New York Times Wedding

I thoroughly enjoy reading the Weddings section of the New York Times, because it teaches me how to be classfully egocentric, and in the case that I one day fall into money (I mean literally trip into a manhole filled with gold bricks) or marry rich (working on it), I want to be prepared to announce it to the Tri-State area, and those outside of the region who are sophisticated enough to subscribe to the Times.

I have already begun working on my wedding announcement, because, well, I ain’t gettin’ any younger. There are still some kinks to work out, but here is a rough draft:

Here ye, here ye! Beginning this Sunday, and ending next Saturday at 11:59pm, Lauren Brittany Creath Morrow aka Lomo, will wed (enter rich attractive man’s name here) in a weeklong ceremony that will hop throughout the city, with special guest appearances at secret locations! The bride will be changing her name to; the groom will change his name to Dr. Prof. Lauren Morrow.

Morrow (.edu) is the daughter of Louise Morrow and Charles Creath of St. Louis, MO. She graduated from Connecticut College (holla) and resides in New York City, where she is, and forever will be, a professional intern.

Now let’s talk about Groomie. His mother is a descendant of Mother Theresa, which seems strange, but just go with it. She is a culinary at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris (pronounced par-EE) and loves to braid hair. His father is a Scottish Duke who dated Bo Derek for 3 weeks in the 70’s, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. He is abnormally tall and has 3 pet ostriches. Groomie received his MD from Columbia, his PhD from Oxford, his Associates Degree from Phoenix Online and his pilates ceritification from Fitness Guru in DUMBO. He is a professional baller, whose past times include cooking, serenading, cleaning and being extraordinarily fit despite the fact that he spends little time watching sports. He prefers performance art. His latest novel was just chosen for Oprah’s Book Club, to join his last three.

The wedding will begin at noon in Central Park on Sunday morning. Monday they will hit up BK, for a B.I.G. themed celebration. On Tuesday the couple will travel to The Hamptons, where Diddy will through a Ciroc soiree. No one will talk to Diddy, because he is annoying. On Wednesday, they will head to Connecticut College for a special Hump Day dance in Cro. On Thursday, the couple will fly to St. Louis, and have an Arch-top ceremony. It sounds impossible, but it’s not. Friday will take them to Italy, where things will just get too baller to even mention. Finally, on Friday, they will swing by The Clinton Social in Hoboken, NJ for a $15 prixe fixe dinner, before heading to their Manhattan condo. They will depart for their honeymoon the next day.

Again, there will be special pitstops in between, so keep your eyes open. Tell your friends to tell their mamas. It’s gonna be the sickest event on the planet, so clear your schedule.

The photo above the announcement will just be, dripping in diamonds, sporting a chinchila bikini, with heavy airbrushing.

So save the date. It’s gonna be the sickest event on the planet, and you don’t want to hear about it. You want to be there.


Back in 5 Minutes

I am in the midst of interning, and working, and caring for spoiled children, and looking for an apartment, and looking for someone to move into my old apartment, and writing for a website, and trying to have friends. I’ll be back in 5 minutes.

Book It: How Pizza Shaped My Life

I learned from a young age the values of reading. In elementary school, there was a program called Book-It. With each book that a student finished, she was given a sticker to put on an especially large button. Once all of the star spots were filled, the student brought the button to Pizza Hut, where she was awarded with a delectable personal pan pizza (pepperoni, obvi).

I was reading kid lit like it was my job.

“One more Boxcar Children book,” I’d think, salivating, “and that pizza is mine.”

Pretty soon I was reading quicker than any of the kids in my class, and the pizzas kept rolling in. I’m pretty sure I was at an 8th grade reading level by the time I left 2nd grade, and I have the empty pizza boxes to prove it. At some point I remember someone asking me what I wanted to be when I group up.

“I want to work at Pizza Hut,” I replied. That was a low point.

I can’t remember at what point I stopped being given pizza in exchange for reading books, but I imagine it was a gradual change. My mother probably fed me slices upon book completion for two years, just to ease the blow. In any case, Book-It had a huge impact on my life, because I eventually became and English major, and I love to read and write. You probably wouldn’t be reading this post right now were it not for the good people at Pizza Hut.

But I don’t think it should have ended with Book-It. After finishing The Road, I would have loved dinner for two at The Cheesecake Factory. And free drinks with any appetizer purchase would have been a great reward for finishing The Bell Jar. That was a downer.

Pizza Hut, if you are reading this, forget the children of America. Adults are the ones who need your help. We are no longer required to read, so many of us don’t. But throw in a pizza and some wings, and Jodi Piccoult won’t know what to do. Add a side of breadsticks, and the publishing industry just might get back on its feet.