the most intricate kid’s cake they had. Out of all of the Hello Kitty cakes they had, this one looked best.

He informed me he would be making the cake himself, and that I could pick it up Saturday at 1 p.m. This would work, as the party was starting at 2 p.m.

After ordering the cake, the weather reports started calling for a huge snowstorm. I took a “believe it when I see it” stance, but was aware that we might have to reschedule the party.
 
Nadia suggested pushing the party back to Sunday, if the snow prevented us from having it on Saturday. Everyone who was coming to the party said that Sunday worked.
 
So, Saturday morning I saw that we already had about 10 inches of snow, and decided to reschedule. I called Walmart’s bakery department and let them know I would be picking the cake up Sunday morning. The person told me that was fine.

On Sunday morning, after shoveling, my father and I headed to Walmart to get the cake and some last minute things for the party. I decided to pick up the cake last because I didn’t want anything to happen to it, and I didn’t want to lug a half-sheet cake around the store.
 
After picking up everything on the list, we headed over to the bakery counter. I stood there for roughly four minutes before I was acknowledged by one of the girls behind the counter. I’m not entirely sure what was so pressing that they couldn’t stop what they were doing, but four minutes is a long time to stand and wait to be acknowledged for something.

When the younger girl finally did acknowledge me, I told her that I ordered a cake for my daughter’s birthday. I told her my name, the name on the cake, and the type of cake. She looked at me with one of the blankest stares I have ever seen in my life.
 
I repeated my name, and said that it was a half-sheet birthday cake. After standing there with a blank stare again, she turned and headed to the back, presumably to look for my cake. After a minute or so, she came back, looking confused, and asked if there was another name it would be under. Um, no.
 
I told her who took my order and that he said he would make it himself. She said that it was Sammy, their cake decorator. He wasn’t there, she said.
 
She went back and looked again. A minute or so later, she came out and said, “There’s no cake.” WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S NO CAKE?!?!?!?! She said there was no birthday cake back there, and then began nervously chuckling. This wasn’t funny.
 
After saying that, she went back to what she was doing, as if I would say, “Oh, okay,” and walk away. I asked to see a manager. She told me she didn’t know how to call a manager. I think I said something to the affect of, “Well, you need to figure it out.” So, she asked the other woman behind the counter.

After fiddling with the phone for a couple of minutes, she couldn’t figure it out. I was still standing there with my arms folded, fuming. She chuckled nervously while I watched her trying to figure out how to call the manager. She asked another person who showed her how to do it correctly.
   
The manager came over, and I told her exactly what happened: “I ordered a cake on Thursday for pickup on Saturday. I called on Saturday saying I would pick up the cake today. Today, she tells me there’s no cake. How does that happen?!?!?  I mean, if there’s no cake, my daughter’s party is ruined.” The manager apologized and went to talk to the girl.
 
After a brief conversation between the two, a third, older woman came over. They chatted out of earshot, but the two bakery workers looked confused, and the manager looked panicked. The manager came back over to me with a new order form and said they could make the cake for me in 20 minutes by putting two quarter-sheet cakes together.

So, I re-ordered the cake, but was clearly annoyed: half-sheet, buttercream-frosted, chocolate, Hello Kitty cake. The manager filled out the order form and continued apologizing. She showed me the form to verify the information and the spelling of my daughter’s name. After confirming everything, she said I should come back in 20 minutes because if I stood there, there might be “too much pressure” for them to decorate the cake, which could make them mess it up.

At that point, I thought of a couple more things to get. When we finished shopping, we decided to pay and load the stuff into the truck while we waited. Then, my dad wanted to get some coffee from the McDonalds in Walmart, so we headed over there. From the McDonalds, we could see the bakery counter.

First, the younger girl was working on the cake by herself. Then, the older woman started helping out. Then, another woman, who looked like a manager came over and was helping. Then a man in street clothes, with a Walmart nametag, came over and helped. So, the four of them were working on this cake behind the counter.
 
