It’s just another Monday, right?

Even the best fall down sometimes
I’m in my room in the evening before Valentine’s Day, Othello is sleeping on the bed, I’ve just talked to Sarah the L on the phone, and I’ve loaded six sappy CDs into my newly-dubbed “Sappy Stereo.” My limbs are sore from a day of sledding down a mountainous central-Vermont hill, my digestive system is sore from a delicious/spicy Asian dinner complemented with the always unsavory beer, and my heart is sore from what appears to be the latest in a string of seemingly-endless rejections. Per my usual storytelling style, let me back up to the beginning.

As you may recall, I met Peeps last Friday while viewing A Very Long Engagement with Montana Girl. I liked this woman. As is hardly ever the case with women (or anyone in general) I’ve just met, I found myself at ease in her presence. Add to that an attraction to both mind and body, and, as the night progressed, it became painfully clear to me and to Montana Girl that I was smitten with Peeps. Through a fortunate twist of unfortunate events (namely Inga Beep’s refusal to operate), I found myself alone with Peeps in her car, being driven home. Thanks to my lack of confidence, I soon found myself standing on the steps of my apartment building, watching Peeps drive away completely unaware of my thoughts.

Sarah the L and Smoochie Poo learned of this new attraction in my life over lunch the next day. Kudos to them for putting up with my prepubescent gushing. While finishing my salmon sandwich, I decided that my new mission in life was to see Peeps again. And so I set out to the streets of B’town to find this woman in the green scarf. Well, B’town is a small town but not that small and I soon realized that another meeting with Peeps would probably have to be one not born of chance.

Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
I contacted Montana Girl Sunday afternoon and told her that, if at all possible, I needed her help in getting in touch with Peeps. Give her my number, ask her permission to give me hers, anything to be able to speak with her one more time. After two days, and while reminding me that I owed her big time, Montana Girl gave me Peeps’s phone number. I talked to Peeps the next day on the phone and though I had spent nearly three days imagining what I would say if given the chance to say anything to her, I stumbled and babbled and stuttered my way through the most ineloquent speech possible. In between my mismatched words and incomplete thoughts, I managed to tell her I wanted to see her again, and to ask her if she felt the same way. When she told me she did, we made a date for Sunday.

In the days that followed, through yet another twist of fate, I was invited out to the movies Saturday night with Peeps, Montana Girl, and Montana Girl’s boyfriend Snowboard Guy. The movie: The Wedding Date. Though knowing I was in for 90 minutes of the most mind-numbing torture known to movie theatres, I couldn’t resist the chance to see Peeps. And when we found our seats as the previews were starting, I melted into mine as Peeps revealed to me that she doesn’t like it when people talk during movies.

After the hellish movie ended, we stopped at a nearby restaurant for margaritas and the “best salsa in town!”* While sipping our enormous drinks, Peeps and I were invited to go out on the town for dancing (eek!) and “girly drinks” (yes!). The plan: follow Montana Girl and Snowboard Guy to their friend’s house and then downtown. The plan, though simple enough, soon backfired when, in the heavy snowstorm, Montana Girl and Snowboard Guy’s car disappeared and Peeps and I, both without directions, were left to fend for ourselves. After it became clear from Montana Girl’s voicemail message that she either a) did not bring her phone with her or b) was ditching us, Peeps and I made the best of the situation and settled into a quiet wine bar downtown by ourselves. While listening to a piano-playing singer straight out of the Lost in Translation lounge, and while sipping our red wines, what began as we laughingly called our “pre-date” turned into our first date. After confirming our plans for what was now going to be our second date, we sealed the evening with a kiss.

Out of the doubt that fills your mind
The plan for our second date originally was to eat dinner and then go sledding or snowshoeing in the evening. The cold weather changed our minds and we opted instead to sled before dinner, thus turning the always rewarding Five Spice Café meal into a literal reward for a tiring day of sledding. While deciding where to sled, Peeps mentioned a hill from her childhood to which no other sledding hill could possibly compare. Though an hour away, it seemed the logical choice. When we arrived, I knew it was the right choice. This “hill” was the size of the upper tier at Yankee Stadium and even though Peeps fondly remembered this hill from her childhood, she needed a few runs down the “baby hill” to muster up enough courage to tackle the big hill. After a few hours of sledding that will no doubt leave me barely able to get out of bed tomorrow morning, Peeps and I drove home to change our clothes and prepare for dinner.

