Wow.

To the drunk people on the bus after the wedding... I think I might be old.

When I was a kid, especially in college, I did some crazy things.  I did things that make me grateful that we didn't have camera phones and the Internet.  My friends and I had some grand adventures, did some stupid things, drank a little too much, played a little to hard.  We were in college and we acted like it.

But we took care of each other.  We never allowed someone to do something that they might regret in the morning, if we could help it.  We knew each others limits and we had no problem dragging someone away from a party when they went too far, physically if necessary.

It was a lesson I learned well my freshman year when I went visiting some high school friends at their University.  It's a night that I still can't remember, and I don't know what happened, not really.  I can guess, but I'll never know. It was so very out of character for me, but hey, I was in college, right?

When I returned to my own school, to the family I found in college, I realized that they, that we, would never let that happen to each other.  Without ever having to say a word. We had a tacit understanding that we would protect each other, and we still do. My New York family as well.  My tribe will always have my back, just as I have theirs.

What I witnessed happening around me this weekend after a wedding left me reeling, not only because it was so outrageous, but because it happened on my lap.

The wedding party had been shuttled around all day in a party bus, complete with disco lights, loud music with a great sub-woofer, and lots of beer.  It was a hoot and I thought, "This is a great idea!"  I could only imagine my tribe and I rolling around in one of those.

Our bus had rails along the ceiling to keep people from falling over while dancing as the bus was moving, but it looked really similar to this picture.

After the reception the party bus was used to transport the last of the revelers back to the hotel.  Some of the wedding party was on the party bus, but most of the occupants were simply guests at the wedding. Most of them were friends of the bride and groom, all in their late twenties.

And they were drunk.

Very.

I was seated directly across from my friends, her sister and sister-in-law seated very nearby. We were crowded in there with no place to go, a stranger on my right and a couple on my left.  She was sitting on his lap due to a lack of space, or so I thought.

I hadn't been paying much attention to the couple on my left, though I did notice her leaning on me quite a bit.  I just thought it was lack of space and too much alcohol, so I didn't think much at the time.

Then I saw my friend's face.

His mouth agape, eyes the size of dinner plates, he was staring at the couple on my left.  So was his wife.  So was everyone else on that side of the bus.

I finally glanced over only to see the couple making out.  No big deal, right?  Then I noticed that her skirt, which when standing was barely covering her cookie, was up around her waist and his hand was down her dress.  It was a bit much.

Suddenly she came up for air, handed her phone to a guy standing near, and said, "Take my picture!" before diving back into her make-out session.

Incredulous, the guy said, "You want me to take a picture of this?"

We were flabbergasted.

Next thing we know she is giving this man, who she apparently didn't know, a lap dance on a professional level.  Everyone's jaw was on the floor, eyes wide, looking at each other like, "Is this actually happening?"

At this point the two of them are making out again, and he actually began to lay her out across my lap.  I moved away a bit, but they kept on coming.  The music was so loud, the sub-woofer going like gangbusters, we could barely hear ourselves think let alone hear each other. But, there they were, splayed across me going to town.

All I could do was laugh.

No one on our end of the bus seemed to know who this girl was, or who her people were.  She was just putting on a show for the crowd.

They finally removed themselves from my lap, but only because she was back to lap dancing again. 

"I'm old!" came from someone at the front of the bus. We were just so dazed by this display all we could do was nod in agreement.

This girl was totally out of control.

She eventually moved away to dance in the middle of the bus, her erstwhile lap dancing partner forgotten for the moment. He followed soon after, though.

As we emerged from the debauchery of the party bus we tried to find out who this girl was.  It turns out that she was a friend of the bride who, and I quote, "Is a really nice person usually, she just gets out of control when she's drunk."

Really?  Then why does anyone let her drink?

She faced a lot of ridicule that night, and was the subject of much discussion the next morning at breakfast, but all I could think about was her people.  Where were they?  Why did no one that knew her, that knew she gets this crazy when drunk, why didn't they keep an eye on her?