By the time we paid, loaded the truck, and got coffee, 40 minutes passed. At this point, it was 1 p.m., so we had one hour to get back and get food prepared before the party. So, I stood by the counter to put the pressure on them.

The younger girl asked the older woman a question. I was not close enough to hear the question, but the answer was, “Just do the best you can.” That didn’t real instill my confidence in the cake. I should note here that they were working behind the counter, so I could not see the cake.

After a few minutes of frantically working, the two women were fumbling over each other, which resulted in an argument. It got pretty heated, while my dad and I watched in frustrated amusement. The manager-looking lady came back over and put an end to it. Then, she said, “Finish it up, and give it to the customer for free.” She said this twice. I thought, “It better be free, because there’s no way in h*ll I’m paying for this nonsense.” Then, she walked away.
 
After a few more minutes, they finished the cake and showed it to me. Ta-da! It was a Hello Kitty cake. It wasn’t great, but it was as close as they could get to the picture. But, there were a couple of problems. First, it was a quarter-sheet cake. I ordered a half-sheet on Thursday, and twice on this day. (The manager said it twice and confirmed it. She even said put two cakes together!) And second, it said, “Nyah Happy Birthday,” not “Happy Birthday Nyah.”

Sigh!

They handed me the cake, and I asked if I would be okay just walking out with it, or if I needed something to confirm it was free. The older woman said that it needed a label. But neither of them knew how to make a label. So, they brought in a third girl who was there the whole time, making pastries. She never worked on the cake.
 
She printed the label. Meanwhile, both girls who worked on the cake left. So, I said, it is supposed to be free. She said no, it was $15. I said, “No, the manager said it was free.” And this girl had the nerve to try to argue with me!!!

So, I asked her to call the manager. She didn’t know how to use the intercom and had no way of calling her. What the %$%$^&$%!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So, we walked over to customer service.

As we approached, the manager I originally dealt with was over there. She was with a customer so we stood and waited. When she finished with that customer, she turned to walk away and saw us. She turned around and either said, “Oh God” or “Oh Lord.” Then she turned back and asked what we needed.

I told her there were two problems. One, it was a quarter-sheet. Two, one woman said it was free, another said we had to pay and was quite rude about it. So she stormed over to the bakery counter. We followed her.

By that time, the older woman was on the phone. When we got over there, she and the manager went into the back. About five seconds later, the manager walks out holding our original cake. WHAT?!?!?!?

My guess is that the first girl didn’t actually look for it, or didn’t know where to look. So, when I got the manager the second time, I guess the older woman called Sammy and he told her where the cake was.
 
The manager asked if I wanted to the good news of the bad news. Good news: they found the cake. Bad news: I would have to pay for it. I didn’t care. I had no problem paying for the cake I ordered, if they had fulfilled their obligation.

So, we ended up getting the quarter-sheet cake free, and the half-sheet cake that I ordered. We did end up wasting a lot of time, but that was better than not having a cake at all, or showing up with that pitiful excuse for a cake they threw together.

Sammy ran out of room decorating the cake, so the “a” and “y” in birthday ran outside of the box, but by then we didn’t care. All we wanted was the cake. And, we got it. Crisis averted.

But, when my friends, Mike and Alida invited me to Adam’s Morgan for one of their friend’s birthdays, I decided to go. Those of you who know me know that it isn’t really that hard to get me to go to a club.

The night started out good. I played Halo before getting ready – to get me in the younger mindset. I probably would have had a beer or two, but Nadia’s “no food or drink in the room with the new-ish carpet” rule precluded that from happening. Plus, I had to drive a half hour from Herndon to Alexandria, where I was meeting my Mike and Alida.

From Alexandria, we headed over to Mike’s coworker’s place in Crystal City. We were going there to have a couple drinks, then all of us were going to head to Adam’s Morgan.

While a couple of Mike’s coworkers were playing Rock Band/ Guitar Hero, we were trying to figure out the logistics of getting seven people to Adam’s Morgan. The debate, in a nutshell was metro or cab.

