Any time over the last five years, if you had told me that I would meet a chick that met my very stringent minimum acceptable requirements (i.e., not a total psycho bitch), I would have laughed at you and kicked you in the shins for toying with my emotions. Then I probably would have watched some TV. If you had told me that not only would I meet a chick who met my minimum acceptable requirements but ALSO liked my tarantulas, had a PS2, and was generally pretty cool, I probably would have just watched TV, because such an outrageously insane notion is beneath consideration. The idea that I would be ENGAGED to that chick in less than two years of knowing her would be even more ludicrous.

Well, every so often, strange things happen, and the ludicrous becomes possible. After all, if Kevin Costner can be considered a movie star, anything can happen. Personally, I blame quarks. After all, what better scapegoat for the ills of the world than something no on really understands? The whole God thing has gotten a little old, so quantum mechanics will have to do.

So what twisted reality have those evil quarks created for me? Not only do I find a chick whose company is preferable to being alone (the vast majority of people do not even meet THAT criteria), be she's so unspeakably cool that it nearly defies any reality not orchestrated by tiny subatomic particles.

Yesterday, I did something that two years ago looked as unlikely as Fox Family Channel airing a gay orgy made up of Tom Arnold, Jack Nicholson, Wilt Chamberlain, and George Burns's corpse. I asked her to marry me.

Snap out of it. I know you were overwhelmed by the romance of it all, staring into space with misty eyes. I tried to think of something cool and unique and even (gag) romantic, but my normally creative brain failed me. Perhaps it was still reeling from the unreality of it all. Perhaps it was still overwhelmed by the trials and tribulations of getting the ring in the first place.

I can't imagine a more painful, stressful experience. Not to dis my chick, of course. We went together to pick out a ring she liked, and on the whole I would have been completely clueless without her. Still, it was very stressful. I didn't like strolling around the jewelry shops all day in the middle of PhilaHELLphia, and she didn't like having to spend my money (she's great that way-VERY unusual among chicks). In the end, though, we got something both of us could live with. It still sucked, though. The experience, I mean, not the ring itself.

Then I had to think of an original way to ask her. She knew it was coming, obviously, so that just put on more pressure. In the end, we were just lying in bed on July 4, and I popped the big Q. She cried, I didn't, and we were all happy. No, we didn't set any dates or plan kids or anything like that, but I'll be sure to mention it here when I do.

Is this the end of cynical Jason? The answer to that is a big solid "Hell, no." Sure, it appears that the specters of the evil bitches of my past have been banished, but there's plenty more in the world to be bitter about. Politicians, lawyers, activists, religious nuts, Kevin Costner, and now that I'm approaching 30, I've got old age. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

BTW: She said "yes." Duh.