Dead weight

Sorry, as I delve into a touchy feely subject matter.

For the most part, those who surround me are fantastic people. When I am blue, they send me words of comfort. When I am whiny, they listen. And when it is time to kick back, they are a hell of a lot of fun. But every once in a while you run into a dud. Someone who can suck the life force out you. Sometimes it is because they are boring, sometimes they just stupid, but most oftenly these duds are selfish, too self involved.

It is often hard to say bye to a friend. Normally, things change gradually and you can slowly drift apart. This method is preferred. Every once in a while, well just twice in my lifetime, you have to end things in a dramatic fashion.

I dated someone this year. I thought he was a nice fellow. He was intelligent, fun and a good kisser. But it became rather apparent that he had "issues." He was manipulating, commitment phobic, and incredibly self involved. I thought that made him bad boyfriend material, but perhaps he could be a decent friend.

So I listened to his problems with work, with his family, with his friends and with himself. And there were a lot of them. In the process of empathizing, I was dragging myself down too. Once when he was away on a business trip to Singapore, I asked for a postcard. (postcards are an obsession of mine) This was his email from Singapore:

ok, ET#1 of the postcard collection ET#1. i have now acquired your postcard. mailing it will be another issue - and i cannot yet commit to that. hope all is well. this place is hot and a long way from home. g

Our friendship was a definite one way street. My supposed friend felt overtaxed sending a postcard, literally the only thing I ever asked from him .

I hate being the bad guy, but I guess I had to be. I don't know what triggered it, but I realized that I had had enough. This Monday night, we spoke on the phone; chaos ensued. Apparently, he was dealing with some intense family issues, but it had gotten to the point that while I felt bad, I just could not deal anymore. It is amazing how pent up frustration with someone can spill out oneself. In retrospect, I wish I was more eloquent or witty like in a 30's black and white picture. But the stuff coming out of my mouth was more like a 70's gangster film. At the end of the conversation, he still misunderstood why I was angry. And surprisingly, I am okay with that. I said my piece, and now I am at peace.

Losing a friend should be a sad event. I am sure in the coming weeks I'll spend time wondering if everything worked out okay for him. But it is nice to know that I am no longer responsible for being a surrogate therapist. He once told me that he had five friends he thought he could rely on and I was one of them. Oh well, at least he has four left. No one should be alone, even if they are dead weight.

By the way, I never did get that postcard.

Turkey = crack

Thanksgiving is a perfect holiday. A family gets together, avoids talking by stuffing their face, and then fall asleep in front of the TV watching football.

I have spent very few Thanksgivings with my own family. I always seemed to find myself thousands of miles away during those fall months. Thankfully, I have friends willing to adopt me for the day. I love getting invited to my friends family's house. I love being able to see what made my friend, my friend. I love seeing the commonalities in all familial relationships. Mom is the last to table. Dad is a little quiet. Siblings have loud stories.

The best part of Thanksgiving is the food. Why turkey is saved for just this time of the year I'll never comprehend. When I was a freshman in college I must have gained 5 pounds eating the roasted turkey lunch. But now that I am without the John Jay cafeteria, I can only get turkey once a year. It is not just the turkey. Its all the fantastic sides. Some sides are particular to each individual family. D's family always has two kinds of beet salad. C made his great grandmother Houton's bourbon sweet potatoes. And of course there is stuffing. I often said I can eat my weight in stuffing. Evil Twin #2 has witnessed my obsession with stuffing. Stuffing with added tidbits like chestnuts, sausage, oysters, or prunes. Corn bread dressing is good too, though I prefer if it was cooked in the turkey's cavity.

This year I went to B's house. Outside there was a light dusting of snow, reminding me that the less appealing holiday of Christmas was around the corner. All the ingredients for a perfect day was there. The meal was delicious, B's mom's citrus fall salad was a hit. While most of the family left the dinner table after only one serving , B, S and I hunkered down for a marathon of eating. We ate a frightening amount of turkey and sides. We ate a frightening amount of desserets. And when S and I took a little break from the gluttony, we poured ourselves a bottle of wine. When seats in the living room opened up, we grabbed a little of that precious couch space. B spent his time bemoaning his stomach could not digest fast enough. Buzzed and full of turkey, S and I took a little nap.

