Category: Sarah the L

If I Can’t Sell It, I’ll Keep Sittin’ On It

Last July, I treated Sarah the L to a night on the (B-)town to celebrate her 27th birthday as well as the always-popular Canada Day. The evening started off with a lovely Irish dinner at RiRas Irish Pub on Church Street and was followed by front row seats in the FlynnSpace Theatre for Burlington’s hottest sensation: The SpielPalast Cabaret. During the show, Sarah promptly fell in love with one of the performers (Victoria Mary MacKay) and while true to our forever-different tastes in women, I fell for another (Trixie). Since then, we’ve always drooled at the thought of ever having the chance to meet the actresses behind the skimpy outfits and thanks in part to luck, fate, and talent, Sarah may have a chance to see her dream become a reality. My dreams on the other hand, are another story, and the second half to this one.

Part 1 – Victoria Mary MacKay

While it’s safe to say that due to her ever-steady relationship with Smoochie Poo, Sarah would NOT jump at the chance to jump Victoria Mary MacKay, I also think it’s safe to say that the thought of said jump has never left her mind. She’s the celebrity you put on your List. The one you’ll never have but are allowed to think about. (Incidentally, my list is as follows: Scarlett Johansson, Vyvienne Long, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Zooey Deschanel, and Audrey Tautou.)

I can’t say for certain when Victoria first caught Sarah’s eye, but I do know that the deal was most definitely clinched when she ventured out into the audience during a song and dance about money, leaned over our table, and seductively chewed on some fake gold coins. At this point, my guess is she could have stolen Sarah’s money, and Sarah would have been fine with it.

After the show, Sarah learned of a connection she had to Victoria (through a mutual friend) and that all she had to do to meet this money-eating woman was to sign up for a dance class taught by her. For whatever reason, Sarah passed at the opportunity and resigned herself to a life of never knowing whether or not Victoria was the only one who could ever teach her [African dance].

Now fast forward (through Sarah’s inevitable courtship with Smoochie Poo last year) to earlier this week: While out on the town, Sarah came across a flyer advertising auditions for this year’s cabaret…run by none other than Victoria herself. After much thought, and encouragement from both Mr. Benchly and Smoochie Poo, Sarah showed up for the auditions today and gave it her all. Knowing Sarah’s vocal, comedic, and dancing talents, I’m sure she’ll be selected to play some sort of role in the show. And with that, comes her opportunity to finally meet the woman behind the dream. Wish her luck. And a moment of anti-jealousy thoughts sent Smoochie Poo’s way would be nice too =)

Part 2 – Trixie

While seated next to Sarah the L at the aforementioned cabaret last year, my eyes quickly focused on a petite woman stage right. With the rest of the troupe, she was dancing with a chair while singing the song “If I Can’t Sell It, I’ll Keep Sittin’ On It.” Later on, to the audience’s delight, she played the part of a magician’s assistant with a high-pitched/squeaky voice and her animated movements. I’ve always said that Trixie stole the show and with her Victoria-goggles on, Sarah has always vehemently denied this claim.

After the show, as was always the case during that period of time when Sarah and I both found ourselves single, we brainstormed to come up with the best way for us to meet the women who had visually affected us so much. And, as was often the case, our shyness and lack of confidence won the battle against our infatuation and attraction. The night ended and so too did the summer, and until Sarah’s recent cabaret audition, Victoria and Trixie have only been footnotes to our lives, hidden in the back of our minds with high school locker combinations and Sandra Bullock movies.

When Sarah told me of her auditions, I did the selfish thing and thought, “now maybe I’ll get to meet Trixie!” Of course, I justify my reaction by reminding myself of Sarah’s probable thoughts: “now maybe I’ll get to meet Victoria!” And so, as we waited in line at Muddy Waters (B-town’s coffee shop) after Sarah’s audition, it was a pleasant surprise and a welcomed coincidence to notice Trixie standing stage right behind the counter, handing a coffee to the person in front of us. Sarah and I played a thrilling game of Scrabble and sadly, at the end of Trixie’s shift, I watched as she exited the shop with the Jordan Catalano rip off with whom she had shared her shift.

And so now, as Sarah anxiously waits for a phone call offering her a part alongside Victoria in this year’s cabaret, I sit here thinking of how I could possibly approach the coffee shop woman stage-named Trixie. I fear that my own fears will once again come into play in which case, if I can’t sell it, I’ll keep sitting on it, before I give it away.

