Jason Rodriguez - The Moose in the Closet: This is the End

The whole purpose of this blog, when I first started it, was to tell stories about growing up in Brooklyn and going to school in Boston. January 2006 I extended that mission to include stories about moving to DC/starting a life with Robin. The year before January 2006, I wrote 260 stories. A new story every Monday through Friday. The year since, I wrote about thirty. I admit – this blog became a tenth priority, at best.

But I want to kick it up a bit more. With the first year, I had a definitive ending in sight. I graduated BU – I moved out of Boston. The End. I always felt that, by including DC stories, I really never had anywhere to go with them.

Well, now I do. And I’m going to start at the ending and tell you all about my recent engagement to Robin.

Robin and I have been together for almost eight full years. This June, by our calculation, will mark the start of our ninth year together. And we just got engaged two weeks ago. It’s not like I never considered getting engaged before. Robin and I were both resistant to marriage at different times. A collection of reasons. We’re too young, our commitment to each other without legal obligations says more than anything else, we don’t want to have kids yet, anyway – we always had excuses on hand.

Not like the excuses ever really satisfied anyone. My parents would occasionally rib us a little – Robin’s mom would occasionally have too many drinks and flat out ask me when I was going to propose. This was usually funny, unless she did it in front of Robin’s father. Then it became uncomfortable.

Internally, I kept setting deadlines for myself. The first one was: “I’ll propose once we get out of debt.” Well, we got out of debt. Robin and I were having some issues incorporating our families into our lives and I said to myself, “Well, after we get the family stuff ironed out.” Well, we all get along fine now. It became a joke; I’d laughingly tell my friends, “We’ll get married after I get my first helicopter.”

The final deadline I set for myself was, “We’ll get married after I sell my first book.” As someone who wanted to write his whole life, I knew the odds of me ever selling a book were slim-to-none. And then I sell Postcards to Random House, biggest publisher in America, a literal dream-come-true.

And I said to myself, “Fuck, maybe I should propose.”

I decided to do it in Italy. Of course, I wrestled with my decision for several months. I kept finding reasons why Robin and I will never work in the long term. Important stuff like “she doesn’t like comics” and “we can never share a bottle of wine because she doesn’t like reds.” I fought through all of these issues and picked out the perfect ring…

…and the ring was well into the five-figures. And just like that I had another excuse – I needed to be able to afford this ring. Cash. I convinced myself that this was the only ring for Robin, the only one she deserved. I was being a good boyfriend. There was another, more affordable, ring I liked but I would not settle for second best.

For my birthday Robin took me out to this wonderful Italian restaurant in Georgetown. After several glasses of wine (I was drinking Chianti, she was drinking chardonnay, of course) Robin says, “You know – I heard Venice is a great city to get engaged in.”

It’s funny how one sentence can get you to instantly stop playing games. For the first time in our eight years together, Robin and I jibed. We both wanted to get married at the same time. I got real serious, real fast – so serious that I got angry at her for “ruining my plans” – and I managed to convince her that I feel we’re simply not ready for marriage yet. I laid out some issues we still need to work through. And, since it was my birthday, she couldn’t get mad about them.

It was perfect – and she left that restaurant convinced that I had no intentions of proposing.

I ordered the ring that night. It was from a jeweler in Florida specializing in antiques and replications that a broker found for me. It was a replica 1910 Edwardian inspired platinum ring. A good rock in the middle and a crown of smaller diamonds clasping it into place. The crown was an important feature, one that I was specifically looking for. Robin’s my princess, she knows it, and she always tells me to buy her a tiara one day. I made sure that her engagement ring had a tiara embedded into it.

Getting the ring was a bit of a nightmare. I wanted it fast because, if it sucked, I could return it and get a new one. I paid extra for rush-resizing (I sized it by using one of her existing rings) and rush-delivery. That was on a Wednesday. I should have received shipping notification, at least, by that Friday. I was in New York that weekend and decided to call the jeweler. I got some lady on the line that was telling me to calm down and if there was a problem, they’d call me. I reiterated that I needed the ring by next Thursday at the latest and she said she understands that.

Now it’s the following Wednesday. I leave for Italy on Friday. I still don’t have a ring. I still don’t have a tracking number. So I call the jeweler again and get the same chick on the line. She “remembers me” and tells me, once again, that if there’s a problem they’ll call me. I ask to speak to shipping. She transfers me, I’m on hold for five minutes, and then a guy gets on the line, probably not from shipping, and says, “Mr. Rodriguez, we’re so sorry. We’re sending the ring overnight right now.”

I got the ring at my office the next day.

I also ordered this crystal/Faberge Egg looking ring box. For some reason, I got it in my head that Venice was known for their Faberge Eggs. The plan was to go to some market, put this ring box amongst a sea of Faberge Eggs, and say, “Hey, we should get one while we’re here – how about this one?” She grabs it, opens it up – surprise! Engagement ring!

Imagine my surprise when I get to Venice and I don’t see a solitary Faberge Egg.

My improvised plan was essentially, “Fuck it – we’re in Venice.” Because, honestly, being in Venice, in-and-of-itself, makes for a great engagement story.

We went to dinner at a place called Trattoria alla Madonna. It was off the beaten path a bit. Nothing flashy – the place where the gondoliers went to eat after getting off of their shift. There was an American there, Mike. He asked us how we knew about this place and I told him it came highly recommended. Mike comes to Italy twice a year and he proceeded to give us recommendations for restaurants in Florence while helping us with the food choices on our menu.

I played football in high school; I realize when someone’s throwing a block. As Robin’s back is turned towards Mike I pull the Faberge Egg out of the pocket and put it on the table. Robin turns back around, sees the egg, and asks, “What’s this?” She opens it up, sees the engagement ring, and asks, “What’s this?” I ask her to marry me. She says, “Really?” I say, “Yes.” She says, “Are you sure?” I say, “You know, you’re freaking me out a bit.” She starts to cry and says yes, I put the ring on her.

I apparently convinced her that I was never going to propose to her. Also, she thought the Faberge Egg had sugar packets in it.

The ring doesn’t fit. I resized it at least a size too big, I gather. She has to wear it on her middle finger.

After dinner we walked over the Rialto Bridge to a wine bar situated right at the base and called our parents and siblings. Everyone was excited. Everyone probably knew about it, too.

My family certainly knew. I had to call Robin’s brother to get her father’s cell phone number so I can ask permission, so Robin’s family probably knew. I also told a lot of my family and friends as well as a bunch of coworkers at my day job and in comics that I was going to propose. So, it probably wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone.

At any rate – we’re engaged. I want to get married next Spring, Robin wants to finish school first before she even starts planning the wedding so she’s thinking the following Spring. At any rate, it’s going to be one hell of a party.

Labels: dc, engagement, italy, robin

This is the End

Monday, March 19, 2007

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