Thanksgiving is definately my favorite holiday. I have eaten the last of the turkey that I packed up on Thursday. The weird thing is that I want more. I am considering going to Stop and Shop and buying a ten pound Butterball. Yup, I think I am addicted.

The Game: a girl's perspective

I am not a physically attractive woman. I write this not to gain pity or fish for false compliments, it is simply a fact. Which is why I find it ever amusing that when I am in the mood to go out, I have never had a problem picking up men. It's easy getting a free drink off a guy, no matter how good looking he may be. But how does this happen? Men, when at a bar with their buds, are essentially shallow and not looking for a girl's personality. Are bars so dimly lit and beer goggles so thick that they just assume that I am a hottie? Is it that heterosexual men are extremely unselective and hit on anything that have breasts?

Recently, a book called "The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists" has hit the New York Bestsellers list. It is a book about how a balding unattractive man was able to get any woman by mastering pick-up techniques. Don't get me wrong, Mr. Strauss is not a stellar writer and his book loses its focus with a sappy love story, but the idea that getting the attention of the opposite sex can be distilled into a few moves is facinating.

So here are some techniques I use and therefore want to share with my readers. These rules only apply to the bar scene, so alcohol plays a big proponent of it. (I am still working on the gym/coffee house/bookstore pick-up.)

- Go out with only one or two friends. More than that and your posse is too intimidating.

- Don't dress too hoochie. Try to keep it simple, it gives you an aura of cool.

- To get a drink, you need to have a drink in you hand. So there is always the initial investment of one drink.

- Choose you drink appropriately. Check out what the bar is like. If all the guys are drinking a bottle of Bud, drink beer. Drink wine at restaurant or hotel bars, and cocktails at yuppie theme bars.

- If the place is crowded, sit at the bar. You and your friend should face each other or outward, never towards the bar. This position creates a space that looks open and allows for high foot traffic towards your position. Men will try to order drinks between you and your friend. Help him get the bartenders attention, if he is worth your time.

- Never look bored, and smile a lot.

- Be bold. You can interupt the conversation of a group of guy three or less. The best "in" is to start talking to either the shortest or the ugliest guy in the group. This man is the most vunerable and his buds are there trying to help him out. In the end, the good looking guy will ask you for your number, because he is confused why you don't want him and he thinks you are nice.

- Initially, offer to buy you own drink. Don't worry, it is just a play because he will say every time "No, I go it."

- Be lady like, at least in the beginning. Leave making out on the dance floor to sometime after midnight.

- When he asks for your number pretend you do not have a pen or a purse. Let him sweat it out a bit. Normally, you end up with his business card, a good record of your night's conquest.

Of course, it takes a while to perfect these techniques. Between Mr. Strauss's readers and this blogs readers soon the bars will only be filled with average looking people hitting on each other. Frightening. 'Til then enjoy. Please remember practice makes perfect and this knowledge should only be used for evil and not true love.

Playing Dress Up

The other night's event did not go as I had expected. Not that I didn't enjoy the evening, it just wasn't quite what I had in mind. First off, it was pouring down rain when it was time to head out -- our cars were scheduled for 6:15, I didn't get into one until 7:00. There were 9 of us going in 3 cars, and I was in the last car to leave. The ride up was . . . interesting as I shared it with the quietest man in the world ("QM"). I gave up on small talk after approximately 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes of complete silence followed. When we pulled up to the Met, the grand staircase that leads to the main the entrance was completely covered in scaffolding. It was more claustrophobic than grand.