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Parts 1-4

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Part 2.

As I was seated today near the back of the Loser Cruiser bus to Montpelier, a sudden and saddening thought crossed my mind: I’m one of the last remaining Loser Cruiser regulars from the Fall.

Al Bundy – moved to St. Albans and plans to use the St. Albans to Burlington Loser Cruiser. I know this because he told Sarah the L on one of the days I left her alone on the bus to fend for herself.
Cute Rainbow Belt Lesbian Biker Girl – no longer rides for whatever reason; maybe because she can’t ride her bike in the snow?
Helen – hasn’t been seen since mid-November. I’m worried about her. They say the suicide rates increase during the holiday season and let’s face it, she never seemed stable.
Duck Girl – I know Sarah the L will contest this statement, but I don’t think she ever existed in the first place.
Make Out Woman – I’m guessing she married her make out partner and has been on a prolonged honeymoon.
Siskel and Ebert – Though they never sat together, they used to ride every day. Now I’m lucky if I see Siskel once a week.
Stonecutter’s Way Girl (we used to exit the bus and walk down this road together) – Missing since before Christmas.
Sarah the L – Now works near Burlington and no longer needs to use the bus. There are no words.

And last, but certainly not least:

Cute Washington Plates Girl – For a few days, I thought she and Cute Red Hat Girl were the same person, but when CRHG removed her cute red hat the other day, I realized they were different and that I hadn’t seen CWPG in many months.

For those of you keeping score, that leaves the following regulars:

– Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy; Mustache Man; Road Rage Man; National Life Guy

Although I’m somewhat comforted by the fact that there are new regulars sharing the ride with me (the aforementioned Cute Red Hat Girl [self-explanatory]; She Totally Wants Me [because she obviously does!]; Scrabble Girl [because she plays computer Scrabble but never asks me if I want to play!]; Soon-to-be Mid-Life Crisis Girl [you can just see it coming]), I miss the old regulars. Maybe one day we’ll have a reunion.

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Part 3.

After exiting the Loser Cruiser and transferring to the city route that takes me within a block of work, I sat next to Redheaded Bearded Flannel Guy, and across from a blonde haired woman in her late 30s. Halfway through our trip, RBFG started talking to himself. He said things and then laughed to himself. Then he looked around the bus smiling to see if anyone else got the joke. I didn’t laugh though because I didn’t hear the joke. As someone who often tells jokes, I know that I prefer people to laugh only if they hear the joke clearly, understand the joke, and think it’s funny.

Soon enough, RBFG began talking in my direction. What followed was this semi-awkward conversation:

RBFG (pointing at Late 30s Woman) – “She looks like my friend Rhonda. Rhonda’s sister is Peggy.”
Me (first smiling at RBFG and then looking in the direction of Late 30s to give her the “I’m sorry, I really am” look) – “Oh.”
RBFG (now addressing Late 30s) – You look like my friend Rhonda. Her sister’s name is Peggy.”
Late 30s – “Oh. Thank you.”

I mean, seriously, how do you respond to a statement like that? Both Late 30s and I were teased with the silence that followed before RBFG finally spoke up again to compliment Late 30s on her hairstyle: the always-difficult-to-master ponytail. After another “thank you,” Late 30s pushed the Stop Requested tape, quickly exited the bus, and ran away. I imagine I’ll never see her on the bus again.

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Part 1.

With only music and my thoughts to keep me company on the ride into work this morning, my mind drifted back to a San Francisco trip I took last year and specifically, an early-morning walk on the Pacific Ocean beach that inspired me to write a page of thoughts. What I ended up writing doesn’t exactly convey what I wanted to say but nevertheless, I couldn’t throw it away and here I am offering it up to you:

“I’m sitting on the beach among a genocidal grave of sea creatures desperately in need of the ocean’s breath, which becomes faint as the tide calls its water home. Fruit flies pick at the dead like ungrateful grandchildren at a wake, begging for their morning inheritance. The ocean, having shed part of itself in its daily ceremony, recedes in a parade of olive green topped with white curls to live a day of blue. This is the ocean’s life. Each day, it is buried, mourned, killed, and reborn again. There are no surprises. There are no lies. Or betrayals. There is no guilt and there is no shame. There is only life and death told in a cycle as true as the ocean needing the moon. One day, I will die, be mourned, buried and born again but until then and even then, I will be as impure as an ocean without tides in a life of unexpected love and unforgiving heartache in a world without the ocean’s cleansing touch.” © 2005 Mr. Benchly

Mr. Benchly Rides to Work, Part 4.
An embarrassing side note: the other night, on the way home from work, I fell asleep on the bus and nearly missed my stop so yes, that’s right, folks, I am officially a Loser Cruiser Snoozer.

