Perv

*Trigger alert*


And some space for you to leave if necessary.

.
.
.
.
.
.

Okay then.




Incident on the train today resulted in me pressing the call button "There's a guy masturbating. His penis is out." And then repeating the message for the conductor.

Disgusting. Terrible. Sickening.

My takeaways:

• Always make sure there are MULTIPLE people on your train car. Even in the middle of the day. Even when the doors to the train car are still open.
• Sit near the call button. Use it when necessary. People will respond.
  
• My response was a valid one. It addressed the situation (if I'd just left, he'd get away with it). But it didn't require me to engage directly with him.
• That rush of adrenaline will eventually make me shaky.
• I can think of friends who I can go to when I need to debrief. (Even when I know people are out of town. And others have moved. And others I'm not close enough to yet. The person I needed was home.)
• I am grateful to live in a place where this is NOT acceptable. It is NOT something that should be normal. And here it is not.

I'll be okay tomorrow. Tonight I'm still shaken and letting it affect my actions. It ruined my dancing mood. At the restaurant we went for dessert I waited for the women's bathroom to be unlocked rather than use the men's to wash my hands. (Even after my friend, who had just gotten out of there told me I should use it.) Normally, no hesitation. But for tonight, I'll let myself be extra wary.

Send me on my way

Last night was a mini-reunion. People who I haven't seen in two years catching up and hanging out. It's funny, most of them weren't my crew at the time. But being back together was comforting. Our shared experience something that needs no explanation.

~~~

The Adult Alternative TV music station was our soundtrack for the night. The Rusted Roots came on and someone mentioned the video.




I hadn't seen it before. But it's "trippy" to quote one of the guys.

Between the sounds of Ice Age which I watched far too many times at the camp that was home after graduating from high school and the scenes that became home after graduating from college, there are tears in my eyes. But it's so out there that I'm laughing instead.

Swing

To celebrate I went for a walk in the park and called my grandparents (rather than wait for them to call at a less opportune time). Ended up sitting in a swing.

It'd been criminally long since my feet kissed the sky and my head reached for the ground. (Please ignore the dipping I've done at dances.)

~~~

The Swing

By Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing,

Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,

Till I can see so wide,

Rivers and trees and cattle and all

Over the countryside—

Till I look down on the garden green,

Down on the roof so brown—

Up in the air I go flying again,

Up in the air and down!

~~~

When we moved before tenth grade I was devastated. I'd settled into ninth grade. I had my friends. I had good courses. And, even though the rest of my family was miserable, I'd been happy.

But at the new house, the church playground was practically in our backyard. The first night there, I went out to the swingset. Back and forth. Imagining my new life. Until the rainbow appeared on one side of the sky and the clouds were dipped in gold on the other side.

~~~

Walking back from church sophomore year of college, we would stop by the playground across from my house. I don't think I've seen the pictures my friend took then. But whether kicking the leaves, leaving traces in the snow, or weaving through flowers, I felt as comfortable with his camera then as I ever have. Less self-conscious. More self.

~~~

First year teaching, the swingset was a longer trek. We'd stop by on our way to wander on the woodland path near the town with the decent sized grocery store. The swings were part of our meditation. Remembering the schools we attended. Connecting them to where we taught. Wondering about the chasm between.

~~~

As I watched my feet today, I flash through other swings they've been on. Give them up to the sky. Throw my head as long as I am able. Feel the world rush by.

Classifications

Zac wrote about Google+ and Facebook and putting friends into boxes.

I see the meaning of grouping those to whom I am connected online. Putting all the names in one place at one time makes the collective that much more daunting. It has value on the site, but that value isn’t something I carry around with me in life. When I get the chance to share a meal with Bud, I don’t think to myself, “Bud lives in my friend circle as well as my PLN circle, I will restrict conversation accordingly.”

The best moments are when those circles break, when the people with whom I’ve forged relationships exist in the ever-shifting cloud of relativity, when how I know you isn’t a categorical imperative.

So far my G+ circles (and FB lists for that matter) are based on where I know people from. But the closeness of the friendship, besties vs barelys and everything in between hasn't been monitored. Perhaps because I haven't shared widely enough there. Perhaps because it feels artificial. Perhaps because I know my own Venn Diagrams intersect and loop and morph and move.

At my birthday party this week there will be a dozen (or few dozen) friends. No one will know all of them. (Including myself because it's a joint birthday party and my Venn Diagram overlaps with the birthday boy for "Dancing" and other random people. But we don't even share all of the same dancing people.) Most of the people there are in the "Circle" of my current city. Or my current school. But others are from my past with only the slightest connection to my current life. Enough to know they're in town for the date.

It's funny though. This is one of the few times of the year when I make an effort to introduce my circles. Classmates. School friends. Cohort. (Yes, they're all slightly different.) Dance at school. Monday night dancers. (Again, surprisingly different groups.) Church. College. When I taught. Friends of friends. I classify people in my head right and left. I just don't explicitly tell the Internet Companies what those people mean to me.

Weekend Snapshots

The boyfriend I just met asked how I know his girlfriend. "We met on Twitter." Nope, didn't really know each other before that. Just it's a small group we interact with, so we eventually found each other.

~~~

Sitting in the bar listening to bands play. Chatting with friends and people watching in aticipation. Knowing that once the music changed ever so slightly my crew would descend upon the dance floor. The other people wouldn't know what happened.

~~~

Blueberry picking. And nibbling. And BLUEBERRIES.

~~~

Driving home and playing which is sketchier: the strip club billboards or the fireworks billboards. Strip clubs almost always have exit numbers. The fireworks didn't. And they had fine print that I couldn't see while driving.

~~~

Trying on heels that make me tall.

Not buying them.

~~~

Watching more Being Erica than is probably good for me.

~~~

Random assortment of friends for the Fourth. Spending the most one-on-one time with the one person I hadn't met before.

~~~

New grill working! Deliciousness. Hamburgers. And tofu. And so many sausages. And veggieburgers. And portabellos. And red peppers.

And this salad.

And mint lemonade. And sweet tea. And Arnold Palmer.

~~~

Never actually grilling the ribs.

~~~

Sunset walk by the beach with two of my girlfriends while others tossed the Frisbee.

~~~

Heading to the beach to see fireworks. South. North. And the illegal immediately local.

~~~

Checking out a new dance venue. Staying from the first song through the last.