I sprinted up the stairs holding my dress (I opted for the long velvet number -- Mamacita, if only I had read your comment earlier, I would have gone with the blazer and skirt!) so as not to drag it along the wet marble. They were in the middle of the cocktail hour when we walked in. Instead of harried tourists and old ladies ambling about the entrance hall, there were about 500 people dressed in black-tie and evening gowns sipping cocktails. I liked that they turned the information booth into a bar that was lined with rows and rows of wine glasses. The ledge that usually props up maps and pamphlets made an excellent catch basin for spilled drinks. We were supposed to be able to get a private tour of the Van Gogh special exhibit, but we got there too late (thanks, Odyssey car-service) and I was forced to make small talk with a bunch of seemingly important people instead.

It was an interesting mix of real estate types -- developers, architects, politicians, and some lawyers. I got to meet Senator Alfonse D'Amato (although I really had no idea who he was, I thought he was just some bald guy that smiled alot) and Gifford Miller (not sure what he's going to do now after his failed mayoral bid), David Childs (an architect at Skidmore, Owings & Merril who is working on the re-design of the Freedom Tower), and a bunch of other people whose names escape me. I got a bit toasted on a few glasses of red wine -- yummy stuff, this was no 2 Buck Chuck. The dinner itself was in the Sackler Wing, in the the room that houses the Temple of Dendur. For those of you that are not familiar with that room, it contains portions of an ancient Egyptian temple that was given to the US by Egypt back in the 1960's when they were constructing the Aswan High Dam (the temple was in the way). The temple sits on a raised platform that is surrounded by water. The museum had surrounded the "moat" with hundreds of votives and the candle light reflected off the water and helped light the room. Absolutely beautiful. I wonder if when they were designing this space they planned for it to be a possible party area. The food was good, the wine even better. I guess for $3,000 a plate, they had to keep us well fed/inebriated. I think the bottomless glasses of wine had a lot to do with what followed.

We were at Table 40, near the head table. I had assumed that I would sit with members of my old group (we defected as a group from our old firm), but it was actually formal seating and I was seated between QM and the partner that heads up the other half of our super-specialized group. He's a scary guy ("SG") -- one of those people that can be super nice one minute and then screaming at you for being an idiot the next. He hasn't yelled at me. . . yet. Anyway, SG was seated to my right and in between our fish course and entrée he turns to me, takes me by the elbow and says, "I just had to tell you. . . I have to watch what I say in this group, I don't want to get in trouble. . . I think your dress is lovely. A lot of these women look like they're going to the prom. You look understated and elegant." And then he told me that one of the nicest things his ex had said about him was that "for a straight man, he had excellent taste". Huh?? I laughed (nervously) and said, "Actually, this dress is one that I wore to my high school homecoming dance; I just bought a new top to wear over it. This is actually my first black-tie event ever." At that point, SG started to raise his wine glass and wanted to make a toast to me. I convinced him not to. Later that evening, SG felt the need to make sure that I got a cab (even though there were abouta dozen of them lined up outside of the Met), taking me by the elbow and escorting me down the grand staircase, telling me to "be careful, it's very slippery". In my head I thought, "why are you touching me?"

He got soaked, I hopped into a cab and made my way back to el barrio. This reminds me of the time that one of my supervisors during a job I had back in college tried to get me to move in with him. But, that's a story for another day. I don't know why I always seem to attract the freaks. . .

Fashion Emergency!

I am going to my first real black-tie affair this evening. It's being held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art -- in the room that houses the Temple of Dendur. I am pretty excited to go, but at the same time having a minor panic attack over what to wear to the event--so much so that I schlepped 3 outfits in a very crowded garment bag into work this morning.

Here are my options:

1. Long (not floor length, stops right above the ankle), black velvet dress that has a high neckline and spaghetti straps - similar to a halter style on top - to be worn with a cropped sequined capelet on top, and held closed with a (fake) diamond-like art nouveau style pin.

My fear is that the fakeness of everything will be apparent. BF seemed to like this outfit, but it seems a bit prom-ish to me.

2. Black velvet H&M jacket to be worn with the above-mentioned pin on the lapel, with a black cap-sleeved top with satin trim beneath, and peacock blue multilayered satin skirt that hits about 2 inches below the knee.