We wanted Red Top to send a minivan cab, so we could all fit in one. But, they informed us that the limit in Virginia is four people to a cab. That seemed odd to us, but it also made a new debate: two cabs versus metro.

We spent a good 15 minutes or so trying to figure out how we were going to get there. Ah, just like my clubbing days. I suddenly remembered why I don’t get out much. The logistics of getting more than four people somewhere can be a pain. Plus, it’s hard to get four people to agree, when a few of them have been drinking.

Alida, however, stepped up and took charge. We decided that we would get going because we were meeting Alida’s friends, and Mike’s coworkers would meet us in Adam’s Morgan when they were ready.

The cab arrived and we were on our way, despite having five people, instead of the “legal limit” of four. The cab ride wasn’t too bad, but we certainly were low-riding that cab. Either it had bad shocks or we were exceeding the weight limit – probably a little of both.

Anyway, we went to this dive bar called Dan’s Café. The place was probably a hair bigger than my living room. And, if you ordered a mix drink, you had to make it yourself, which I have to admit, is pretty awesome. You do get a lot of liquor for your buck. And, it’s your chance to feel like you’re in Cocktail, though flipping around a little glass of vodka is neither safe nor smart.

I had a couple of Heinekens, as we waited for Alida’s friends. We arrived there around 9:30, I think. The place was about a quarter full. Within 20 minutes of arriving, though, the place got packed.

For those of you who’ve seen Fight Club, I had to make the @ss-or-crotch choice on my way to and from the bathroom. It was a lose-lose situation, considering the number of dudes waiting by the bar. But, I made it to the bathroom, which was sort of like a toilet in a refrigerator box.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not a fan of a door hitting me in the back while I’m peeing – happened twice.

Anyway, after discussing it, we decided we would leave Dan’s Café and head to Tom Tom, our destination for the night. I’m not sure what time it was at this point, but it seemed to be around 10.

This place was also empty, and freezing. We chose a table close to the door, so we were feeling all of the cold air from outside, but at least we didn’t have to pay a cover. And, alcohol can keep you warm.

A few drinks and an order of chicken strips later, Mike’s coworkers showed up, as did Alida’s friends. We chilled and chatted until Alida decided it was time to dance.

The dance floor, which is really just an open space with a mirror-wall, was cramped and crowded. And, they played music from several years ago, which made it feel much like my college years.

They even played the Percolator, which is not only a funny song, but it also has a funny dance.   So, naturally, I had to dance. One guy thought my Percolator was so good that he cleared out a circle so that his friend and I could do them in unison. His friend, however, was much more serious about it than I was.

It’s been years since I’ve danced – I believe it was the Washingtonpost.com Christmas party in 2006. But, needless to say, I’ve still got it.

Pretty soon, Mike and Alida had to leave. I decided to stay with a couple of Mike’s friends, but we ended up leaving shortly after them.

Getting home was fun. When I left, I started walking towards the Woodley Park Metro station, but about a quarter of the way there, I decided it was too far, plus I wasn’t 100 percent sure where the station was. So, I headed down to Dupont Circle.

I have no idea why I thought Dupont was closer, but I did so I walked the mile and a half to the metro station. I would have caught a cab, but all of the ones on my side of the street were taken. Plus, I kept thinking, “I’m only a few blocks away.”

Well, about 15 minutes later, I arrived at the metro only to see that the train I needed just left. The board said that they were experiencing delays on the red line, and it would be 20 minutes for a train. There’s nothing like sitting in a metro station after a night at a club, waiting for a train. Just like my fresh-out-of-college days.

The 20 minutes flew by, mainly because I was watching a couple that appeared to be on their first or second date. We were there for 20 minutes, and the girl talked, and talked, and talked the whole time. The guy stood there smiling, but I think he said a total of five words: “Really, you lost the Chapstick?” That’s all. (In the time I was there anyway).

I took the red line to Metro Center where I caught the blue line to Van Dorn. That’s a long @ss train ride when you don’t have an iPod. So, I was watching more people. Two really drunk guys stumbled onto the train, I think we were at the Rosslyn station.