We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet for auld lang syne

A few days before the holiday season swept us all off our feet, Sarah the L officially invited me and Mia Wallace to a small party at her home. Other attendees were: Mr. Mikes (who was recently renamed Smoochie Poo), Smoochie Poo’s best friend Peace Corp Girl, Sarah’s sister Head, and Head’s dog Darby. Mia and I were placed in charge of snacks and some refreshments and did a marvelous job if I do say so myself. Thanks to us, the party was chock full of wine (in both bottle and jug form), top-notch champagne, cheese, bread, crackers, olives, and one extra-delicious beef stick.

To top things off, I started what I hope to be an annual tradition by giving each party guest a burned CD of my top 15 favorite songs I listened to in 2004 (called Mr. Benchly’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve 2005 Super Mix):

1. Hem – Lord, Blow the Moon Out Please
2. Hem – When I Was Drinking
3. Ray Charles – It Makes No Difference Now
4. Rachael Yamagata – Worn Me Down
5. Donavon Frankenreiter – It Don’t Matter
6. Sufjan Stevens – Flint (For the Unemployed and Underpaid)
7. Rufus Wainwright – Oh What a World
8. Over the Rhine – Mary’s Waltz
9. The Beta Band – Dry the Rain
10. Ben Harper – Steal My Kisses
11. The Postal Service – The District Sleeps Alone Tonight
12. Jolie Holland – Sascha
13. Iron & Wine – Bird Stealing Bread
14. Van Morrison – Astral Weeks
15. The Innocence Mission – What a Wonderful World

Thanks to great food and great company, and in spite of starting off the evening by blindly directing Mia and our vehicle through various dark Vermont roads that led us to nowhere near Sarah the L’s apartment, the night was a thrilling success with one minor exception: those damn 90 minutes I spent passed out on the bathroom mat after having thrown up the beef stick and everything else that temporarily called my stomach “home.”

Sarah the L woke me up at around 2 a.m. (the details here are slightly fuzzy) and tucked me into bed where I promptly fell wide awake and where Mia and I stayed awake until 6 a.m. talking and laughing about anything and everything and absolutely nothing I can remember at this moment. One thing I do remember is that our laughter was both interrupted by and inspired by a late-night visit from what sounded like a mouse in the wall. Before long, Mia drifted off to sleep and I drifted off to snoring and we awoke to enjoy brunch with the rest of the group.

After viewing probably one-and-a-half-too-many episodes of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, we bid farewell to Peace Corp Girl and then ventured into B’town for Indian food and a movie. I ordered a “medium spicy” dish and after finishing half of my meal and enduring the subsequent overwhelming perspiration, our waitress smiled at me and said, “next time, mild.” Next, we watched Finding Neverland while seated in the Roxy Theatre’s second row. The movie was a tearjerker for Sarah the L and 2 hours of a sore neck for me. At this point, Mia and I said goodnight to the others, took off our shoes, and sat down on pillows in what is now one of my favorite B’town establishments: Dobra Tea. We closed down the place and headed to my apartment where Mia decided she’d rather drive home in the morning. Despite lacking the comedic inspiration of Sarah the L’s mouse, we were still able to devour the late-night hours with conversation and laughter.

Although the January 2 morning brought with it Mia’s departure from Vermont, she returned a day later and a little over a day before her impending flight home to the city so nice, they named it twice. Our plan: continue to get to know each other better than we ever could have in a high school study hall. And given our time constraints, I think we did OK. Highlights of our time together include the always reliable Henry’s Diner food, another trip to Dobra Tea (though, this time with louder and more obnoxious patrons next to us), a quick glimpse of The Triplets of Belleville, and a small but good-intentioned attempt at creating a makeshift tsunami memorial on Church Street.