While this is the most modern/sophisticated of the three ensembles, my fear is that it is not formal enough.

3. Black chiffon dress with some sequins in a geometric pattern (a bargain from Filene's basement at only $39.99) that hits mid-calf (unfortunate).

This one is not that flattering and seems more "cocktail" than black-tie, plus, I forgot my shawl so I will probably freeze to death. However, it is a "black dress" and I doubt that anyone would fault me for showing up in it.

Help!!

Evil Twin #1's A Series of Fortunate Events

When life hands you lemons, you can make lemonade or even better you can completely ignore they exist and wait until next week. The past week was horrific due to a dastardly individual who was supposed to help my scholarly pursuits, but instead decided ethics be damned and to see what would happen if he started researching what I am researching. I am not so great at office politics, so I spent much of the week just sulking.

Luckily, I had planned a Friday night with D&H. What a perfect way to ignore my ever depressing work life. D&H have just recently been married and have moved to an affordable condo in an up and coming suburb of Boston (minutes away from the new IKEA). Just minutes from the commuter rail line, D&H came out to meet me at the station. Friday night in Boston is noisy with college kids, but it was quiet in the cul-de-sac of condos. Inside D&H gave me a grand tour, and H said to me "Do you want to see the best part of this place?" He opened some slatted doors to reveal a washer and dryer. I suddenly had visions of not having to drag my laundry to the next building through the snow. Yes, H, I agree that it is a bonus. D was cooking up quite a storm, and I drank my beer as I watched her slave over a home cooked meal. Delicious healthy soup, rice and turkey gave me a sense of calm and I kind of felt that peace you get when you are home. After eating way too much we settled down for a movie.

"Lemony Snickett's A Series of Unfortunate Events" is a tale of gutsy children who overcome horrible tragedies. Slightly scary, the movie made me realize that my life was the exact opposite. For the most part, my life has been a series of very fortunate events, like being invited for a sleepover at friends' apartment when I needed some distance from work.

The next morning D,H, and I went to IHOP. I know this may sound a little odd, but I had never been to an IHOP before. Denny's, yes; IHOP, no. I ordered the International breakfast mainly so I could tell people I ate Swedish pancakes with lingonberries. (I was tempted to get the Rooty Tooty Fresh and fruity, but chickened out.)

I went back to work refreshed that afternoon, when a different friend D invited me out to lunner. Sure. We went to the ever hip South End and chatted over soup and decadent desserts. In order to burn the inordinate number of calories, we and ingested we walked around window shopping for our mutual friend's wedding. Inside Shreve, Crump & Low, there was a sale on jewelry. Three thousand dollars for a diamond encrusted pendant, what a steal! Except it was hideous so don't think it could be stolen even if the display case was wide open.

Saturday night, I went to the Beacon Hill Pub for my friend's C's birthday. It was quite the reunion as M, who has been hiding in Attleboro after Hurricane Katrina long story, came out to play. Two dollar beers is a great inducer of bad behavior and a little bad behavior is what I was in the mood for. I convinced M to circle the bar with me to hit on the frat boy/ meat head clientele. When that failed, I moved on to helping A find perky blonde girls to hit on. Yes, I am back, kids. I should mention that this was the first time I had ever met A. When all the other coupled people left, it was only A and I hanging out. At some point I was so drunk that I thought he left without me so I took off. This lead me to write the following drunken e-mail to him as soon as I got home.

hi a,
i am slightly inebriated but i thought i should shoot you an e-mail to tell you that i was serious about the hanging out part. i don't know what happened with meagan at the bar but i can only hope for good things.
i hope to hear from you soon becaue it is always nice to meet single people in the city.
-evil twin #1

Luckily, A was not too offended and e-mailed me this Monday morning. Yay, new friend!

Well, it is Monday morning. I know I have to talk to the dastardly individual. I have been bolstered by good will from a good weekend. See when life hands you lemons, ignore them and pelt the SOB with them on Monday.