Where was her tribe?

Had that ever been me, my people would have snatched me right out of there, plopped me in the corner, and force fed me water and crackers until I sobered up enough to get into my room. Alone.

Her people just sort of aw-shucks and that's-just-her and what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it responded.

Which made me feel old.

No one her age seemed to give a rats ass that she was that out of control, giving Elizabeth-Berkley-In-The-Pool lap dances to a guy on a party bus filled with strangers.

I was, and continue to be, completely baffled by the whole thing.

Some guilt drifted in the next day as well, though, as I thought about that girl and that party bus. Knowing how I feel about the night that I can't remember, perhaps I should have done something.  Perhaps I should have stepped in and stopped it. 

Then again, as drunk as she was, there probably wasn't much I could have done not being one of her people, not knowing her at all.

I still feel guilty, though. And old.

And I feel a little sorry for her that she doesn't have people like mine, a tribe that would never let that happen to each other.

Mostly, though, I feel old.

So, to the drunk people on the bus after the wedding... I hope you find a tribe someday.  I hope you never have a night that you can't remember, a night that haunts you.  I hope that you don't regret what you did this weekend, and I'm sorry that I didn't help you.  And mostly, I hope that other people your age aren't as crazy as  you were on that bus or the future is in some trouble. 

Also, I think I might be old.

Ballet Barre

To the lady on the train that was living in her moment... I'm sorry I laughed, it really wasn't you.

As we were waiting for the train to pull in this morning I noticed a woman standing by the fence, her back to me.

I noticed her because the people walking by were gesturing behind their shoulders in that "did-you-see-that-crazy-person?" kind of a way.

So I noticed her.  And once I did, I couldn't look away.

She was probably in her late 40's and a little weathered.  She was dressed in very normal jeans and a top, tennis shoes, hair in a pony tail.  At first glance there was nothing "crazy-person" about her.

She was just a woman, standing along the fence.

Then she started to dance.  She was doing what I think was a ballet barre routine, though it looked nothing like any ballet barre I had ever done.  She was all elbows and knees, broken lines and sickled feet.  She didn't have ballet barre etiquette either as, when she turned around, she turned away from the barre rather than toward it. (It made my teeth hurt a little when she did that - Mark would have had my head).

Then I saw her face: complete joy and abandon.  She didn't care a hoot that people were "did-you-see-that-crazy-person?" gesturing at her, not one bit.  She was just enjoying her morning barre.

A smile lighting her face, all elbows and knees, she carried on as if she were alone in the studio. She was tendu-ing and frappe-ing along with some inner music that I couldn't hear, which was a little disconcerting as the music in my headphones didn't match at all.

I was enjoying her joy so much that I wanted to be a part of it.  So, I decided to search for the music that she was hearing in her head.  I pulled my iPod out from my pocket and began to fast-forward until I could find the song that matched her rhythm.

It wasn't The Imperial March which was too slow, or Seven Seas of Rhye which was to fast. The Tulsa Turnaround was too funky and Some Kind of Wonderful just wasn't right. On and on I clicked, finding some that were almost right, but nothing that paired her cadence.

Then, just as she looked my way, a song came on that matched her perfectly. I knew within a few notes that this was the song, this was the rhythm I was looking for.

It couldn't possibly have been the song in her head, as it was by no means as ballet barre kind of song, but it was just so perfect.

Bad luck, that's all it was... bad luck that she happened to look me right in the eyes as this song filled my headphones and I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it and I didn't mean to, but the laughter just flew out of me.

She didn't look terribly hurt, she was enjoying herself too much for that, but she did register my laugh thinking it was about her.  And it did upset her a little.

My father taught me that the best defense is a good offense so I walked over to her, still laughing because it was still funny, and I said, "Hi. I'm Katy..." I explained my enjoyment and my quest to find the song to match and she seemed a bit mollified.  When I told her what song actually matched her rhythm, the laughter burst from her as well.

