BEST. WEEK. EVER.

Not this week. This week was nice too, but it doesn't hold a candle to last week.

First of all, two weekends ago, I went out with Nic and Aurora and Steve and Kip and I got waaay too drunk and stupid and spent all day Sunday on the couch, alternating between thinking I was going to die and wishing I would. It was a two-day hangover. You know the kind I'm talking about. I put in four and a half hours at the office on Monday before heading home to watch Golden Girls and take a really important nap on my couch.

On Tuesday, Nic was really insistent about checking the Enger Tower walk off of my summer to-do list, even though summer had already ended and the weather was absolutely awful. The forecasters were predicting a 70% chance of rain for the rest of the evening and through the night but Nic kept saying things like, "I think I see the clouds breaking up! We're going to be able to go up to Enger after all!" I had to explain to him that walking up to Enger Tower on a rainy, foggy, gross Duluth day is like going to the zoo when all of the animals are out of order. It's just not worth it. Enger would have to wait.

Wednesday was absolutely gorgeous. I actually said to myself several times on the way home from work that it was the most perfect day I had ever seen. The sky was cloudless, the leaves were bright and colorful, the temperature was balmly. It was seriously unbeatable.

Nic came over for our walk shortly after I got home from work. He was wearing a jacket, which I found suspicious. Nic is one of those hearty Duluthians who wears puts off wearing chilly weather clothes as long as he can...and this was a seriously nice day. I asked him about it and he quickly replied that's it's a little nippy outside and I should probably bring a light jacket too. Duh! Nic knows best, so I put on a light jacket and we began our grueling trek up the hill. Want to feel horribly obese and get hell from muscles in your calves you never knew you had and puff like a 30-year smoker running a marathon? Climb that hill. What's that you say? I'm just that out of shape? Fair enough.

As we were walking into Enger Park, I casually suggested we get married there someday. I LOVE Enger. I have loved it from the first time Dad took us up there when we were little. Nic and I hauled ass up the steps to the top and stood for several minutes enjoying the view, the breeze, each other's company. Nic was pretty insistent on going back to the spot where we'd had one of our first dates...the first night he kissed me, the first night he held my hand, the first night I really could see myself having a future with this cute dude. Shit, I hate being sappy.

We wandered over to the Jap Gardens, which I truly expected to be more impressive. There really weren't any gardens. Just a big gong. I didn't let the disappointment get the best of me though. Instead, I followed Nic (and a whole herd of tame deer) over to the spot where we'd sat together over a year ago. When I stopped walking, he said, "I don't think this is exactly where we were that night! It's still a nice view though..." Hmm.... He walked over to me and pulled his sunglasses off of his face (What! What the hell is going on! Is this what I think it is!) and took my hands in his.

"You know I love you, right?" he asked. (Holy shit! I think it is! I think it is what I think it is! WHAT!)

"Yes, of course I know."

"And you love me too, right?" (O. M. Jizzle.)

"You know I do."

Sidenote: Nic told me many, many moons ago that he had a proposal date picked out. I had watched the obvious ones, my birthday, our anniversary, pass by and I truly didn't expect to get a ring until Christmas at the VERY earliest. We had talked less than a week earlier about marriage and I razzed him bad, accusing him of being scared and not having ever really picked out a date. Unbeknownst to me, he had called my dad the previous night to set up a lunch that weekend so he would ask for my hand in marriage.

He then brought up our conversation and my accusing him of lying about having a date picked out. He told me I was wrong. "That day was tomorrow," he said.

My first reaction which, sadly, doesn't have to be italicizted because I said it aloud, was, "WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME NOW?!"

Because he knew how much it would impress me, that's why. He's never early. Ever. Well, sometimes, but only right after I've given him hell for being late. All the time. For everything.

He got down on one knee, pulled out a ring, and asked me to be his wife. I was mostly in shock, but I managed to say yes and extend my shaking hand for him to put the gorgeous ring on. He got up and hugged me and kissed me and told me how much he loved me. I was too happy to say anything coherent, so I basically just nodded my head repeatedly and thanked him profusely. I never imagined myself reacting that way, with such gratitude, to my future husband proposing. But I did. I thanked him up and down. In retrospect, I could have done it a little less....desperately?

Then he said, "I went up to Tower on Saturday and spent most of the day with your parents and got their permission." And I started crying. Hard. Like sobbing cries. Nic finally figured out how to break the levee. I'm not so much the emotional type and that was the first time in the 14 months we've been together that he had seen me cry. He was proud.

We walked down the hill together, talking about weddings and the ring and who we were going to call and who already knew and I don't think I saw Nic for the rest of the night because I was way too busy staring at my hand in disbelief.