The first guy made his way to the seat by the front door. He sat with his legs about as wide apart as they could get comfortably. He did that head bob thing, when you’re falling asleep but trying not to. The second guy sat behind him and laid down.

Between Pentagon City and Crystal City, the bobble head guy started giving the finger to the darkness outside. We were between stations so there wasn’t anyone out there – he was just doing it for absolutely no reason. I’m not entirely sure he was awake, though, so he might have been dreaming.

At Braddock Road, the train brakes made a lot of noise, waking him up. It was fortunate because they were getting off there. He woke his friend and got up and approached the door. His friend got up, looked around, and laid back down. He ran over to his friend yelling for him to get up. He did and they barely made it off of the train.

When I got to Van Dorn, I took a cab to Mike’s place to get my car. I left the bar between 1:15 and 1:30… I got to my car at 3 a.m. Yes, I remember why I don’t go out much.

It’s about a half hour from Herndon to Virginia, via 395, 495, and the Dulles Toll Road. The first toll is 75 cents, the second is 50 cents. You could cut through Tyson’s and miss the 75-cent toll, but I just wanted to get home, so I stayed on the highway. What a mistake.

I had quarters so I went to the only “exact change” lane. Normally, it would have taken two seconds to go through the toll, but not tonight. No. I drove up and put my 75 cents in the basket. I heard it jingle, but nothing happened. I threw in another quarter – nothing. I turned on my hazards and opened the door.

There was a quarter on the ground, so I threw that in thinking it may have missed. Nothing happened. But, I heard change jingling – like someone was shaking a handful of change. I look in the basket and there’s a dollar and a bunch of quarters in the exact change basket. The dollar is blocking the change from going down. And, my monster hands are too big to fit in the opening.

I had to get a pen and move the dollar, which allowed all the change to fall in and the toll to open. So, I headed back to Herndon. I was willing to let the state of Virginia have my extra 50 cents, as long as I got home.

But, of course, when I got to the Herndon exit toll, I chose the left lane toll, since I was making a left turn. I threw in my 50 cents, and guess what – nothing happened. $#%$&^&%^ I put my hazards on again and get out of the car. I look in the basket, and there’s quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies stuck in there.

At the first toll, at least the motor was spinning. At this one, nothing was happening. I tried the pen again. Nothing… So, I had to back up and go to the right lane toll. I threw my 50 cents in, and went through.

* At first, I thought the gates were down at both tolls. But, they were only down at the main toll. The second toll did not have a gate, so I really don’t know why I didn’t just drive through it, and contact the Dulles Toll Road people the next day. It was after 3 a.m., so I may not have been thinking.

Anyway, I’m planning on contacting them because I want my dollar back – it’s not the money it’s the principle. So stayed tuned for how that goes.

So, after an ill-advised trip to McDonalds (breaking an almost two-year streak of not eating there) I got a quarter-pounder meal. It was gross. But, it did sop up the alcohol in my stomach, so I can’t complain too much.

When all was said and done, since leaving the bar, I walked two miles to the metro, rode 14 stops on the metro, and drove 25 miles home. It was shortly after 4 a.m. It was then that I remembered why I rarely go out to DC anymore.

I should note that despite all of this I had a really good time. But next time, I’ll remember this vital rule to going clubbin’: Leave when your ride leaves…

I was driving down the Dulles Toll Road on Sunday, when I noticed a black, convertible Porsche Cayman Carrera S coming up behind me. I estimate that I was doing around 70 miles per hour, and he was going at least 10 miles an hour faster than me.

Sometimes, when I’m alone in my car, I speed up so that people like that can’t pass me. Usually, I speed up when it is a car that has no business passing me: a minivan, a rusted out Toyota Corolla, etc. But, I knew my measly little Honda couldn’t compete with a Porsche, so I let him go by (like I had a choice).

