As much as I buy into Google’s many efforts to take over my electronic life, I have to confess that after four years of using Gmail, I still miss my Outlook-style folder organization system. I know, I know – Microsoft, boo hiss! – but let’s face it, Google, for a person with a sliver of a life, your label system is way too laid back.

I understand that I am supposed to use your powerful search tool to find emails that I need, that by “archiving” them I am creating my own customized database of messages. But my brain has been trained to file things, not archive them. (Maybe my newly-minted librarian friend Ivy can help us here.) I like folders. I like putting folders inside other folders. The idea of searching for my own documents, rather than filing them, makes me feel like I’m sitting at a messy desk and someone else says, “I swear, everything is right where you left it when you went on vacation. Go ahead, ask me where X is. I’ll get it for you.”

I am way too much of a control freak for this laissez-faire attitude toward email.

So Google gives us labels to try to satsify the Type-A need for control. Sorry, G, these labels do not cut the mustard. Sure, they seem fine at first, but even having separate email accounts for personal, professional, and wedding communications, I still yearn for categorization within these three aspects of my life. (See my slapdash hack for grouping my active clients together, above.) Is this a brain that can’t break out of the Outlook mold? Does my brain just take longer than four years to accept Google’s loosey-goosey labeling system? Will Google ever yield and say, “Enough whining! Here’s your damn folders!”

Seriously, though, how much more whining will it take, guys.

The time has come for a cheesy, possibly nauseating engagement post. You have been duly warned!

Oscar surprised me on Thursday night when he magically appeared on my doorstep in Brooklyn. He was supposed to be working in Barcelona and then going to his family’s house in the country for the weekend. I was 100% fooled and caught by surprise. I was also surprised on Saturday morning when he proposed!

After breakfast he brought me to Prospect Park. We sat on a bench by the boathouse, near a little bridge. He then told me a list of reasons why he loved me and why he wanted to marry me. I was laughing and crying in turns, because some of the reasons were very touching and others were pretty funny. Then he offered me a beautiful Tiffany engagement ring and asked me to marry him!

I happily accepted, and I kid you not – as we will tell the story for the rest of our lives – although it was an overcast day, when I said yes and Oscar slipped the ring onto my finger, the clouds parted and the sun shone briefly upon us. Isn’t that kickass??

What’s a six-letter word for “person Jodi would like to punch in the face?” Answer: M-A-R-T-H-A. More specifically, one Martha Stewart, whose show I had the strange fortune of experiencing last week. Through the marvels of Facebook, one of her producers “discovered” me when searching the social network for people who do the New York Times crossword puzzle on a regular basis. Now, you all know that Martha’s is the last show taped in this city that I would want to attend. Mostly because of the face punching. But this producer lured me with the enticing possibility of seeing Mr. Will Shortz, and maybe snagging some free puzzle books to feed my habit. So I packed up my holy water, spritzed myself with some garlic, and headed over to Chelsea for a taping of the Martha Stewart Show.

First I was blatantly onced-over by the production team, who strategically place audience members based on appearance using a system of color-coded markings (possibly adapted from those used at Ellis Island – a red X for conjunctivitis, a blue dot for mismatched shoes and purse. All of the markers were pastel. (Of course.)

Next to the staging area, where a sweaty man in a purple dress shirt had the sad job of getting everyone psyched up for the show. To be fair, I think everyone else there was genuinely already psyched up for the show. So mostly he was there for me, I guess. Everyone else was just about fainting with excitement. I felt like the only vegetarian at the Dinosaur BBQ.

Next to the set, which is admittedly extremely cool. I am a sucker for behind-the-scenes, “how’d-they-do-it” stuff, and so seeing all the production equipment and how they set up the segments was fascinating. Even more fascinating? Between segments, Martha apparently likes her guests to jam out to Eminem, Linkin Park, and gangsta rap. I even caught her tapping her manicured fingers on her freshly-pressed pantsuit between takes. Maybe she picked up a taste for these artists during her time behind bars. (Did I say bars? I’m sorry, I meant Connecticut estate formerly owned by Henry Ford. Martha made sure to remind us of that during the taping.)

The most important thing I learned was that, if you are going to attend the taping of a show, make damn sure it is a show you are actually interested in watching. Otherwise, prepare to muster a LOT of enthusiasm. And if it’s Martha’s show, make sure you follow the pre-show email’s detailed instructions on appropriate audience attire. Ladies must wear heels. Even though your feet will never appear on television.