The second half of the date began with Peeps receiving a tour of my apartment. She was dressed up and made up more than she had ever been before; I took this as a good sign and even now, a few hours later, I still don’t know if I was mistaken. The food was great and her company was as well, but something felt different. There was a new vibe and I spent the majority of the meal decoding it.

At the end of the night, we talked; the first serious talk in our short history. Peeps told me that though she was interested in another date with me, she wasn’t sure she was capable of going through with it for numerous reasons: in six weeks, she’ll be spending 3 months in Japan; when she returns, she’ll probably be moving in with her mother in New Hampshire; and while there, she’ll probably be applying for jobs out of state. She needs time to think about things and she’ll get back to me.

You finally find that you and I collide
I want to believe Peeps. I want to believe that this is an issue of timing (a word I’ve recently learned to dread). I want to believe that if, in some parallel universe, she was presented with this chance, she would run straight for it, wrap her arms around it, and fight to hold on. I want to believe that what I saw in her in the very little time spent together isn’t a blind hope caused by my own desperation. I want to believe that she’ll call me and say, “I have to know where this is going to lead.” But I can’t.

*As declared by Mr. Benchly to Montana Girl.

PEEPS for 9 points

Montana Girl, her friend Peeps (nicknamed as such for reasons only the most dedicated Mr. Benchly readers will understand), and I went to see A Very Long Engagement last night.

For those who haven’t seen this movie, I think you should. It’s an all around beautiful story that’s told in such a unique way. It’s almost as if the director and writer took every expectation we have of film, and flipped them upside down and turned them inside out. The result is a film that tells an old story in such a refreshingly new way.

I was laughing during tragic moments; feeling the weights of a heavy heart during funny moments; inspired by seemingly insignificant moments; and caught off guard by normally expected moments. The result: I left the theatre feeling as though I had been rewarded for an unknown accomplishment.

This was followed by Scrabble and hot chocolate at Montana Girl’s apartment. For the second game in a row, I was able to defeat my fiercely determined and competitive rival, Montana Girl, thus ensuring that I will hold onto the Scrabble title for one more day. Playing for the very first time in her life, Peeps faired well and seemed to enjoy herself.

There’s more to this story, but I don’t want to jinx anything.

The Straw

This morning, after departing from the Loser Cruiser and transferring to the City Route that takes me to within one block of my job, I found myself sitting in the front seat and directly in front of a woman in her early 60s who, for reasons that will shortly become painfully obvious, will be known as The Straw. From the conversation she had with a passenger who had recently exited the bus, I surmised that she was on her way to a nursing home to visit her elderly mother.

The highlight of The Straw’s conversation with her friend was when she told him that she was receiving weekly work payments under the table, “you know, ‘hush hush,'” and some weeks when her food stamps were low, she used that money for food, but most weeks she used it for Bingo. And sometimes, she saved up for a few weeks for the “big Bingo.”

At the penultimate stop before mine, the driver parked the bus and left the engine running while he used the bathroom at the local gas station (you’ve gotta love Vermont). Now, I’ve been using the public transportation system for 6 months and I consider myself somewhat of an expert on the busses, their routes, and their passengers so I could tell instantly upon boarding this bus, that The Straw was a Bus Butterfly. In other words, she stopped at nothing to make sure she conversed with all onboard. I, on the other hand, am a Bus Beta. I want to be left alone because otherwise, I may bite your head off. An exaggeration, but you get the point.

As soon as the driver exited the bus stage right for the bathroom, leaving me alone with The Straw, I knew I was in for trouble and so naturally, I pretended to fall asleep. But The Straw was not going to be stopped this morning. After about 45 seconds of silence, she spoke up and declared in a giddy voice that would rival the voice of any toddler with chocolate, “when I get to my mother’s, I get to put my teeth back in.” Crickets. Crickets. Crickets.