For those of you who have never met Mia, know that you should be jealous of my time spent with her. She’s continually inspiring and surprising and has an uncanny knack to always clearly present that different point of view you never thought to think. She confronts her fears and is never content to settle for less than her infinite potential. And her attitude is contagious, infecting every life whose path she crosses with an unending drive to live. And so, on our deja-vu 5 a.m. trip to the airport this morning, I found myself both thankful to know her and sad that I don’t know her better than I do.

It’s now January 5, 2005 and as the new year slowly takes shape, my New Year’s celebration has finally come to an end. For the stories I’ve just shared and for the ones I’ve chosen to keep to myself, this New Year’s will be one I’ll never forget and I hope that all involved know how thankful I am for the part they played. A wise woman once told me that how you celebrate New Year’s will impact how you spend the rest of the year. If this is the case, in 2005, I’ll be surrounded by loved ones, inspired by amazing people, and motivated to do the unexpected. My hope for you is the same.

"Get Up, Everybody, and Sing!"

I spent yesterday trying to shake a migraine that has, unfortunately, carried over into today. The headache was the result of a combination of events and nonevents from this weekend:

1. My acceptance of an invitation by some friends to a local bar’s karaoke night Saturday;
2. My consumption of a handful of alcoholic drinks; and
3. My foolishness, before bed, in forgetting to take the “Anti-Hangover Medicine”: two Advils and a tall glass of water.

But I’ll be the first one to admit that my hangover was well worth the sight and slightly worth the sound of my friend singing a rousing rendition of “We Are Family.” For future reference, this friend will be known as Jay Peak, for his tongue-in-cheek desire to climb said mountain. Jay Peak nailed the first two lines of the chorus that everyone knows (“We are family. I got all my sisters with me”) and then resorted to a sad but, albeit high-quality, spoken-word delivery of the verses.

Sitting there listening to Jay Peak perform, with CAT on one side of me, and Montana Girl on the other, I was reminded of a conversation I had with Montana Girl a few months ago, in which she introduced me to the idea of an Urban Tribe, a concept she learned of in a book she had just finished (Urban Tribes: A Generation Redefines Friendship, Family, and Commitment” by Ethan Watters). Stated far too simply, the book analyzes the “white, upper-middle class, post-college, yet-to-be-married (ages 25-39) residents of bohemian garrets who host great New Year’s Eve parties and travel en masse to the New Orleans Jazz Festival.” At its heart, the book describes our generation’s establishment of the “Urban Tribe,” a “rotating network of friends and acquaintances that covers all functions formerly served by the traditional family, thus eliminating the need for marriage and intimacy.”

At first, I didn’t put much stock in this book and its core theory because I viewed the book as just another lame attempt by a member of my generation to turn a profit by trying to explain my increasingly inexplicable generation. But then I thought about it and my life and realized that like it or not, the author’s on to something.

While I often complain that all of my friends are falling victim to the desperation of a married life, truth be told, with few exceptions, the great majority of my friends are in their late 20s and unmarried. Whether by choice or heartache, here we are, legally unattached and desperately seeking Susan…or that all elusive boy named “Sue.” We’re constantly using our get-togethers to define who we are by not only the things we do, but also by the people with whom we do these things. Because if we know who we are, we are more apt to know what we want, and if we know what we want, maybe one day we’ll find it, and until we find it, we’ll have our fun. And what are these things we do?:

1. Game Nights – My Urban Tribe has started to resemble an advertisement for Hasbro. And believe me, I’m not complaining.
2. TV/Movie Nights – Honestly, who here in the last year, hasn’t spent at least one night a week, every week or month with friends, devoted to watching SOMETHING on TV?
3. Book Clubs – We love to read, yes, but it’s the monthly meetings we crave.
4. Knitting/Cooking/Wine/etc. clubs – see explanation for #3.
5. Holiday/birthday parties – I used to think the only parties ever thrown were the Chucky Cheese ones for kids; the slumber party ones for teenagers; the “we really want to be wife-swapping but I guess we’ll have these boring PTA and babysitting horror story conversations instead” parties for our parents; and the birthday cake-card-and-hug ones for our immediate families. And then I hit my mid-20s and suddenly, everyone’s throwing a party for everyone else. It’s just a guess, but I think all of the world’s major problems would have been solved in the last 5 years if my generation had devoted as much attention to the problems as it did to celebrating everything else.
6. Other – Just the other day, I was invited by Montana Girl’s Urban Tribe to participate in Christmas caroling up and down Burlington’s Church Street. Evidently, this is an annual thing for them, as is their viewing of A Charlie Brown Christmas (see also #2).