I called Red (who had already been planning the wedding for a week and was so excited to tell me about it), my parents, Christina, Aurora, Gretchen, Amanda. I cried some more. We went to his parents' house to show Sue (who also cried) the ring. We went out for dinner. We came home to watch Project Runway. We cuddled up in bed and talked about our future. It was perfect. I was too excited/nervous/deliriously happy to sleep, so I only got three hours that night, but it was still perfect. Still is.

So, by this point, I know you're thinking that you're pretty much to the end of hearing why my week was the best ever. But you're NOT...unless, of course, you're bored and you're going to stop reading here. And if that's the case....I can't say I blame you.

It gets even better. On Thursday night, Nic and I went to Hinckley to see Randy Travis in concert. Nic kept insisting that if he's playing the casino circuit, he probably sounds like shit now. I don't get how he could suddenly sound like shit. Like he went through puberty or something? He's forty-nine years old. (Which reminds me, what ever happened to Billy Gilman? I still have his poster up in my bedroom at home.)

Randy Travis was SO GOOD. Stupid good. He performed all of my very favorite songs and told silly little jokes between them. I fall in love with him all over again just thinking about it. I even cried. Three or four times. It sure doesn't take much to make me cry since Nic proposed though. You know that commercial? The one with the little girl who says, "Daddy, take me fishing because my wedding will be sooner than you think?" Yeah. That's all I'm saying. Still, I'm not as bad as the other sister, who actually started crying so hard at one point last weekend when there was no tissue available that she dabbed at her eyes with a tampon to prevent ruining her makeup.

I had Friday off so I got to do some much-needed sleeping in. Then, just because I was feeling bold with the knowledge that I will never be single again, I went to a movie alone. At the theater. For the first time in my life.

Later, I went to dinner with Christina, so I got to show off my ring and talk weddings with somebody who is just as excited as I am. Oh! I can't forget about the new friend I made that night. There was a twenty minute wait for a table, so we sat on a bench outside the restaurant and a rough looking redneckish group came out to wait shortly after we did. Their three year old son fell in absolute love with us. I couldn't even have a conversation with Christina because every time I tried, he kept interrupting us with stories about trees and tires and rocks. At one point, he even told us how much he hates tags in shirts because they make us itch. Before I knew what was happening, he pushed me over to sit on the bench next to me and rested his hand on my thigh. What a little pimp! He was adorable right down to his long, shiny blond mullet. I can't say he was cute enough for me to take him up on his invitation to dine with his family though.

Saturday was Mike's thirtieth birthday and it was nice for the most part. Or maybe I should say it would have been nice without Mike which, you know, would have been a long shot considering it was HIS party.

As soon as we got to the party (an hour early, because Mike told us the keg would be tapped at noon, which it was, though nobody was there to drink it and our poor sister-in-law hadn't even showered yet), he "congratulated" me and then followed up his near-civil congratulatory remark with, "does that poor bastard know what he's getting himself into?" I brushed it off, but he wouldn't let it die. He later asked Nic the same question and when he was really good and drunk and everybody was sitting around the fire having a nice time he started in again, asking where my fiance went, because he likes him more than he does me. Charming. It soon got embarrassing, though I was embarrassed more for him than I was for myself. He's always an asshole, but he turns into uber-asshole when he's drunk.

I told Dad about Mike's typically immature performance when I got home, mostly because I know that my telling the parents about this stuff pisses him off more than anything else I can possibly do and when he pulls the shit he pulled that night, well, there's nothing I really would rather do than put him in a bad spot. I felt bad about putting Dad in a bad spot though. He had trouble sleeping that night and by the next day was ready to have a(nother) talk with Mike about how extra-stupid he gets when he's drunk. Dad even said that he would request Mike not attend my wedding since he has such difficulty getting along with me and insisted that if Mike does attend and he drinks, the minute he says something that has the potential to ruin my special day, Dad will be calling the cops and asking them to haul his stupid drunk ass to jail. I kind of doubt that cops take orders like that, but Dad's heart is in the right place and hopefully will get through to the idiot.

Anyway, enough of that. Red and I headed up to Tower after the party, and we spent Sunday there hanging out with Dad and Lucy. It was a gorgeous day, perfect for those beautiful fall pictures we get so excited about taking. We also spent some time flipping through bridal magazines only to realize that, hey! Red and I don't have the same taste in dresses! She's at my mercy and I love it. Something peach and fluffy, Red? Ohhhh no.

The moral of the story? HOLY SHIT! I'M GETTING MARRIED IN A YEAR! I'M GOING TO BE SOMEBODY'S WIFE! I BETTER LEARN HOW TO COOK! AND SEW HIS BOXER PEE HOLES SHUT! AND RAISE A PUPPY! AND MAYBE SOMEDAY SOME KIDS!