But the weird part is....

Before I begin a slightly off-kilter post, let me say something clarifying. *DISCLAIMER* If you have called to wish me well or squeal with me on the phone, I love you dearly and am so glad you did. If you have not yet called, I probably love you anyway, and we'll talk eventually, which honestly is fine by me, since I've never talked on the phone so much in my life as I have the last week or so, and I think my right ear is turning black. I am completely in love and totally stoked about it, and the coolest part is that he loves me back, which still gives me goose bumps when I think about it, because he's just so awesome and I can hardly believe that I'm somehow cool enough to marry him. Also, the full engagement-down-on-one-knee-so-romantic-you'll-just-fall-out-of-
your-chair story is coming. PROMISE. And you probably won't think it's as great as I do, but that's OK, because he's taken.

OK. Now that all the mushy stuff has been said....

Being Engaged is a little weird. For instance:

For most girl-types, being engaged is something akin to celebrity, and they want to be as close as possible and get regular hugs and stand very near just in case your fiance happens to be very bad at ring-purchasing and a diamond falls off or something, in which case they can snatch it up, run out and find an available man and be totally prepared for engagement at first sight. Crazy scenarios aside, this sudden closeness is weird to me. We've hardly talked before, yet you see a ring on my finger and give me a bear-hug, which I respond to with awkward back-patting and frantic running through the annals of my brain to figure out what your name is and if we've ever hung out. Maybe Love makes the whole world kin or rumors have been circulating about the likelihood of chocolate strawberries at the reception or you just really get fired up about engagements in general, but still. Weird.

On the other side of the spectrum from the huggy girl phenomenon, there's the grumps. Case in point:
Me: "I'm getting married."
Coworker the Grouch: "Well, it's your first one, so you've got a 50/50 chance."
Nothing like heartfelt congratulations and unwavering belief in true love. Weird.

Everywhere I look I see a wedding/reception site. EVERYWHERE. I mean, I was walking through Crate and Barrel the other day thinking about how much I liked the color schemes and wondering what it would look like with my bridesmaids lined up, when I remembered some fragment of my past life that reminded me that people don't normally get married in malls. Weird.

Lighting is so much better now! Sunlight, mood light, candlelight... even fluorescent light has been somewhat redeemed by the beautiful ring on my finger. I heard about every 25th word in church on Sunday because the stage lighting in Mariners was almost more than my little heart could take. Good, but a little weird.

Dates are suddenly super important to me. So are pictures. Everything has become a big deal, and I am fighting the urge to be crazy-wacko-bride and take pictures of everything and cry when I realize that a summer wedding likely won't happen. Um, I mean, I don't cry over stuff like that. *ahem* Weird.

I am so much more confident now... and say things that I find myself wanting to censor, but then don't, because I realize that I'M GETTING MARRIED, and the whole world can know how I feel about this man, dang it. "I'm in love! I'm in love and I don't care who knows it!" Very good. Not weird.

Love

It's true. I'm in love with the my best friend, and he loves me. The full story is coming, but I just couldn't hold it in any longer.

Love, Soon-to-be Mrs. Nichols

Hey Mr. Grumpy Gills...

"You know what you gotta do when life starts getting you down? Just keep swimming..."

I will openly admit that I'm grumpy today. I don't want to keep swimming, I don't want you to tell me it'll be OK, I don't want you tell me it won't be OK, I want to be alone, I want to be with people, I want chocolate, I feel fat. All of you Internet ladies, (and non-Internet ladies, too, but I can't really talk to you, no offense,) know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. Unfortunately, the Internet gentlemen don't, because guys are the most even-keel creatures on the planet, a fact that is currently very infuriating to someone who feels so very out-of-joint.

My day got off to an ugly start. I fell asleep to the soothing sounds of the Pilot episode of Lois and Clark - remember the one where the space station is going to cure sick kids but Lex Luthor wants to kill them instead and somehow make money on this nefarious plan while Lois tries to stop him by bossing Clark and his swishy man-hair around and pretending like she isn't bewitched by his adorable smile and big super-muscles? That one?

Anyways, I woke up this morning... Lois and Clark were long since vanished, my laptop having breathed its desperate last breath, begging for electricity, sometime in the night. The sunshine streaming in my window seemed awfully bright for 5:30, and I was just wondering why my light was still on when it hit me. IT'S 6:30. As in, a half hour after I was supposed to leave, and I yelled a grown-up word on my way to the bathroom. I got to work about a half-hour late, did not get to take Rocky to the shop before and so had to do so on my lunch break, and have felt crummy ever since.

But here's the good news:
Rocky will soon have fresh oil, rotated tires and a clean countenance, for which I'm sure he will thank me.
Work is just work, and staying a half-hour later tonight won't kill me.
I'm going to eat chocolate. Fat or no fat.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming..."