Together we chortled and boarded the train.  Each time our eyes met on the journey we giggled at our shared moment. I felt much better knowing that she understood my laughter and that it wasn't directed at her. Well, not directly at her anyway.

Oh, the song?  It was Sit On My Face by Monty Python.

So, to the lady on the train that was living in her moment... I'm sorry I laughed, but how could I not? That song is hilarious on its own, but when you add a ballet barre filled with elbows and knees first thing in the morning, I didn't stand a chance.  I'm so sorry, it really wasn't you.

Fantasy lives

To the guy on the train that sneezed... thanks.

Not a lot has been happening during my commutes lately.  People get on the train, we ride, we get off.  Nothing extraordinary.

This morning, as we trundled into the city, someone sneezed.

I glanced up, said "Bless you," and went back to my book.  Then I glanced up again.

The guy that sneezed had captured my attention.  He seemed to be around 30 years old, sitting there with his eyes closed, listening to his iPod.  He was wearing jeans and a light blue button down shirt, loafers with no socks, and long, brown dreadlocks.  He seemed so peaceful, riding the train and listening.

I wondered what he was listening to.  What kind of music would he choose for his morning commute? Zeppelin? Queen? Jay-Z? Taylor Swift?  Could he be listening to a podcast of some kind?  A comedy routine? Stuff You Missed In History Class?

Then I began to imagine how all these different choices would change his personality. If he was listening to Zeppelin would he be a slacker? An achiever?  What if it was Taylor Swift?  What kind of man would he be? How would his choice of music affect my perception of him?

I imagined entire worlds for this stranger, his job, his girlfriend/wife (depending on his music choice, of course), his interests.  I imagined him a football fan, an art lover, a hacker.  I gave him friends and family, a dog, cats, a snake (the snake went with Blues Traveler for some reason). With each musical artist or group that I placed in his iPod I gave him an entire personality, a complete life as I imagined the person that would pick such a tune.

I found myself smiling, even giggling as certain combinations arose: the Taylor Swift listener is unlucky in love (of course) and enjoys World of Warcraft, while the Queen listener was an adventuresome traveler who works in human rights.  I have no idea where these imaginings came from or why they went with the musicians they did, I just let fly. And it was great fun.

And he just sat there, listening.

I then realized that my imagination was extremely limited.  Why couldn't he like World of Warcraft and Jay-Z? Why couldn't he be an adventuresome traveler and love Kelly Clarkson?

I then gave this man ALL the music and ALL the personality traits that I had previously compartmentalized. He suddenly became worldly wise, a free thinker, a humanist.  He became an artist, a businessman, a sports lover.  He became, in my mind, a man that would hang out with Banksy one night and Rand Paul the next, fitting in equally with both.

He became limitless.

I really liked that guy.

I wonder who he is in reality.  I wonder if he feels his limits or if he allows himself to be immeasurable. I wonder if he reaches beyond himself.

Then I realized that I want to be that guy when I grow up.  I want to be limitless.

In that moment I made a vow: I will try to see that version of people as often as possible.  I will try to envision their infinity, their openness.  I will try to look past the limits that people put on themselves and see the possibilities for them.

I soon thought, "If I can do it for others, I can do it for me."

Then I cried.

I haven't imagined possibility in so long that I had forgotten that it was feasible.  I spend so much time fighting for things in my life, fighting for my health, clawing and scraping just to get by, that I didn't remember that I am also limitless. I have within me the possibility to do and be anything.  I can be anything.  I can do everything.

And I will.

As we exited the train, the guy that sneezed caught my eye.

"You OK?" he asked, seeing a tear on my cheek.

"Yes.  Thank you." I replied.  He had no idea what I was actually thanking him for, but he didn't need to know.  It is enough that I do.

I wish this for everyone.  I wish, for all of you, a guy that sneezes and takes you on a journey.

