Standard Engagement Protocol 101
5/31/06

At approximately 7:50am, Central Standard Time, American Airlines Flight 883 touched down at O'hare International Airport (that's right, baby... the grown-up table, turns out they were right... the only way to get promoted from the kids table IS to get married). Having awakened that morning at 4:15am (not to be confused with 4:15 pm, the more common of the 4:15s), the thought of a full day of work, sounded about as appealing as that new KFC Corn/Chicken/Mashed Potato/Gravy/3-Cheese bucket.

--If I may sidebar (which, fair warning, I tend to do)... have you seen the commercials for this grotesque assembly of nourishment? In all fairness, I honestly admit to being "that kid" growing up, who respected the divided dinner plates. And I patrolled the quarter-inch wall that separated my peas from my meatloaf like it was East and West Germany. I condemned the pea that dare hurdle the barrier and fraternize with the enemy meatloaf, usually by drowning him in a sea of ketchup and pretending not to hear his cries for help. That being said, I can't help but feel mocked by Colonel Sanders with this new mass-hysteria-in-a-bucket that he is so shamelessly pushing into the faces of the American people. It is ludicrous, and I will not stand for it. (note: dinner will be served on divided plates on Oct. 13, 2007. Any insubordinate peas will be taken out back and shot)--

Tired as I was, I pushed through the work day with one goal in mind: Go home. Install window A/C unit. Go to bed. I had zero energy & zero brain power left to function. (Ironically enough, the exact two requirements for window A/C installation) Infact I'm pretty sure girl scouts can get patches for it. It's right before making that pine cone & peanut-butter birdfeeder.

So there I was, about to crash on my couch for the evening when my roommate "Murphy" came in with the offer of a lifetime. Catch a Cub game from a rooftop on Sheffield? Sitting on a rooftop for a Cub game has always been on my "things to do before i die" list. It's right up there with "write the next great american novel" and "floss". The rooftops are practically national landmarks. They offer a bird's eye view of the most magical place on earth, Wrigley Field. To a die-hard, skipping an invitation to a rooftop would be like skipping Easter Sunday Mass... at the Vatican. Suddenly re-energized and ready to see the Cubbies extend their longest winning streak this month to two games, I was out the door.

Little did I know, that the rooftop would prove to be my classroom that evening for "Standard Engagement Protocol 101". Murphy's extended friends and family had all shown up that evening on the roof. After a couple of innings of sub-par (yet surprisingly not sub-Cub) baseball, the heavens opened up and we were in the middle of a rain delay. The conversation quickly shifted to what I have affectionately began calling "Kristen & Jared: The Beginning". All it took was Murphy dropping the "engagement" word, and the entire population on the rooftop switched focus. The best words to describe their reaction would be "shock and horror". Not horrified that I was engaged and thusly, officially off the market, as I had originally diagnosed their condition... but horrified that 3 innings of baseball had gone by and I had yet to say anything.

Rule #1 of Engagement Etiquette: Announce your engagement to everyone (including total strangers) before saying anything else.

Rule #2: When telling your "how it happened" story, it is important to include all details, including what you had for breakfast that day, what the chance for precipitation was, and a detailed report of the progress Jack Bauer was making with the last remaing canister of syntox gas.

How rude of me, and so to the extended friends and family of Murphy, I do apologize. Last night I learned the accepted behavior for a man in my new role. I learned that I'm supposed to tell my story with gusto. And perhaps, most importantly, I learned that only a Northsider with a dream, is stupid enough to sit on metal bleachers on a rooftop during a thunderstorm.

P.S. Cubs beat the Reds 8-3. Go Cubbies!

The Beginning
5/27/06

Well I did it. Last night (5/26/06) I popped the question. What follows is a first-hand account of a wedding in the 21st century.

I guess I should start at the beginning. I will spare you the mundane details, but in all fairness, my relationship with the bride-to-be has been anything but mundane since day 1.


"The Proposal"

I admit, this proposal wasn't exactly written for a movie co-starring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, but perhaps this script could have scored some B-list celebrities. (like that Kristin chick from "Laguna Beach" and that Jared guy from all those Subway commercials) Yeah, I could just see it now... a made for TV movie, airing on the WB. Check your local listings.