Next Stop, Wedded Bliss

Over the last few weeks or so, I've been surrounded by "getting-ready-to-be-married-and-be-blissfully-happy-forever-and-in-the-
meantime-try-on-dresses-and-buy-flowers-which-is-also-fun." people.

I've been helping ne of my good friends (whose getting married in May in Malibu,) with her invites and decorations, one of my closest friends from college just got engaged a couple of weeks ago, and another dear friend just got engaged this past weekend.

I've been asked to be bridesmaid in Megan's (September in Dallas) and Kirsten's (November in California). It's Bunny Season. No other explanation needed.

Maybe some other time I'll post Phil and Kirsten's (lovingly called Phirsten) proposal story, because it's really very sweet and I love these kinda things and I really don't even know myself anymore because I cry all the time and am somehow old enough to have married friends. Plus, Adam took some sneaky video of the moment itself and it is PRICELESS.

But today, I'd just like to say what an incredible experience it is to be asked to be a bridesmaid for a good friend. When both Megan and Kirsten asked, I openly squealed and got emotional - I couldn't help it. Asking "will you be my bridesmaid?" is the question that sums up all the years of friendship and sisterhood, the moments of laughter and tears, the shared fears and "boy talks" that seem so silly now that you actually have a ring on your finger and a man that's all your own.

Being a bridesmaid is more than holding a bouquet, shopping for dresses or standing on a stage. It's a send-off, a gift of support and encouragement for a new life and love.

The most incredible gift imaginable for a woman is when a strong man promises to devote his life and strength to her, asking only that she partner with him in return. Us girls get teary (or maybe that's just me, like I said, this new Crying Dani plays by different rules,) at our friends' engagements because it speaks to our deepest places - those dreams, once awakened, strike chords in us we didn't even know were there.

I'm honored to stand by you girls and send you off. I'm honored that you would count me as a friend worthy of supporting you on the biggest day of your life. You are intoxicating, beautiful, alluring, Godly women whose moment has come and I'm so proud to be your friend.

Just for good measure, here's a picture to ease your curiosity. See what lengths I go to for you? Enjoy:

Kirsten and I in New Orleans, March 2008

Megan and I, playing with flashlights, Thanksgiving 2006. (We spent a few days together this Thanksgiving too, but neither one of us are good at taking pictures. Shopping and talking was really more of a priority. Sorry that the picture's a little outdated - new, fresh photos soon to come.)

Like a Comet Pulled From Orbit, as it Passes the Sun...

Girl-friendship is a funny thing.*** I've had some amazing girlfriends in my life, despite my propensity for being closer to guys, being kinda tough to get to know, and not understanding the whole girl-talk thing in general.

When thrust into a vaguely acquainted-with or unknown set of girls, I feel like a lone dandelion bravely sprouting up through the cracked floor of a garden shop - I raise my little head and all I see is the weed-eaters, poisons, and lawnmowers that spell my early demise. Of course, I fail to notice the fertilizers and plant food, but my pessimism is a post for another day. The long and short of it is, I get scared.

However, despite being crazy, girls are amazing.** I have known some of the more fantastic ones in my extensive (ha) 24 years, and I'm blessed to count a few as the sisters I never knew I always wanted. I've been told three times in the last week by three different people that they've seen a change in me for the better. There's no greater compliment than that - and I'm pretty sure I owe most of it to my girls. (And Jesus, of course. Jesus in my girls, probably.)

This whole post was inspired by the news I got this morning that Julie, my very own roommate* of House 9 fame, is coming out to the Golden State to visit this summer. I CANNOT WAIT. I love showing off the things I love, and I love Julie, and having so many things I love in one place might just make my heart explode.

Anyway, I was sitting here, thinking about these great girls I've been close to for a long time and the ones who are just now becoming precious parts of my life. Thank you.
Thanks for coming into my dorm room at 1 am and convincing me that studying was lame, for forcing me to expand my movie horizons, for making me laugh more than anyone.
Thanks for encouraging me to write it down, no matter how foolish.
Thanks for endless hours tanning by the pool, sipping Diet Coke and sharing secrets.
Thanks for being outdoorsy and fun and sisterly.
Thanks for the long nights in the Optimist office, and your patience with my screwy InDesign lines.
Thanks for your fashion sense.
Thanks for baking cookies at midnight.
Thanks for carrying the paper with my anti-library-Starbucks column in it to the library Starbucks, and waving it nonchalantly under the barista's nose.
Thanks for the great pictures and deep understanding.
Thanks for the creative juices.
Thanks for Starbucks dances, holiday meals and Dallas shopping sprees.
Thanks for helping me navigate the deadly waters of relationships.
Thanks for trips to CostCo, being 1/2 of the Hot Ds, and making out with Park Newport.
Thanks for helping me find my Muse, for sharing music, for encouraging me, for seeing the beauty of shows like Smallville and Lois and Clark.
Thanks for defending me, supporting me and pulling me out of my shell.
Thanks for joining me in my OC/Ryan Atwood phase.
Thanks for Golden Spoon dates.
Thanks for "getting it".
Thanks for listening.