So, to the guy on the train that sneezed... you jump started my imagination and brought me to an epiphany today.  You have no idea what you inspired, but I will be forever grateful. I will look for the limitless in others and, more importantly, in myself.

Thanks.  Truly.

Adventures in New Jersey Transit

To the guy on the train who repeatedly called all of us assholes... just wow.

So last night was one of the worst travel experiences I have had with New Jersey Transit, but some of the greatest people that I've met along the way.

We began our journey on our usual 6:18 train to Summit, though it was a bit more crowded than usual due to earlier cancelled trains. Everyone was either settled into their seats or leaning against the vestibule braced for the short journey home.  We made it as far as Secaucus (the first stop outside New York and not a regular stop on our train) where we sat for more than an hour.  Apparently the Portal Bridge, which we must use to get to Newark, had a fire.

So we waited.  Very patiently, I must add.

At about 7:25 we were kicked off of that train in Secaucus and had to trudge across the station to get on a second train bound for Hoboken.

Beginning to get a little grumpy now, I said, "Another adventure in New Jersey Transit."

"Always a good time!" said the guy in the aisle. 

"Hey, it could be worse," the woman behind him added.

"Yeah," I said, "We could be on the bridge."

"We could be stuck in the tunnel," said another man.

"It could have been Sandy again," said a third.

"Oooooo, right," we all agreed.  Anything is better than Sandy.

So with that in mind we all trudged together to the next train headed for Hoboken, attempting to remain pleasant.  This train was packed to the gills as it housed not only the passengers from our train but from another stranded train as well.  With sighs and resignation we stood together on the way to Hoboken. 

In Hoboken we disembarked and headed to our third attempt at getting home. 

This train, now this train was truly packed.  As we jogged down the platform it became evident that we may not be able to fit onto this train at all.  The doors to the first two cars were closed so we had to head down the platform even farther.  The first open door I came to I saw people already crowding the vestibule, but I saw a little daylight near the door so I stepped in.  The people there welcomed me with looks of understanding and we all shifted to make room for me along with two people who stepped in behind me. I made it about 3 feet into the train car before the wall of people prevented any further movement.  Everyone in the car was trying to help as many people as possible get on, but at that point there was simply no more room. 

We were packed butt-to-balls, nose-in-armpit, crotch-to-face.  There was no more room. 

One man had some inside connection to the situation with the trains and was giving everyone in our car updates as he got them.  Several of us shared our phones with people so they could call home, we laughed at all the gawky touching and talked about NJTransit experiences that were much worse in order to make ourselves feel a bit better. There was awkward laughter and sighs all around.

Then came the shouting.

From outside the car came the voice of a woman, shouting and screaming that we needed to move so that she could get on the car.  Many of us shouted back (some politely, some not) that there was no more room, nowhere for us to go.  She decided to test that theory and tried to shove her way onto the car.  She pushed against the wall of people which caused the group to lean away a bit, then as the attempt to keep ourselves on our feet had us leaning back toward her en masse she ended up on her ass.  This caused more screaming and shouting for the conductor who basically told her that she was not getting on this car, she would have to wait for another train.

A collective "Wow" could be heard rolling down the car at that point.

A few minutes later a man began to shout that we needed to move, at which point the people near the door explained what happened to the woman in great detail (which made the rest of us laugh a lot) and told the man to try another door.  He started screaming and calling everyone an asshole. 

"You're an asshole!  And you, with the red tie, you're an asshole! The lady with the blue shirt is an asshole!..." and so on.  He named as many people as he could see in his tirade of assholes, screaming and beet red all the while.  I haven't seen or heard a hissy fit like that outside of the Terrible Twos.  It was quite impressive.  He stood there on the platform, pointing, screaming, practically foaming, calling everyone around him an asshole. 

The people on the car began to get into the game. 

"Hey, asshole, could you move your foot a bit?"

"Sure thing, asshole."

"Hey, asshole, I'm sorry I stepped on your toes."

