I'm a New York girl, a Yankees fan from the moment that I could first cry. New York is in my blood. My grandfather's grandfather immigrated here from Germany just after the turn of the century with the hopes of making something of himself and my family has lived in New York ever since, only a few of the kids leaving for the last few generations. My father was the first son of the family who went to a college that wasn't even in the state of New York, but after graduating, he returned, saying there was no place like home. He met my mom, a much younger woman, at his brother's wedding. His brother was marrying my mother's older sister. It was a really odd coincidence that worked out really, really well, and Mom and Dad met and she instantly fell for him. She was 17 and he was 32, so they had to wait until she was legal, but as soon as she turned 18, they eloped.

My grandparents were not the least bit happy; they were afraid that he was too old for her, that he was going to break her heart, that he wasn't going to provide for her, basically all the standard excuses that parents use for worrying about their children's choices in spouses. Then my oldest sister, Jessica, was born and that softened my grandparents' anger toward my dad a little. My older sister Katrina followed three years later and three years after that, I was born on April 15, 1977. I know, I know, I was born on Tax Day. Lucky me, right?

I can say that I lived a pretty good life growing up in New York. We lived in Staten Island and Dad worked for an advertising company. We attended Yankee games religiously. My grandfather was a janitor at Yankee Stadium and then he worked the concession stands, so we got discounted tickets. I own so many dresses, shirts, hats, jerseys, you name it. If it's a clothing item, chances are good that I've got it with a Yankees logo.

High school was pretty average for me. I took dance classes as a kid and I joined the drama club in high school. I was a cheerleader too, but not a skank. I managed to get good grades. I wasn't valedictorian or salutatorian or anything fancy like that; I almost made it into the Top 20 but was beaten out by a kid who rightly deserved it. I had a boyfriend, he was my high school sweetie and we dated for a bit after graduation. Well, we dated for a long bit, I guess you could say. We were together for eight years, two years while we were in high school and six after we'd graduated. It was a long, complicated and messy breakup and it took me two years to get my act together and get away. I had to, I couldn't stay in New York; everywhere I went, there he was, popping up and sticking his nose in my business.

So I busted my ass for two years, I saved up enough money and I lit out of there, the first of my family to leave our homeland and I had no intentions of coming back. Oh, I mean, I go and visit my family for holidays, of course, but I'm not moving back to New York permanently, no matter how I miss it.

I settled in Los Angeles four years ago, got a job at a nice little catering business. I'm a server, I get to wear a fun little uniform and carry delicate little appetizers on a little tray around a room full of mingling people. It's actually a lot more fun than I'm making it sound and I love my job. The pay's not bad either.

About four years ago, at the birthday party of a mutual friend, I met this guy and he was pretty cute. He was playing guitar, which I'm a sucker for musicians so that definitely made me take notice, and he scowled at our mutual friend who'd conned him into playing at the party. Our friend made a silly face back at him and this guy, this really cute guitar player, he smiled. It wasn't just an ordinary smile though; he had this odd little quirk about his mouth, it went kinda crooked whenever he smiled, like one side of his mouth didn't work or something. My friend who'd attended the party with me cracked a joke about him looking like a stroke victim and I smacked her arm, telling her that I thought it was an absolutely adorable quirk and that I thought it enhanced his sexiness. Apparently someone (i.e., the birthday boy) overheard me say that and conspired to get me introduced to the guy.

Aidan Emerson and I hit it off immediately and we spent the rest of the party talking and getting to know each other. He asked me for my phone number, which he really hadn't needed to do because I was about to give it to him, and he called me the next day and asked me out to dinner. The first date turned into a second, which turned into a third and a fourth and a year later, he was asking me to move in with him at his condo in Santa Monica. I accepted and three months turned into six and six into ten and exactly a year after he'd asked me to move in, he proposed. I accepted, of course, and that's where we're at right now, engaged and living together in a one bedroom condo on the waterfront in Santa Monica.

He's a grad student -- well, okay, an undergrad because he's changed his major ten times or something like that; he's so cute -- and I'm still a caterer and honestly, I wouldn't trade my life for anything. We're still not married yet; we're waiting for Mr. Emerson to graduate and we keep pushing the date back. I love him though and I'm supportive of his education (even if I do think he's going to be a professional student for the rest of his natural life. I love you, baby). I still root for the Yankees though. You can take a girl out of the ball park, but you can't take the ball park out of the girl.