Did you notice something? A theme maybe? Aside from the fact that they’re all designed in order to make us feel included in the world, if there’s one other trait all of these activities have in common, it’s got to be their recurring nature. We leave each activity assuming there will be a next. And it seems, that is where the genius of this Urban Tribe idea can be found. In the absence of the security and comfort that was handed to us in our childhood by our traditional family, we’ve created these new families that are as stable and loving as can possibly be.

And so, while attempting to plan a February URT to New Orleans with Ms. Parker, True, and Ms. Scharf (though not for the Jazz Festival) and while simultaneously planning this year’s New Year’s Eve festivities (which will be spent with, at the very least, Mia Wallace; and at the very most, Mia, Sarah the L, Mr. Mikes, and a few more unnicknamed friends; but not with my immediate family, who, incidentally, will all be in town), I’ve come to the realization that although my traditional family still has an important place in my life and always will, my Urban Tribe has taken on a much larger role as of late. And I’m OK with that. Because, in the karaoked words of Jay Peak, “we are family!”

Hello, darkness, my old friend

11:30 a.m.
I’m at work right now and I can’t concentrate, which, in all honesty, is nothing new. But this time, I have a good excuse: it’s currently snowing the absolutely largest snowflakes I have ever seen in my life. This is how it’s supposed to look on Christmas and yet, 12 days before Christmas as I sit in my dusty cubicle staring outside the nearby window, I fear I’ll never see snow as gorgeous as the snow falling right now.

12:25 p.m.
I just returned from my daily walk with CP. Some highlights:

1. As of the completion of this walk, CP and I remain tied in the competition for the BSA title (Best Snowball Aim). In the first throw, she nailed the tree dead on while I missed wide left. In the second throw, I lofted a beautifully-made, lightweight, super-gripper snowball into a narrow tree 75 feet away and CP followed off with a nervously-thrown snowball that fell well short of the target. Her performance adds fuel to the critics’ speculation that she can’t handle the pressure. We’ll see how well she handles herself in the second round.

2. A few minutes later, CP took out her BSA frustrations by “accidentally” nailing me in the crotch with a snowball.

3. We whistled, hummed, and clapped our way through Sleigh Ride. Much fun was had by all.

4. I tried to no avail to describe my favorite holiday commercial: the Old Navy Christmas carolers and, specifically, the cute “By the way (point point), your mom says hi (wave, wave, wave)!” girl. CP wasn’t impressed.

1:45 p.m.
I just returned from a quick conversation with Sarah the L at her desk. Here’s how the conversation played out:

Mr. Benchly – Should I call the Enterprise woman? Or has too much time passed?
Sarah the L – I don’t know. Has too much time passed? You could always say, “I tried calling you Friday but you weren’t in the office.”
Mr. Benchly – I could. But has the moment passed? (And then, quoting a song from the Broadway play Into the Woods…) “This was just a moment in the woods…may I rent your car?”

That last joke will only be funny to those who realize that the original quote was “This was just a moment in the woods…may I kiss you?”

What we were discussing was the woman from whom I rented a car following Inga’s accident. I sensed a vibe there and then later in the day, she called me for a “Courtesy Customer Check Up.” I’ve rented cars 5 or 6 times in my life and never once have they called to check up on me. Maybe this is a Vermont thing (most likely) but MAYBE the woman really was giving me a vibe and she wanted to talk to me again. Taking a risk, I called her back to ask her out but she had left for the day. And now that I’ve had the weekend to psych myself out, I’m hesitant to call her again. Why am I so afraid? What’s the big deal about potential rejection anyway?

2:10 p.m.
The workplace is filled with electricity right now at the realization that the Parking Lot Extramarital Affair Couple has returned to action after a month-long absence. I can hardly control myself at the sight of these two lovebirds. For the greater part of the summer, their semi-daily encounters in our parking lot were my entertainment. And then, as quickly as they appeared, they were gone. Did they break things off? Did they go on vacations with their respective families and spouses? Did one of their spouses find out and commit a crime of passion? We’ll never know. But now, at least, they’ve returned for our viewing pleasure and all is right in the world again.