"Don't worry about it, asshole, it wasn't your fault."

For the next ten minutes we all addressed each other as "asshole" and laughed and relaxed and tried to make the best of a bad situation.

As we finally landed in Maplewood and queued up to disembark a man from my Jitney yelled, "It was nice to meet all you assholes!"

Perhaps it was the relief at being at our home station, or perhaps his farewell was simply that funny, but everyone on the car howled.  The spell was broken, the frustration roughly at an end, we were almost home.

Unbeknownst to him, the pathetic, screaming man created a new tribe last night, a tribe of assholes who tried to make the best of a really bad situation, tried to keep each other relaxed, who worked together to make it home.

Today I am not ashamed to say that I am an asshole.  I travel with a pack of assholes, and we rock.

So, to the guy on the train who repeatedly called all of us assholes... you need to learn to go with the flow.  Yes, it sucks.  Yes, it was insanely frustrating.  Yes, we are all miserable about it.  And as we all learned last night, screaming will get you nowhere.  Hissy fits will make you an item of ridicule.  And being an asshole isn't always a bad thing.  But you ... just wow. 

Scars

To the guy on the train with the scar on his leg... it's beautiful - don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

This morning a man slid into the seat next to me wearing cargo shorts.  His leg brushed up against mine as he settled in, which caused me to glance down from my book.  As I did, I noticed a large scar on his leg that ran from his outer thigh down to his mid calf.  It was really striking.

"That's a beautiful scar," I said.

"Yeah, right," he replied.

"No really, it's gorgeous.  How did you get it?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"My scar usually freaks people out," he said, "most of them can't even look at it."

"I know the feeling."

"You do?"

"Yeah.  I have a scar on my back from when I was a kid and it tends to freak people out.  I think its pretty, but most people tell me its gross."

"Huh. Yeah, people suck."

I laughed.  "So, how did you get it?"

"Well..."

We spent the rest of the ride into the city discussing scars, how we got them, what they mean to us, how they define us.  How people's reactions affect us.  I learned a long time ago that someone's reaction to my scar is all about them, not me.  When I was a kid I had no problem showing my scar in public, even after a woman tried to insist that my parent's had burned me with an iron (my scar looks nothing like an iron, by the way).  He still seems to get rattled sometimes and lives in the defensive phase, but he hasn't had his scar as long as I have had mine.

"If people's reactions to it still upset you," I asked, "why do you show it?  Why not just wear long pants?"

"Because f*$k them, that's why."

Attaboy.

Our scars are a piece of who we are, a natural tattoo to mark an event in our lives.  Our scars are part of what makes us us.  Without them we would be totally different people.  I can't remember a day when I didn't have the scar on my back, it has always been a part of me.  I have added several scars to the lineup over the years, but that one is my favorite. 

When I mentioned that to the guy on the train he said, "Your favorite?"

"Yes.  I love that scar. You'll love yours someday."

"... I don't know."

"You will.  It's really beautiful."

He looked at me for a long while, measuring me.  "Thank you," he almost whispered.

As we looked at each other in that moment we saw beneath the layers, beneath the scars.  We saw the people. It was an intimate moment between strangers that I won't soon forget. 

I love most of my scars (a few still piss me off) and I am so interested in the scars of others. It seems to be a subject most people don't broach, don't want to know about.  I won't stop asking about them, though.  I respect it when someone doesn't want to talk about their scar, but most people seem to have no trouble telling the story.  They fascinate me.

His fascinated me.

So, to the guy on the train with the scar on his leg... love your scar, man.  It marks an event in your life that you are meant to remember.  It has helped to make you the man you are today, it has helped you see people for who they are when they see it, helped you realize who you are without the physical part of you, the beautiful part. It has marked you, yes, but you live to bear the mark.  You are more stunning because of it, not in spite of it. 

It's beautiful - don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Communication Phenomenon

To the ladies on the train talking over each other... I'm impressed!