Affirmation. . .

Nice to know I made the right choice...

You Should Get a JD (Juris Doctor)

You're logical, driven, and ruthless. You'd make a mighty fine lawyer.

What Advanced Degree Should You Get?

Vindication

As Evil Twin #1 has pointed out, I have been slacking when it comes to posting lately. The reason for this? Work has been crazy lately. Without getting into specifics, opposing counsel on one of the deals that I have been working on has been driving me insane. Why and how one might ask? Because opposing counsel (the "f*cking whore" or "FW" as I like to think of her) thinks that just because she is a partner she can treat me (a lowly associate whose admission to the NY Bar is still pending) like absolute crap. FW is one of those people that likes to shift the blame -- especially when it is her fault. She seemed nice enough in the beginning, apologizing for leaving early to pick up her 5 year old son when we were supposed to be finalizing the documents. I didn't hold it against her. . . at that time. Then I got her first round of comments. She was obviously not a zoning lawyer as her comments were really stupid. I mean, I am only a third year and even I don't make those sorts of comments.

An example: Change "as referred to herein" to "as referred to in this Agreement".

Herein MEANS in this Agreement. Come on lady. Give me some substantive comments!!

After making many dumb changes in the document just to shut her up, FW responded to the entire working group (including my client and her client, our respective co-counsel and the lender) that "At a quick glance, there are still items not included that were asked for 2 drafts ago. Please give me a call to discuss." WTF?? I gave her everything that she wanted, except for stuff that was obviously wrong. I even corrected many of HER drafting mistakes. The purchase price was supposed to be $17 Million Dollars. She said that I got it wrong and that it is supposed to be $1.7 Million Dollars. Umm... OK. If you say so. As anyone who knows me really well will affirm, you really don't want to get on my bad side. Partner or not, I wanted to shoot her. But I digress, the "items not included" were things that we had already discussed and that I explained why it was stupid to include in our last call. My favorite part is when she was getting all worked up and said that I failed to include something that I said I would and I said, "See Section 6." Then she got all quiet. Whenever I mention her name to our co-counsel his response is to sigh loudly, pause and then say, "What a dip." Our co-counsel is 78 years old, this explains why he uses the word dip as an insult.

Anyway, we finally signed the contract today -- we were supposed to sign everything up yesterday, but FW wasn't able to get her act together. Since she was such a fan of using the reply to all button, I drafted an e-mail to everyone that said:

[FW], please advise as to whether [completely unnecessary language that you are requesting, but my client has agreed to because he wants to end this painful experience] should be included in the Agreement. Also, since it is after 4:00, the wire will have to go out tomorrow morning. Thanks [to your incompetence the money will not go out until tomorrow and your client needs it more than my client does, hah!].

Today I decided to play a waiting game to see if she would ever get in touch with me. Veteran's Day is a bank holiday and we would have to fund by 4:00 pm or else the wire would have to wait until Monday. Both of our clients have been anxious to close and FW has been passively aggressively been blaming me for dragging the deal along.

3:30 PM: I send FW an e-mail (cc'ing the entire group) asking her to forward her client's signature on the contract so that I could release the wire. No response.

3:45 PM: I call FW to remind her that the banks will be closed on Friday. She freaks and hangs up on me, right after telling me that she will have the associate that has now been staffed on the deal with her to PDF it to me.

3:51 PM: Still nothing.

3:53 PM: I receive signatures, but they are to the WRONG agreement! Ha! I am loving this. I reply to all and say that these are for the wrong agreement, please send the pages to the correct agreement.

3:55 PM: FW replies to all and e-mails her associate "Get her the right pages NOW!!! Thanks."

3:57 PM: I call our client to get the wire ready, but tell them to wait until I actually receive a copy of the executed page.

3:59 PM: I receive the page, the wire goes out. FW looks like an ass. Hurrah!

Hmm...

I dyed my hair this color back in junior high. You really couldn't tell, though.

Your Hair Should Be Blue

Wild, brilliant, and out of control. You're a risk taker with an eye to the future.

