When I actually get my mail, it's pretty entertaining.

Anyone who lives in my building will tell you that's it's a rare day when we actually get all of our mail.

The this-isn't-mine table is constantly overflowing. And it's pretty often that I get a phone call from a friend or relative saying, "Isn't this your address? Because the invitation I sent two months ago was sent back to me."

So it's been proven that the important stuff (wedding invitations, insurance papers, time-sensitive tax information, checks, etc.) won't usually make it to our box.

But we do get some interesting items on a daily basis. Especially now since we're engaged.

The best one? A solicitation for a Medieval wedding complete with King's Court and, I believe, maidens. (If you knew the yuppie, uptown building Cooter Brown and I live in, you'd laugh too. The thought of that particular piece of mail even making it into this zip code is pretty funny. Not that there's anything bad about a Medieval wedding--we're just not the types.)

I've received mail about garters, really bad photographers, somethings blue, and various other venues.

I'd be upset except that most of them are ridiculously funny. They obviously don't know that my fiance and I are in advertising as well as up to our necks in wedding planning.

Oh well. Into the trash can they go. Now where was that Save-the-Date card from my cousin I've been looking out for?

Having babies is scary, but not for the reasons you might think.

Today, I read an article about a woman in New Jersey who refused a c-section in 2006, and the hospital took her baby.

Higher courts have ruled in favor of the hospital's decision. A (very biased) version of the story can be found at http://mountainsageblog.com/2009/07/25/are-women-vessels-with-no-civil-rights/.

Now, I'm not a mom (yet). And like most not-yet-moms, the thought of childbirth is terrifying, but not because of the pain or the hours of nothing happening. Because of all of the unnecessary stuff that doctors do.

Call me a hippy, but unless it's a life or death situation (like broken bones or insane blood pressure, etc.), natural just seems like the way to go.

Where did that K come from?

For the record, there is no K in Veronica.

At least in my version of Veronica.

Because Veronika looks stupid. My spell check even pinged it right now. Because it's wrong in so many ways.

Veronica = Queen of Awesome

Veronika = Russian Stripper

Stop putting a K in my name.

Everyone should read the Harry Potter series.

I saw the latest Harry Potter movie last night, and it reminded me of how good this series is.

So let's get right down to it.

J.K. Rowling wrote one of the greatest stories ever told. Period.

Not because it's about wizards and magic. That fact becomes secondary if not tertiary by the time you're even one page into the first book.

It's about good verses evil and how evil has many many victories before good can celebrate its bittersweet triumph--a fact of life many of us are unwilling to accept.

It's about love and how it's always the little beacon of light to keep you going, keeping your heart beating.

It teaches many valuable lessons: Parents are humans and flawed like everyone else. Even the most powerful people have feelings--and weaknesses. And it's so important to be good to those around you, no matter how cruelly they've treated you in the past or how they publicly despised you before.

There's no blatant agenda hiding in the pages--many have claimed there to be, but there's not. Unless you count the aforementioned be-kind-to-others. It's simply a beautifully told story.

When the saga begins, Harry Potter is only ten. Every year, every book he grows. Coincidentally, the story telling grows with him, matures, enters puberty and then adulthood.

Yes, it was written for children. But it seamlessly transforms into a story about becoming an adult at a young age.

I beg you to read the Harry Potter series. Share it. I promise you both laughter and tears.

If it takes you fifteen years to finish, it's worth it.

You can borrow my copies if you need to.

Please don’t butter my vegetables.

I like my corn naked. My broccoli is perfectly fine without a yellowish film. And my carrots don’t need any miscellaneous additions.

So please, I beg of you, don’t butter my vegetables. I want them to be pure and natural and untainted.

And while you’re at it, leave my pancakes and waffles alone, too. If I feel the need to dress them, I prefer to dip as opposed to drench.

That is all.

I need to go to a meeting.

Hi. I’m Veronica and I’m a nail biter. I’ve been sober for 547 days, but …

… but today … [sigh] … today I cracked.

After carrying files around with me, being strong when a nail has torn, ignoring a peel until I was near a pair of clippers and an emery board, keeping my digits as far away from my teeth as possible … I …

I threw it all away! I had been good. I saw the tear and went for the file. I thought I had fixed it. An hour later, my thumb brushed my jeans and I felt the teeniest of snags. Sure enough, the nail still had damn near invisible tear.

I was on my way back to my desk. So it could have gone untreated for the next 30 seconds.

But I caved. I bit. I bit the nail and tore it with my teeth. It was quick and dirty.

And I needed more.

I ducked into a stairwell and ran to the corner where I continued to bite the entire width of the nail down to just above the quick.

I wasn’t satisfied when I had finished—when the nail was just about nub length. If anything, it made me want to work on the other nine nails. I had to dash back to my desk and douse my fingertips with oils and creams to make them, the nails, as unappealing as possible.

But as I admit all of this to you, all I can think about is chewing on that thumbnail. Finishing it off completely and then biting it until it’s painful.

I feel like a failure. I’ve quit so many times. This was the longest I’ve made it—a year and a half!

I’m going to be strong. I’m not going to chew on the other nails. I’m going to ignore them and let them grow strong. I’m going to take vitamins and file them down if I have to.

I will do anything I can to prevent myself from biting them all off in another moment of weakness.

I’m Veronica. I’m a nail biter. And I’ve been sober for three hours.