At this point, I’m doing the fake, drifting-off-to-sleep, head bob; you know, like a grand piano being lowered from the 3rd floor of an apartment building, slowly but surely, my head is going down…down…down to sleep. The Straw wasn’t buying it. “I hear it’s supposed to get up to 34 today. 34! And it’s only going to get warmer for the rest of the week. We may even hit 40 on Sunday.” wait for it. wait for it. wait for it. “Why, I think we’re having a regular HEAT wave! Ha!” Crickets. Crickets. Crickets.

I pretended to wake up as soon as the driver returned and shut his door. And after the driver arrived at my stop while in the midst of a sneezing attack he blamed on his dairy allergy (“Dairy could kill me but I’ve got to have my chocolate milk!”), and as I left the bus while The Straw said, “have a good day, sir!”, I knew what had to be done.

Today, I informed my boss that I’m beginning the process of looking for a new job and asked her to be one of my references. So it begins.

My life’s odometer

I found out last week that Scarlett and Young Dude are engaged! The question was popped during a romantic weekend getaway. The blushing fiancé told me they’ll be moving to North Carolina shortly and will return in the summer of 2006 for their wedding. Mazel tov!

In other news, Sarah the L was cast in the Spielpalast Cabaret! The troupe will be performing in Burlington one weekend only (last weekend in April) and will follow that up by touring the state over the following weekends. In celebration of this achievement, and to show my support, I offer up the following pledge to any of my friends or Sarah’s friends who should happen to stumble upon this blog: if you venture from out of state to attend the Burlington show, I’ll buy your Cabaret ticket for you so long as you join me front and center for the performance.

On a related note, shortly after her casting, Sarah the L discovered that Cute Redheaded Flask-in-Her-Cleavage Solo Girl from last year’s cabaret was none other than Cute Rainbow Belt Lesbian Biker Girl from the Loser Cruiser!!! What a small world!

And speaking of that old faithful hunk of public transportation funds…

…while riding the Cruiser last week, I noticed something tragic: Cute Red Hat Girl’s red hat sitting alone on one of the seats. For the next week, whenever someone exited the bus, someone else inevitably yelled, “Wait! You forgot your red hat!,” only to find out that the owner of the hat wasn’t on the bus. So it seems that, for whatever reason, Cute Red Hat Girl no longer needs the Cruiser, but as an offering to the Goddess of Safe Travels, and maybe as a symbol of her departure, her hat remains.

As I sat there pondering Cute Red Hat Girl’s whereabouts and current commuting options, I was reminded of my own reasons for using the Cruiser: Inga. She has been struggling as of late, but she’s still a faithful friend. And although her disbelief in fringe benefits has slowly convinced her to stop doing many of her mostly-inconsequential jobs (eg, the broken hinge on the arm rest/cup holder; the child proof but mostly Mr. Benchly proof locks to the backdoors; the refusal to open her hood in cold weather; the hole in the ceiling’s upholstery; the lack of heat, the CD player/radio that plays only the radio; etc), the one task I can always count on her to follow through with is keeping an accurate odometer.

As the years and miles have gone by, I’ve always been excited to see the beginning of a new ten thousand miles. And my favorite part is when, for example, the 150,000s are close to becoming the 160,000s, and in the last hundred miles, the 5 slowly turns into 6. Turning appropriately much slower than an hour hand on a clock, the second number on the odometer makes its way to a number it has seen only once before and will probably never see again.

It is in this random, once-in-a-many-months experience that I find the best reflection of my own life. From many hundred miles away, I can see a change coming. I can feel it. And though anxious to experience it, I must be patient enough to cross the many miles of life still left standing before me. So while the Scarletts, Young Dudes, Sarah the Ls, and Cute Red Hat Girls of the world see their odometers change over a new leaf in their lives, I know that my new 10,000 is just around the corner.