For those of you who chose not to tune in, it went a little something like this. While I had always known that one day I would ask "Kristin" to marry me, I must admit, there was something very spontaneous about how the actual asking went down. I imagine the best way to tell the story, requires backtracking about a week's time. So if you will, let's rewind the week, like something out of a Quentin Tarantino movie. (minus the unnecessary blood baths, and bad John Travolta haircuts --though now that i think of it, Travolta could have definitely made an unforgetable cameo appearance in my WB movie as "Air Tran Airways Employee #2")

It is now Tuesday, 5/23/06, and I was on my way to buy what most cultures today refer to as "Bling". Unfortunately, my knowledge of bling is limited to what I have learned from Nelly & the St. Lunatics, but educated consumer or not, I was on a mission. It's amazing what adrenaline will do for you. Like, have you ever been jonesin' for a crunch wrap supreme from Taco Bell? Despite the fact that it's 9:30 on a Sunday morning, and Fr. O'Malley is knee-deep in his homily, which you've stopped listening too once he was finished telling his quasi-humorous opening anecdote. Well, just like Tu Quieres Taco Bell, on Tuesday, yo quiero bling bling. So as of Tuesday, I had the hardware.

It is now Wednesday, 5/24/06, and i was pacing my Chicago apartment, anticipating my call to my future father-in-law. You've all heard of "the call". (not to be confused with my my favorite Backstreet Boys song by the same name, a must have for anyone's ipod.) Rather, this call, is when Mission Control calls Houston, requesting the "go/no go" for launch. It's an age old tradition, which, after a few minutes research on askjeeves.com, I learned, was developed by the National Association of Intimidating Fathers of Girlfriends Across America, circa 1946, for the sole purpose of watching us boyfriends squirm. I'm convinced, this organization convenes for weekly meetings, sharing stories of how they reduced their future in-laws to dust, over stogies and expensive whiskey. Despite my fears, however, the call went well, thus 24 hrs after the bling purchase, I now had the go from Mission Control.

It is now Thursday, 5/25/06, and for all intents and purposes I had passed the point of no return. All that was left to do now was plan how the magic would happen. Knowing what guy I wasn't... "the sport stadium proposal guy"... "the ring in the chocolate cake guy"... "the box inside of a box inside of a box guy"... I actually found it difficult to decide. Then it came to me...

Friday, 5/26/06... Of course, it literally takes planes, trains and automobiles to reach my bride-to-be. (again, i stress, nothing about my relationship is mundane.) Despite it being Memorial Day weekend, and my beloved yet currently victory-challenged Chicago Cubs hosting their infamous 1:20 day game, I had reached Chicago's Midway Airport in record time on Friday afternoon. Most people who fly to Chicago choose to use O'hare. Infact, Midway is like the kids table at the Chicago Thanksgiving dinner, where it's the same food, only you have to use the plastic dishes and folding chairs. Waiting at Gate A4B (which actually just sunk my battleship), was just like those folding chairs... except, sans the chairs. But it wasn't the sans chairs that bothered me most about this trip. It was the sans plane. That's right... my flight (originally scheduled to depart at 5:40pm) was now scheduled to depart at 7:10pm. In "about to propose time" that's roughly a 37-year delay.

But 37 years later, I landed in MN, local time 9:00pm. With reservations at the Melting Pot for 9:30pm, I finally realized what it felt like to be a Domino's Pizza delivery man. Propose in 30 minutes or less? Or should I simply deliver the pizza tomorrow? Some people, when they face adversity... will shy away. If i was one of those people, I would have gone home 4 years ago, when my bride moved to Italy for 6 months. Or i would have gone home 2 years ago, when she took a job in Milwaukee and I took a job in Chicago. Or i would have gone home last year when she moved to Minneapolis. No sir... adversity is my middle name.

By 9:27 I had slipped the ring on her finger, with 3 minutes to spare. By 9:31 we were toasting above the 7 roses (which had now turned to potpouri) on our table. 7 roses, symbolic of 2007, the year in which Jared Adversity Focker will be lucky enough to finally wed his Kristen. If you think this story was crazy... stick around... it's bound to be one helluva ride.

(scheduled to depart out of Midway... gate BYOB... trust me... you'll probably need it)