The driver was a white male, in his mid-to-late 30s. My guess is that he was either a business owner or executive. I suppose he could have been a doctor or lawyer, too. Now, he annoyed me for a couple of reasons – cough, cough jealousy, better car, more money cough, cough – but the main one was that he was speeding in the right lane.*

*  Not that I condone speeding, but if you’re going to speed, never speed in the right-most lane or the left-most lane because those are the two cops can clearly see.
 
I prefer speeders stay to the left. That way I don’t have to worry about people making erratic moves all around me. I only have to worry about my left, which is much easier to see.

Anyway, Cayman Carrera was pulling away from me. I think he was about 50 yards ahead when his brake lights came on. There was a Fairfax County cop in the shoulder. My stomach sunk when I saw him. I knew I was speeding, but I was not sure he was coming after me.
 
I was doing about 70, which put me 15 miles over the speed limit, but I just took my foot off the gas. I didn’t (and never) slam on the brakes, like Cayman Carerra did.

By the time I reached the cop, he was making his way to his door. He was standing behind his car with the radar gun, when he saw Cayman Carrera, I presume. But he was casually walking to the cruiser door when I passed him so I assumed that he was going to pull over someone behind Cayman Carrera and me. I don’t know why, but I always think of the cops in movies when I think of them going after speeders. You know, running to the car, spilling their coffee, dropping their doughnuts.
 
I saw the cop coming, but was fairly confident he wasn’t after me. Nadia, of course, was pointing out that I was speeding and that he could be coming after me. I wasn’t worried – perhaps because I was too busy trying to convince myself that he wasn’t coming after me. I drive a dirty Honda Civic that – despite Nadia’s contention that it is sporty – doesn’t really draw too much attention because it is blue and, well, a Honda. I don’t have rims or a body kit, or anything else that draws attention to it.

But, last time I displayed this type of cockiness about my car not being the type to get pulled over to Nadia, I got pulled over. So, I didn’t want to start talking trash.

At this point, I was a half car length behind Cayman Carrera, to his left. The cop was about 10 car lengths behind me, one lane to my right (Cayman’s Carrera’s lane). Because he didn’t get behind me at this point, I knew I was in the clear. When he got about one car length back, he turned on the lights. I can’t remember if he turned on the sirens, but I think he did. I looked over to make sure he wasn’t signaling me, and sure enough, he had Cayman Carrera dead in his sights.
 
As he pulled over Cayman Carrera, I wondered whether or not I would have been pulled over had Cayman Carrera not been there, or if my car was nicer than a Porsche. My Honda is inconspicuous enough that I should be able to avoid most speeding tickets while on the highway. But, I don’t want to get overly confident only to be hit with a speeding ticket.

Anyhow, I’m glad that rich d-bag was there to ensure I didn’t get a ticket.

Anyway, last night I went to Harris Teeter on my way home from watching the first game of NBA Finals at a friend’s house; it was about 12:30 a.m. Harris Teeter is never my first choice when grocery shopping because its prices are so high. Usually higher prices = yuppies. And, as you probably know by now, yuppies are my archenemies.

Basically, my list consisted of some fruit, yogurt, Zip Loc bags, Drano, and soy milk (which was not for me, FYI).  As I proceeded to make my way towards the yogurt, I noticed an attractive, fit brunette wearing workout clothes – spandex pants, cross-trainers (does anyone call them that anymore?), and a windbreaker. She looked like Kristen Davis from Sex and the City.  She, too, was buying yogurt. Or, so I thought.

It took me a minute to find the yogurt I wanted. In that time, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the woman started behaving a little erratically. She was pacing a little, back and forth. It just seemed…odd. I looked at her, waiting for her to look at me so I could ask if everything was okay. But, she never looked. In fact, she was trying not to look at me. I shrugged it off and walked away.
 
The yogurt is located along the back wall of the store. The woman was standing by the yogurt (Dannon Activia – green label, I think) that was in front of the aisle that had Drano. As I walked passed her, she was behaving skittishly. But, not in a way like she feared me, instead it was more like she didn’t want me to see her. I paid no attention to her and went and got Drano.

When I glanced back, she was right up against the yogurt shelves – she was as close as you could get to the shelf without climbing on it. It seemed very suspicious. So, I circled back – I wanted to know what was going on.