The train was unusually crowded this morning, so I was stuck in a 4 person seat, two-to-a-side facing each other.  Not my favorite seat.

Three women joined me in the other seats almost immediately, chatting away, obviously friends. We all settled in, me with my book and they with their phones, two of them talking away the other seemingly texting.

It took  me a moment or two to realize that they were not, in fact, talking on their phones - they were talking to each other.  Talking over each other would be more accurate.  Neither of them stopped to listen to the other, they just kept talking over each other, answering whatever the other one said without taking a break.  It was amazing.

I have no idea how they heard anything the other was saying.

Every once in a while the third lady would pop in with a "yeah," or a "totally," continuing to text all the while, each time forcing me to suppress a laugh.

I realized after a bit that my mouth was hanging open watching this phenomenon of communication.  I was only able to catch snippets of what they were saying, but they seemed to understand each other perfectly.  I was amazed. 

We were on that train for an hour and a half today due to delays, and they did not stop the entire time, talking over each other the whole way.  It was insanely entertaining. A sit-com in the making.

These two ladies were oblivious to everything except each other and the occasional "whatever" from their peanut gallery friend. By the time the train landed in New York I was exhausted, listening to them had zapped me.

They exited the train before me, and I could still hear them going from the bottom of the escalator.  I have never seen, or heard, anything like it.

So, to the ladies on the train talking over each other... I have no earthly idea how you managed it, but I must say, I'm impressed!

Liquid Karma

To the guy on the train that purposefully spilled his coffee on the seat... the joke's on you, pal!

There seems to be a new trend on New Jersey Transit.  People are going to new levels to try to make sure they get a seat to themselves, especially when sitting in a two-seat row. 

Now, we would all be much happier if we all got a seat to ourselves on the train, able to sit more comfortably all the way to our destination.  Most of us realize, however, that there are other passengers who may want a seat, and so we understand that the ride will be slightly less comfortable, but not uncomfortable, slightly less private, but by no means invasive. 

Just people sitting in the seat next to us.

In the olden days, people would just pile their extra bags on the seat next to them to try to dissuade others from asking for a seat. It didn't always work, as those of us with a little hutzpah would wait patiently while they moved their bags to the overhead rack, or simply put them on their laps. 

Or they would spread their dinner out next to them, eating slowly and deliberately in hopes that no one would dare ask them to move it.

Nowadays, though, there is a new trend: people are sitting in the aisle seat, purposely pouring some liquid on the seat next to them, and then sitting back to enjoy their private seat.  People come along and ask to sit, only to be told that "someone spilled something there" in mock sympathy. 

The first time I saw this I thought it was a singular event.  The next time I thought that, maybe, it was the same person. 

I have now seen this being done many times, and it's obnoxious.

Today, though, Karma got involved.

The guy got on the train, found his aisle seat, and promptly spilled some leftover coffee onto the one next to him.

The important thing to note, is that for the majority of the ride the train is in motion.  The physics of liquids, especially when not contained, are varied and unpredictable.  And he was wearing khaki pants.

There he was, smug look firmly attached to his face, eyes closed, enjoying his morning private seat, warning people away from the "spill."

No one said anything to him about this behavior, though I'm sure that many were tempted by the looks on their faces.  We were contained.

The liquid not so much.

As we arrived in the city and stood up to leave, there were many twitters of laughter happening behind him.  It turns out that Karma sent that coffee in the direction of his khaki pants, a long, brown stain emerging on his left butt cheek.  He must have shifted at some point allowing more liquid to encroach his hind region (or Karma has more tricks up her sleeves than we realized) because that stain had spread to his middle. 

I don't envy him the day he was about to have, how many times he would need to explain away the brown stain on his butt.  I don't envy him having to walk the city in those coffee stained, khaki pants.

But... Karma.

So, to the guy on the train that purposefully spilled his coffee on the seat,Karma's a bitch, liquid Karma even more so.  And the joke's on you, pal!  I hope you'll think twice before doing that again.