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, Part 2b

There I was, minding my own business on the Loser Cruiser this morning when who should appear out of the blue, board the bus after Soon-to-be-Mid-Life-Crisis Girl, and seat himself down right in front of me and next to Daddy Sutherland (the state representative who bears a striking resemblance to Mr. Donald Sutherland himself)? EBERT!!!! I almost didn’t recognize the fellow; evidently, he’s been working out. Let’s just say, now he looks more like Siskel than Siskel does. It was all I could do not to pee myself at the sight of Ebert and Daddy Sutherland sitting next to each other. There hasn’t been such a meeting of middle-aged minds since Walter Cronkite got on the wrong bus heading south out of Knoxville and sat down next to The Brady Bunch’s Robert Reed! I was beside myself with joy and excitement! I only wished I had a decent camera with me.

One other moment worth mentioning: the sighting of Kind-of-Cute-in-a-Manly-Way Red Hat Guy (not to be confused with Cute Red Hat Girl). This guy has become a regular as of late and didn’t wear a red hat until Cute Red Hat Girl was first spotted. Coincidence? Hardly!

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.

I’m With Crazy

As some of the five of you know, while I do have a computer at home, I don’t have Internet access, which went the way of the landline phone. And so my ability to send emails and post on my blog rests solely on the shoulders of three separate but equally awkward computers:

1. My work computer, which is owned by the very same company that recently officially forbid its employees to send personal emails and surf the Internet. Thus, whenever I send emails and post on my blog, I’m risking termination of my employment.

2. My parents’ computer, which I use far too often whenever I visit. And truth be told, I visit them far too often. They’re probably sick of me and probably sick of me using their computer all the time.

3. The public library computers, which I use occasionally and which I’m currently using. Typically, I use them on the days I don’t work and whenever I feel like I’ve worn out my welcome at my parents’ house.

And so, after spending at least 5 consecutive days at my parents’ house due to the holidays, and on my day off from work, I have decided to venture down to the public library to post this message. In doing so, I am braving an hour in the building in which I have had quite possibly the most uncomfortable encounters of my short life.

You see, the library is home to the Library Crazies. There are the men who talk to themselves; the women who cause scenes because their allotted computer time expired before they could finish their Internet game; the teenagers who are so starved for attention that they yell at each other and ignore the poor librarian’s desperate attempts to quiet them down; and finally, the staining ones (the individuals who leave stains on the chairs they use). So far, with 14 minutes left, I have been fortunate enough to have only encountered a man singing to himself and luckily, he sang in tune.

Today has been a somewhat disappointing one. My friend CAT canceled our cross-country skiing plans and so, despite the newly fallen 6-8 inches of snow, I stayed indoors. After a short trip to the mall with The Virgin Mary, I got into my car to run some errands. Well, evidently, Inga Beep the Jeep had another idea because she wasn’t running right and I had to turn around and park her in the parking lot. I don’t think her gears were catching; though, let’s be honest, her turn signal could have caused this problem and I wouldn’t have known the difference. The sun has set, the day is slowly ending, and I feel as though I’ve wasted it. If I had it to do over again, this is what would have happened:

I woke up at 9, showered, dressed, and walked to Muddy Waters, a local coffee shop and ordered a hot chocolate. After reading a few chapters in a new book of short stories, and after writing a few pages of a letter to a friend, I returned home, dropped off my things and then ventured out onto the streets of Burlington in my skis. After skiing around town for an hour or so, I returned home again, showered, dressed, and ventured to the local theatre to watch a matinee. Then I returned to Muddys for another hot chocolate and to read some more. As the sun was setting, I walked home for a quiet night of movie-watching and cuddling with Othello. The end. Oh well.

I’m dreaming of an American Christmas…

It’s been reported that over 11,000 people (thus far) died today in Asia due to an earthquake/tsunami natural disaster. And because we’re narrow-minded, ego-centric Americans, my local TV news station opened its evening news program with a report on the local weather; followed by a report on travel difficulties because of the snow; followed by a piece on the day-after-Christmas returns and sales. Only after a “short commercial break,” did they bother to mention the tragedy. It seems like I’m constantly ashamed to be an American.