This young, attractive, seemingly well-off (based on her clothes and how she carried herself) female had whipped out a spoon and was scarfing the yogurt. You know how when you eat fast, you make heavy breathing noises? That’s what she was doing. It was spoonful after spoonful of yogurt, like she was trying to win a speed-eating competition. I was shocked.

She was super-involved in it, too. She didn’t notice me until I was nearly six feet from her. I decided to get two extra containers of yogurt since they were 8 for $6. When she noticed me, she freaked, and dropped the spoon, which landed on the shelf and made sound loud enough to make you look, as a reflex.

So, we’re both looking at the spoon. She doesn’t want to look at me, I assume, because of her embarrassment. I didn’t want to look at her for the same reason. She picked up the spoon after maybe 3-4 seconds, and casually walked away. I stood there, still baffled about what I just saw. I chuckled for a minute, and then went about my business, looking for Zip Loc bags.

Finding Zip Loc bags in HT is very difficult because they’re not in a logical place. They’re not near paper products. No! HT puts them by baby diapers. Why, you ask? I have no idea. Also, apparently Zip Loc bags are not worthy of being on the sign above the aisle indicating what’s in it. So, I walked around the store for 10 minutes looking.

Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered me so much. But, I’m sure to the yogurt-stealer, it looked like I was intentionally running into her in every other aisle. The first two times I passed her, she looked a little embarrassed. By the third time, however, she was eating another yogurt.

This time, she was eating it slower, and more casually. She was eating it as she shopped, which I’ve seen people do. But, normally, when people have the intention of paying, they keep the container. Not yuppie yogurt-stealer. No… she ditched the containers, which I’m pretty sure were part of a pack.

The last (fourth) time I met up with her was in frozen food aisle.  She walked by me and I noticed she didn’t have the containers in her basket. I later saw them in the paper towel aisle. I didn’t touch them – fingerprints and all. Hmm, I wonder if she wiped her prints off of them. Also, I wonder if she cased the joint first for cameras. I know HT has them, but I never paid attention to where they were. She probably didn’t wipe down the evidence or verify camera locations because she was far from being a master criminal.

I paid for my groceries and left the store. I never saw the yuppie yogurt-stealer again. But, for most of the ride home, I was wondering if she was a clepto. Was this her normal routine? Or, was she just a hungry, desperate yuppie trying to save $4? I’ll never know for sure.

As I passed the slower car, and moved back to the right lane, I heard a strange noise come from my left rear quarter panel. Let’s back up a couple of months…

I was at my apartment complex, leaving to run some errands when I started backing up. Just as I thought to myself, “I should probably check my mirror to see how close the Acura MDX parked behind me is,” I bumped into it pretty hard.

I inspected the MDX, and it was fine. Not even a scratch on the paint. My bumper, however, was slightly cracked. And, it looked like the seam of the rear bumper and the rear quarter panel wasn’t aligned properly. I popped it back in place and problem solved – or so I thought.

Ever since that day, every once and a while, I would hear something that sounded like tree branches hitting my car. But, I never paid attention to the sounds. Well, I never really thought about them beyond wondering what they were.

Fast forward to today. I heard the strange loud noise as I moved back into the right lane on the turnpike. I also caught a glimpse of something in my side view mirror. I assumed I ran over a tire tread in the road. But, when I looked in my rear view mirror, I didn’t see the tread behind me.

I moved all the way over to the right lane. As cars passed me, everyone was looking at my car, which was a good indicator that something was up.

I took the next exit and pulled over. Sure enough, the wind caught my already-cracked bumper and ripped the whole quarter panel off. It was hanging by about two inches of fiberglass.

Lucky for me, there was a Walgreen just down the road – duct tape should do the trick. Of course, Walgreen had every color but blue. So, I picked up “transparent” tape and taped up the bumper in the parking lot. Transparent my butt, it might as well have been white. But, it did the trick.

Wind 1, Duct Tape 1, Japanese engineering 0.