3:38 p.m.
Fighting off the temptation to not call the Enterprise Woman thanks to a newfound courage, I sat in my car and dialed the number, waited impatiently as the phone rang and said “Can I speak to Enterprise Woman?” when Enterprise Man said “This is Enterprise Man, how may I help you?” The following is the conversation that, um, followed:

Enterprise Man – She’s not in the office. Is there anything I can do for you?
Me (thinking “Yes! Tell me if she’s interested in me!!!!!!”) – Can I leave a message for her?
Enterprise Man (shuffling some papers) – Yes. Go ahead…
Me (thinking “I think I love her, so what am I so afraid of?”) – Can you please tell her Mr. Benchly called? My number is blah blah blah – blah blah blah blah.
Enterprise Man (obviously annoyed) – Sure thing. I’ll pass that on.
Me – Thanks.

3:43 p.m.
After notifying Sarah the L of my brave attempt at courting, I returned to my desk to find my phone blinking the “1 Missed Phone Call” message!!!! I don’t recognize the number and can only assume that Enterprise Woman was given the message and returned the phone call. Now I sit here waiting impatiently for her to call back.

4:51 p.m.
Taking fate by the ears one last time, I called Enterprise Woman and miraculously, she answered. I said everything I rehearsed for the last 3 days and sank to a new low emotional level beneath the ground but just above hell when Enterprise Woman said, “I can’t believe you called. I’m so flattered! But I have to decline because I have a boyfriend.” And so my depressing day ends with me making her day. So it goes.

A Five Dollar Shake

While driving up Church St. at 5:15 am this morning with an old friend from high school sitting next to me (for reasons obvious to me [and soon to you], from here on out, I’m going to call her Mia Wallace), Mia turned to me and said, “well, this night has been interesting.” I commented on the fact that people usually say that after they’ve been mugged or left for dead in Mexico. She laughed as I turned onto Main Street and headed up the hill toward South Burlington. Now, how did we arrive at this moment?

Mia Wallace and I met my senior year in high school during study hall. I don’t know how it came about that we sat next to each other but we did and so for the rest of the year, I enjoyed her company and conversation, which were both unlike anything I had ever experienced in life. She got her tongue pierced, she talked about the great love between the Pulp Fiction characters played by John Travolta and Uma Thurman, and together, through the miracles of the McDonald’s Monopoly game, we briefly believed we had won a million dollars. She told me she would be famous one day and I agreed with her. The crush I developed on her was inevitable.

As is often the case, Mia and I lost touch with each other shortly after my graduation. And by “shortly,” I mean as soon as I walked out the high school gymnasium door with my back to my classmates in black gowns. I went to college, she went to a private school her senior year and by the time we graduated college, so many years had passed, I assumed I would never talk to her again. And then, through the miracles of the Internet and specifically an alumni website, we got back in touch, then lost touch, then got back in touch again. Soon, we began making plans for a reunion.

Last year, Sarah the L and I traveled to New York City and spent the weekend of February 14 with Mia. Together, the three of us celebrated our own anti-Valentine’s Day. I had an incredible time (to this day, the trip remains my all-time favorite NYC trip) and was thankful for reconnecting with Mia. Unfortunately, after the trip, we fell slightly out of touch again save the time in June when she remembered a bitter comment I made in February (“I’d rather get flowers on a random Tuesday in June than on Valentine’s Day) and sent me flowers. Since then, we’ve remained in touch, though not enough. Over a year passed by before I returned the favor and sent her flowers last month with the note: “Flowers on a random Tuesday in October are just as nice.”

Mia and I recently began discussing another reunion; this time while she visited her parents back in our hometown. Arrangements were made and so last night, I found myself in a booth in a bar situated on Plattsburgh’s only alley, sitting directly across from Mia. We talked about her recent New York City Marathon adventure, my stalker, and the many different levels of friendship:

1. The best friend.
2. The close friends you keep in touch with.
3. The close friends you lose touch with occasionally but always think about.
4. The friends you hang out with consistently that you would like to be closer with.
5. The friends you hang out with consistently that you’ll never be close with.
6. The friends you’ve outgrown (aka, the Throw Away Friends).

After a few hours, she told me she was returning to NYC via bus Sunday morning. I asked “why not fly?” to which she responded that the only flight she could take left Burlington at 6:15 am. I said “we could stay up late and I’ll drive you to the airport.” She thought about it, called the airline and decided to go for it. We went to her family’s home and spent an hour there to hang out with her family (at 11 pm).

