You know how you can meet certain people and it's like you've known them your whole life? That's how it was when I met my NaBloPoMo buddy, Monica of 5 Cats Shy.
I'd been posting for a couple of years on an internet message board full of women (and a few men), when I received an invitation to join a small group for a weekend on Nantucket. I knew that if I told my friends and family what I was doing, they'd be convinced that I was going to be murdered or sold into white slavery, so I did the only logical thing: I didn't tell anyone and I went anyway.
I had a blast. We stayed in a beautiful vacation home owned by our hostess' in-laws, where nine of us, ranging in age from early twenties to early fifties, totally came together as a group. We hung out and talked, toured a winery-distillery-brewery, and watched a few episodes of I Love The 80s.
I liked everyone, but Monica and I bonded right away. I don't remember what we talked about (alcohol was involved), but I remember we were chatting away in no time like old friends, and she loaned me a shirt to wear to the bar that night.
The entire group arrived at the bar wearing tiaras, boas, and sashes that said "Miss Nantucket," and as our hostess reached out to open the door, she said "They don't know what's about to hit them." They didn't. It was one of those epic nights that goes down in the annals of partying.
We were having an impromptu bachelorette party, and the bride had a list of tasks to perform, such as to get a group of strangers to toast to her love and to get up on stage with the band. Monica and I decided we also needed a list, since we'd both had engagements end in disaster. I don't remember the whole list we came up with (did I mention alcohol was involved?), but I do remember one in particular. There was a guy who was obviously very drunk, who was constantly dancing all by himself whether the band was playing or not. The band was Orange Crush, an 80s cover band, so we knew that at some point they would play "Dancing With Myself." We decided that when they did, we would dance with him.
The band came back from a break and played the first notes of "Dancing With Myself." The only person on the dance floor was Dancing With Myself Man, but not for long. Monica and I ran out there and stared dancing all around him. We were laughing so hard we could hardly stand up, but the guy was oblivious to our presence.
That was several years ago. I've lost contact with most of the girls from that Nantucket trip, but Monica and I remain friends. I've visited her twice - one in Burlington, VT and once in Raleigh, NC - and we had a great time then, too. Mostly, we stay in touch via phone and internet.
It's a wonderful thing when you don't have to explain yourself because somebody just "gets" you. For me, Monica is one of those people. And she always makes me laugh. How can you not love a person who keeps you laughing?