Our Story

(From Brian’s perspective)

The first time that Julia and I met was at a photoshoot for our dance teams. I remember the day very vividly, from the sparkly tutu that she wore to the smile she gave me when I introduced myself to her. Unfortunately, Julia doesn’t recall meeting anybody that day...

The second time that Julia and I met was when my friends convinced me to stop by her dance practice with them. Her team was getting ready for Battlefest and it was common for other teams to watch run throughs. We watched them perform and afterwards my friends casually started a conversation with her. I was pretty nervous as I remember trying to perfectly time when I would introduce myself to her again. I likey was focusing too hard on it as I mistook a breath for a pause and blurted out “I’m Brian!” cutting my friends off mid-sentence. Fortunately, my friends played along by laughing and introducing themselves as well.

A few days later we started talking on Facebook. Julia mentioned she hadn’t explored much of San Francisco yet so I offered to show her around. For our first date I really wanted to impress her so I came up with a “Prohibition” themed night, which mainly let me combine 2 essential things: dancing and Fernet Branca. We started off at Bourbon and Branch, a speakeasy where you use a password to enter the bar through a bookcase. At the bar I introduced her to Fernet, giving her the whole back story of how it was popularized during the Prohibition, how bartenders use it as a form of handshake, and really built it up as a miracle spirit. She drank it with the recommended ginger ale and paused afterwards. “It’s not bad!” she said “Reminds me of Pei Pa Koa”. I assured her that it would grow on her.

Afterwards, we went dancing at Slide, a Prohibition themed nightclub, where I was eager to show off my now retired dance moves. I remember the night being filled with mashup pop songs, mini-dance battles, and intermissions of Fernet. When we were finally ready to call it a night, it was 3am and we had somehow ended up at the afterhours club, Ruby Skye. Recapping the night over a slice of pizza, we walked back to my car. I commented on the pizza not being very good and how there were a lot of late night food options she had to try, not so subtly coaxing her to agree to another night out. Little did I know, that date plus 8 more years worth of dates would finally lead us to where we are now.

The Proposal

(From Julia’s perspective)

By the time our trip to Italy, Amsterdam, and Spain rolled around, we had already been shopping for a ring for a few months. Brian had indulged in my sapphire quest until I realized none matched the seafoam blue of my dreams. So to humor him, the last stone we looked at was a diamond. Which was beautiful! But I really wanted us to get a good deal, hence the sapphire. I also wanted something precious and beautiful and sentimental, hence the indecision.

We tabled our search for post-Europe. Because we wanted to shop for a ring together and we hadn’t reached any conclusions, I was sure we were not coming back from our trip engaged. I’d like to say that I was so sure that I missed all the signs, except that there weren’t very many signs. Turns out Brian is pretty good at misdirection. Must be the magician in him.

The tricks up his sleeve, in no particular order:

Visiting my parents while I was out of town to state his intentions and ask for their blessing—in Chinese. His colleague helped him finesse the script and his accent, and he said my parents understood every word. (As I’m writing this, Brian’s asking “Did they, though?”)

Secretly purchasing that diamond and having it set in time to practice the proposal before our trip. Our housemates stood in as would-be fiancées and provided constructive feedback. I’m told it took a couple of tries, but eventually everyone said yes.
Stashing the ring in his backpack, but saying that he was carrying the bag everywhere because he didn’t want his electronics stolen.

Making a big show of saying that the GoPro was recording when the red light was blinking. Our housemate Kevin inadvertently helped by asking often if the GoPro was on.

Letting me dig around in his bags. There’s a tiny, secret compartment in his backpack that he kept a secret for 3 years, and that’s where he hid the ring. If that’s not the long con, I don’t know what is.

So we had galavanted all around Italy and Amsterdam with me none the wiser. For the last leg of the trip, we left our hungover friends in Amsterdam and headed to Girona, Spain (or Braavos). Our apartment had a balcony that overlooked a particularly picturesque part of Old Town, with cobblestone streets, shops, and a vermouth bar around the corner.

One morning, we went to the Salvador Dali museum in Figueres, to ogle his out-of-this-world jewelry creations. Everything was weird and beautiful, and most things had mammoth-sized gems as centerpieces. I joked to Brian that I had found the engagement ring I wanted.

On our walk home from the Girona train station, we decided to get a snack before dinner. (We learned the hard way that the Spanish take siesta seriously.) And because Brian hates wandering supermarket aisles aimlessly, we discussed our game plan: Joselito Iberico Ham, Spanish melon, white anchovies, and marinated olives.

“And cava!” I said.

“No cava,” Brian said. He said he was was staging an intervention, because I had already consumed so much wine (and vermouth, and Fernet, and Aperol, and Tito’s) on this trip, and that I was a little alcoholic.

“I’m not alcoholic,” I said, “I’m European.” Which made him laugh, which won him over, because he then used his high-school Castilian Spanish to buy a Catalan rosé and a cava. I stood by silently and smiled, because I was basically useless in Spain.

Back at the apartment, we siesta-ed before getting ready for our dinner reservation at 7:30.

“Seven-thirty??” I said. “I thought none of the restaurants here open until 8.”

“Yea, but this restaurant is really popular, so they started opening at 7:30,” Brian said, lying with such confidence. Then he said of my post-siesta hair, “It looks a little crazy. You should maybe redo it.”

He puttered around in the kitchen as I re-curled my hair, and asked me if I had a pen.

“Yes,” I said. “In my blue pouch. What do you need a pen for?”

“To write something.”

A not-unusual Brian answer, so I didn’t think more of it. But once I de-crazied my hair, I saw that he had set up our little balcony with snacks, cava, and scrapbook paper (surprise!), which he had also secretly smuggled on this trip so we could document our dating anniversary. We don’t often celebrate it because it’s close to Labor Day and lots of people get married then (like we are!) so it was a good setup for the bigger surprise that was to come.

We popped the cava and wrote a little note to each other. We took a selfie. I ignored the GoPro on the balcony railing, because there was no red light blinking. Then he said he had a new magic trick to show me, and would I mind recording it so he can see how he does later? (Another not-unusual Brian request. How long had this misdirection been going on??)

And then, there it was.