At 12:30 am, Mia and I drove to Burlington, played Boggle on the ferry, ate an early morning meal at Denny’s, and went to my place where we tried to stay awake. At 4 am, we decided to sleep for an hour (Mia in the unoccupied Virgin Mary’s bed and me in my own). Around 4:30 am, I heard the front door open and quickly realized that the Virgin Mary, contrary to my earlier assumption, was not spending the night at her boyfriend’s place. I ran to the living room, told her that Mia was asleep in her bed and then woke up Mia to have her move to the couch. At 5:15 am, we left my apartment and headed for the airport.

The entire ride to the airport, I wanted to tell her that I hoped she didn’t think I considered her a “Level 6 Friend” or a “Level 5 Friend.” I wanted to tell her that I wished she and I were closer and that in the next year, I was going to try to make that come to fruition. But every which way I formed the thought in my head seemed overly cliche and in need of some serious editing, which, at 5:15 am, was definitely impossible. We reached the airport, hugged goodbye, and went our separate ways. She left me a voicemail an hour ago to tell me she made it home safely and to thank me for driving her to the airport and the crazy night we had. She ended the call by saying “see you soon.” And I hope that she’s right.

The Big Chill

So I have this friend. For the sake of privacy, I’m going to refer to her as Cat Allergy Teacher (CAT). She’s a teacher and…well…she’s allergic to cats. Anyway, CAT’s parents have a summer home in Vermont and she and her sister have decided to throw a Turning Off the Water Party (ie, one last party at the house before they turn the water off and close up shop for the winter). Well, CAT invited me and I invited Sarah the L and Sarah the L invited her girl Mr. Mikes.

And at the risk of sounding like the dork you know I am, I’m really looking forward to this weekend. Evidently, it’s a big place in the woods with 5 bedrooms and a fireplace and a ton of people are coming and so I can’t help but envision a Big-Chill-like-weekend:

Lots of imbibing (wine, Mike’s Hard Lemonade [a personal favorite of both myself and CAT], beer, etc); lots of long discussions about life and politics and all the things in this life that matter; lots of time to read and write; evenings spent playing games and laughing in front of a warm fire; smores; mornings spent going for walks and getting lost; lots of time to find yourself; and maybe even a little fricky. And I can’t help but think that I’m going to come away from this weekend a changed man. Hopefully for the better.

And so I’m really anxious to see how things play out. Of course, after all this build up, I’m sure I’ll be completely disappointed. I’ll be the Jeff Goldblum character. Blah. But whatever. At least I’m trying. So…to my loved ones and my lesser loved ones, have a beautiful weekend, and here’s hoping you “Kevin Kline” your wife’s best friend…=)

Beeps and Jeeps and General Creeps

This past June, on a semi-hot, terribly muggy, infamously miserable Thursday, I climbed into the driver’s seat of my beloved vehicle of 4 years, Inga Beep the Jeep, and proceeded to drive her to an early grave. For the metaphorically challenged out there, that’s my way of saying I overheated her to the point where smoke came out of her, fluids sprayed all over her, and she stunk up the whole neighborhood. The friendly mechanic and his trusty sidekick were able to bring her back to life but you could tell right away: she wasn’t the same. Part of her died that day. Maybe it was my betrayal of her trust. Maybe it was her Jeepish pride. We’ll never know. Regardless…

To prolong her now painful life, I decided to take advantage of Vermont’s public transportation system and ride the Loser Cruiser bus as much as possible. Burlington to Barre and back for $6. Considering the round trip covers 100 miles total, that’s a hell of a deal.

Riding the bus most mornings has introduced me (and fellow passenger Sarah the L) to an incredibly eclectic universe of environmentally-aware, politically-conscientious, and down-on-their-luck individuals. There are the regulars:

– Al Bundy (picture the Married With Children patriarch, and you’re picturing this passenger).
– Cute Rainbow Belt Lesbian Biker Girl (self explanatory)
– Road Rage Man (the guy who went postal on me on Interstate 89)
– Helen (If only because she reminds me of the grandmotherly woman who taught one of my college courses [she’s the one with the mic])

– Mustache Man (again, self explanatory)
– Duck Girl (Sarah the L will have to elaborate on this one because I wasn’t there when the “Duck Conversation” happened)
– Make Out Woman (so named because she was seen making out with her [presumably new] boyfriend while waiting for the bus to arrive

And the not so regulars:
– Cute Washington Plates Girl (cause she drives a car with Washington plates)
– Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy (often seen grading the homework of his elementary school students. Recent assignment, I kid you not: What I Did on My Summer Vacation)

I can only imagine what the regulars call Sarah the L and I. “Gay Girl and Gay Boy”? “Rockstar and her Handsome Friend”?

