With this blog, I thee wed.

I just got done writing the most pathetic email of, well, let's go with -- the week. I emailed weddingchannel.com to beg them to please let me know if I'd already gotten a particular friend her wedding gift (the wedding was a month and half ago). In retrospect, I realize that my email was long-winded. I imagine there is a really nice guy sitting in India and reading weddingchannel.com's emails and wondering what the hell I'm on about.

I'm attending weddings at a rate that would make Elizabeth Taylor's head spin. Add in the subsets of engagement parties, showers, and bachelorette parties, and you'll see where the little free time work leaves me goes. But when I had to write this pleading email begging weddingchannel.com/Ravi to help me keep track and basically GET A GRIP, I realized something had to change.

I need to marry myself.

Yes, marry myself! It's what Kevin Nadal did. You may have seen him -- on The View, or the Today Show, or maybe sitting across from me in Koreatown in NYC last week, indulging in Korean barbeque and friendly banter. Prompted by a plotline in Sex in the City (which I don't watch, and always causes me to recheck my typing, because I don't know if it's Sex in the City or Sex AND the City - a fact which I did not, of course, tell Kevin), he made a decision. He was always going to other people's celebratory events and Kevin decided it was time to do his own celebrating. So -- he married himself. The fact that he is a performance artist and psychologist only makes this more delightful.

Fast forward: registry, tuxedo, tons of attention, tons of presents.

What I'd like to focus on is the "tons of presents" part. Kevin felt that, after all the gift-giving he had done, he deserved the same. He did it all - bridesmaids, vows, partying like it's 1999. He registered for tons of prezzies, even (as reported by Salon.com, although I'm sure he'd tell me if I asked, because we're like be-fri's now) a sno-cone machine.

But this isn't about Kevin. This is about me.

I think the time has come for me to do the same. Celebrate myself? Whatev. I think there are enough people in the world celebrating themselves and being celebrated (People magazine makes a living based on this simple fact). Dressing up? Let's see: The last time I wore a strapless long creme gown, I pulled the top layer over my head, formed what appeared to be a chador from it, and insisted that my friend draw me a moustache and unibrown so I could march around my house and explore what I would have looked like if my parents had never emigrated. I think I lost "dress up" privileges somewhere there. Vera Wang won't come near me.

But gifts? I need those! You see, regifting is really a lost art form...