There was an ad for Dress Rehearsal in the Style section of Sunday's New York Times.

So, I was reading the wedding announcements that came right after the ad, and noticed how unforgiving the NYT announcements are. I mean, is it really necessary to announce to hundreds of thousands of people that a groom is a three time loser with multiple divorces under his belt? I read a lovely announcement about a Penn and Columbia educated architect and the Penn-educated editor she married - do they need to tell me that "The bridegroom's previous marriage ended in divorce"... Why can't we just live under the illusion that the marriage of these two people is divine intervention instead of a second shot down the aisle?

Then the NYT also has a little sidebar called, "State of the Unions." This section revisits couples who were previously in the NYT for their wedding announcement. So what became of the Wiccan priestess and the avid Buddhist/Taoist book reader? Well, their Wiccan ceremony on Long Island in 1996 ended in divorce. I guess even love spells in the moonlight can't help a couple when the wife "suddenly packs up a pot of beef stew and walks out."

This is all true - page 12 in the January 23 NYT. See, and some people read fiction and say, "Oh that would never happen in real life." Who could make up this stuff?

Just returned from five hellish days in New Jersey - not that anything that happened was actually the Garden State's fault. It all started here in Chicago, when the long term parking lot was full so we had to be shuttled from an ancillary lot, and therefore ended up at the airport a whopping five minutes past the forty minute cut off. So, bags ended up on a later flight, which wouldn't have been a problem if the flight they were supposed to come in on wasn't delayed due to the snow, and I didn't have a signing I had to get to at 7pm. So, after three hours trying to convince my two kids that Newark airport was second only to Disney World on the fun-o-meter, we finally gave up and went to the signing. That was a blast, they had a great cake with a sugar "picture" of the cover of DR. Very cool. When I left the bookstore at 8:30 I called the airline, and was told me that my bags had just been picked up. Super.

Not. When I got to the hotel (not that I was staying there, they didn't have a room available so I had to trek out to spend the night at my friend Lisa's house) the luggage wasn't there. So I called the delivery service and was told that my bags would be there around 1am. Huh? What were they doing with my bags between 8:30 and 1am? Joyriding around the greater Short Hills, New Jersey area with my luggage in the trunk? "We don't even have to have them there before 7am, you know," I was told by my lovely local delivery service. Um, ok. Bye bye. Went Lisa's where she had nice cold Amstels waiting for me, which I gratefully accepted.

The signing the next night in Princeton was great, saw my friend Kari, which is always good for a laugh. Then, more snow. My brother was married in a blizzard, which was quite beautiful, but not exactly conducive to driving. The shuttle service from the hotel to the club where the reception was held actually told its passengers that they'd get a ride there, but then they were on their own. New Jersey was declaring a state of emergency and closing all highways at 8pm. What were we going to do? We had a party to go to.

So we hung out at the club, watched the snow fall, and I discovered a new fabulous drink called a strawberry shortcake martini. Wonderful and highly recommended. Had a great time at the reception and even made it home later on despite the pounds of snow covering the roads.

Of course, today's flight home was cancelled. So we got a flight out of Philly. Cancelled. Now, maybe this wouldn't be so bad if my husband wasn't freaking out about missing the NE Patriot's play-off game against Pittsburgh. You've never seen a man work a phone so well in your life. He must have spent at least 40 minutes on the phone with the airline and rental car company before coming up with a plan - we'd drive to Westchester airport in White Plains, NY and fly out at 4pm. We made it home during the third quarter and all is well with the world. Don't have any desire to get on a plane or in a rental car any time soon. Nor do I desire to stay at the Short Hills Hilton and order my kids $14 burgers, $8 chicken noodle soups, and $4 Sprites from room service for four days.

So, when all is said and done, my brother is married and I managed to stay married in the process despite lost luggage, a blizzard, and cancelled flights - not to mention that the Patriots won. Looks like we're going to the Super Bowl.