*Val, Kish and Julie will always be "roommate", no matter where we go. I think each of us have confused someone with this unconventional approach to nick names...
**I've not always thought so. But they are. Boys, you better be good to these girls!
***One last funny thing about girl-friendship. If I didn't get your specific memory or link on this list, please don't be hurt, offended or think I don't love you. I do. I promise I do. (Unless this is your first time here and I don't know you. That would be weird.) This was an off-the-top-of-my-head shout-out to my leading ladies and those who've recently been granted a slot in Dani's House of Jumbled Recollections. Enter at your own risk; if you're not here, chances are all you've missed out on is my driving your car like a truck, blathering on about some ridiculous problem, or freaking out because someone's nice to me. It's happened.

Puke of the Brain

Today is the sun is shining. Today I'm insanely busy. Today... is Puke of the Brain Monday! (See? This is what you get for not offering a creative theme. Now you have to sit and read my random thoughts - just know that this is all your own fault for not helping a sister out. )

Anyways.

It's very windy today, kinda like Santa Ana Winds, but chillier. As I was walking up to work this morning, a gardener was using a leaf-blower on the sidewalk. A LEAF-BLOWER. As I'm fighting my way up the walk and my hair sticks out straight behind me and the dust of a thousand empty lots wiggle into my eyes, this guy was futilely blowing specks of dead plant a few feet before they blew back in the gale-force gusts. I felt like asking him if he has a hard time getting up in the morning.

This weekend, a group of about 75 20-somethings went to Mammoth Mountain and tore it up. We ate lots of Pita Pit pitas, had a gi-normous guys against girls snowball fight, played Snow-lympics, sledded, boarded, skiied, played Mafia, board games, charades, answered silly questions and stayed up way too late. One of the funniest moments was playing Charades (guys against girls, of course,) and hearing the guys yelling out answers: "Huuuuuh! Gruummphhh hubbbabab bubbbba humph" and then the girls, about three octaves higher: "Eeeeeeee! Aiyyyyie yiyiyiyiyiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaa!" (Of course, they were saying real words, not war cries, but that was the only way I could convey the difference in tone. Anyways, 75 people in one itty-bitty Condo living room yelling answers gets intense. And guys and girls talk differently. That's pretty much my point.)

One part that was not so fun was when I took an ice chunk to the throat in our oh-so-intense snowball battle. The Trache doesn't respond well to hard cold objects thrown at blazing fast speed. But it was worth the pain for the love of war. The boys paid dearly for their crimes, and more than one tackling occurred.

Speaking of which, remember when we were little, and boys would pull our hair and throw Four-Square balls at us to get our attention? When you're outside playing in the snow, the old rules of playground flirting apply - and still work, oddly enough. Kirsten and I both got body-slammed by our chosen fellas, and weren't offended in the least. Quite the opposite, actually, although we got some snow down their necks to show our "disapproval".

I do not like gas station coffee. Yuck. However, on a cold night, when Mafia is calling and sleep is not going to be found for several hours and Starbucks is closed, it can be quite good. Although I admit that I averted my eyes from the last watery drizzle coming out of the cappuccino machine - lest I be unable to stomach my $1.19 of gas station goodness.

Well, my faithful readers, more brain-puke is coming, and I know you're dying to hear it. However, it's after 5 pm, I've already stayed over an hour late at work, and there are things to done, fields to plow, stories to prep and freelancers to harangue. Back to work, me hearties.

The Seven Dwarves - Doc (and *bonus!* a little note to the men in our lives)

I picked Doc because I feel like I need a Doc right now. A heart Doc. I've been in the weirdest funk of needing people and pushing them away and being all around confusing to myself and everyone around me that I'm starting to get desperate.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, so who better to call on than a self-proclaimed medical expert dwarf with sweet specs? EXACTLY. Thank you for agreeing.

My current problem is something that men in general don't understand. Sometimes, when girls cry, we don't need you to fix it. Sometimes we just need a hug and to be told that we're still cute, although we'll act offended when you first say it, of course.

Sometimes, we do need your wisdom, though. We won't tell which one we need at the moment, and for that, I'm sorry. In our moments of sanity, we understand that clear-cut communication would make life much easier for everybody. However, when we're crying (read: insane, or at last slightly tilted that direction,) we just want you to read our minds: hug us, give us surprises, advice, a smile, or whatever it is that we really want to make us feel better.

So maybe the Doc is really there for all men who have a girl in their life. So, basically, all men who aren't monks. He'll help you out, guys. He'll pull down his specs, give you a reassuring smile, hand you a flower, and say, "Go get her, tiger. Go dry her tears. Flowers are the trick - it worked for Snow White!"

And maybe it will. You never know... dwarves are pretty sharp like that.