Anyway, today, on the ride into work, Al Bundy was his usual self and what we polite folk politely call “ANNOYING AS ALL HELL!!!” He talks to you when you’re trying to read; he talks to you when you have headphones on; he talks to you when you pretend you’re talking on your cell phone; he talks to you when you walk away from him; he talks to you when you’re talking to someone else.

As most of you can attest, I don’t do well when strangers talk to me. I can think of a hundred different uncomfortable situations I could be in every day, and having to talk to strangers always tops the list. So essentially, Al Bundy is like the kryptonite to my Superman Commuter World. I can have a great ride into work if I can just get by him. But like Superman, I know I can’t attack him straight on so my sneaky defense lately has been to hide in the back of the bus with my headphones on, my head planted in a book, and my cell phone attached to my ear.

But today, without headphones, and with my book making me carsick, the kryptonite of Al Bundy got to me. He sat in the front seat and talked so loudly I could hear him all the way in the back. Because of all the negativity I associate with him, I pretty much now equate his voice to the moan of a dying mule muffled by styrofoam being rubbed against a chalkboard. Trapped in the back of the bus, I tried to escape but my Superman Commuter World powers were no match for his kryptonic voice. I was defeated. The bus ride ended and I dragged myself down the steps to the sidewalk below as Al Bundy said, “have a nice day.”

Third down and old

So I’m 27. There, I said it. In June, I was 26 and before that, I was 18. I used to be young and without a beer belly. I used to be able to hike Mt. Everest. I used to be able to run a mile in under 7 minutes. I used to be able to walk up three flights of stairs without getting winded. And then: I went through that stage after college when you’re stuck in that holding pattern waiting for the world to present itself, and all you do is sit at home and watch TV with a bowl of ice cream that miraculously never ends.

Since entering The Real World: Vermont, I’ve since broken some bad habits (ie, watching TV, the neverending bowl of ice cream, the nonactive lifestyle) but it seems like I can’t break the worst habit of them all: the fact that I’m 27 freakin years old!!!! And my body doesn’t function the way it used to. There was a time in my younger days when I jokingly made old-man sounds but now, now they’re real. I make old-man sounds now because I can’t help it. They just happen like they were meant to be. And not only that, but I have old-man injuries, too! I’ve thrown out my back, I’ve pulled muscles in unmentionable places, I bruise like it’s my job, etc. And so being active, though good for me, scares the crap out of me. Speaking of…

The other day I was invited to participate in the first of what I hope are many flag football games. The organizer is my friend who from here on out shall be known as Young Dude. He’s just about 21 years old and when I told him, “yes, but I should warn you, I haven’t played flag football since high school,” and he replied, “don’t worry, you’ll be fine, big guy,” I think he was overlooking the fact that high school, for me, was not three years ago but rather (brace yourselves here) 9 YEARS AGO!!! After this game of flag football, he’ll probably go play a pick up game of soccer somewhere and then climb down into Mt. St. Helens and eat a neverending bowl of lava. As for me, I’ll limp home, take a long hot shower, ice my legs and pass out on the couch at 7 p.m.

***Subject Change***

Before I forget, I wanted to mention the highlights of my Friday night: I went with some friends to hear Eric Schlosser speak at Champlain College. For those of you unfamiliar with him, he’s the author of Fast Food Nation, a book I think should be required reading in all classrooms. He wasn’t exactly an animated speaker but he was an eloquent one and like how I felt after reading his book, I came away hating the government and most fast food chains, and, as proof that my belly runs the Benchly Operation these days, I also came away craving a good greasy burger. But anyway, read the book. Unlike fast food, it’s good for you.

One final thing, I wanted to report that on our walk downtown from Champlain College, Sarah the L and her girl were spotted in the window of Mr. Mike’s Pizza. At the risk of revealing too much, I’m delighted to report that both seemed very happy with each other. =)