What's Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

While we wait for Evil Twin #2 ......

So I checked a list of our postings and realized that ET#2 has a started 2 different postings and has yet to post them. What joyous tales we all could be reading. In the meantime, here is my latest story.

Yesterday, at about 5:30pm I was doing what I am always doing at 5:30pm. I was sitting at my desk reading the BBC News headlines, and waiting for one of my labmates to finish up in the cell culture hoods. Another constant in the lab, besides my procrastination, is the ever present noise, the whir of refridgerators, shakers, and other equipment. Anyway it is 5:30pm and the sun has set now that daylight savings is finished. All of a sudden all the lights go out. Pitch black and silent. I freaked out a little. J told me to get a grip. So I did. The emergency generator kicked in, and the creepy fluorescent emergency lights flooded the hallway, but the labs and offices were still silent and dark. First order of business was to make sure that all the necessary equipment was connected to emergency generator oulets. Members from the lab next door, joined us in checking everything.

After we were assured that most of our essentials were okay, V and I went exploring. There was the distinct smell of burnt rubber in one stairwell, so we decided to check out the other. When we got to the second floor, we realized that people were being evacuated from the building. Odd. In the twenty minutes we were upstairs, we did not hear a single announcement over the emergency PA system, nor did we see a single person come up to warn us. In a sick twisted sense of logic, V and I went back upstairs so that we could stay with our experiments just in case power was not restored. We were afraid that once we were kicked out of the building it would be impossible to reenter. So for another 20 minutes. 4 of us, J, V, my boss Z, and I sat in the dark chatting. I put my phone under my chin and use the light to freak out V. Childish. Yes. Hilarious. Yes.

Anyway I went home early last night. Sitting in the dark lost its appeal. Finally, got a legitimate reason for having less work done.

Side note: 1) Security assumed any sane person would have left a dark building and did not realize the need for an announcement. 2) Two turbines broke simultaneously. Perhaps scientific intrigue?

Natural uppers

Last week I was feeling blue. But being the proactive individual that I am and I decided to take action to snap my mood. Maybe I should gone to a psychiatrist, but that could have taken years and unburied more neurosis that should stay stuffed way in the corner of my mind. No, I decided to take matters into my own hands and follow some solid advice.

- Stay active - I attended book club, and actually discussed book. Was forced to watch "the Biggest Loser." Was grateful that I did not cry as much as Matt. Went out on Friday and to birthday party on Saturday.

- Don't isolate yourself from loved ones - Recieved a phone call from Boo all the way in England. Talked for a long time about her wedding arrangements and opera singing education. Visited friends to watch cable TV. Unfortunately, cable sucks and watched "Rookie of the Year" on ABC Family, but the company was excellent.

- Shoes - Went to DSW with V. Bought a pair of burgundy velvet heels. Very cute, very impractical. Spent much of the night walking around apartment in painful shoes dreaming of possible outfits.

- Get a minor ego boost - Girl's night on Friday. Ate dessert in a restaurant bar, partially spying on a couple on their first date. Went to a really cheesy club. Did not have to pay for cover because S impressed the bouncer with her exotic ID. At the next bar, got hit on by a magician, a definite first for ET#1.

- Remember good times - The lyrics to a Counting Crows's song reads "On certain Sundays in November/When the weather bothers me/I empty drawers of other summer's/Where my shadows used to be." I took these lyrics literally. I found a sweatshirt given to me by Mike L. after a crew race. Part of crew tradition is to throw the coxswain into the river after winning a race. It was cold that day, and I had not brought a warm enough change of clothes. He felt bad, so gave me his favorite sweatshirt for the bus ride home. Obviously I never returned it. Looked ridiculous is XXL sweatshirt, but wore it around town all day.

- Give a little love back - Went to go visit patients at local hospital. Read the paper outloud to nice man getting or got his (it was unclear) gall bladder removed. Avoided NY times Magazine, just in case more installations of Maureen Dowd's essay on Modern women were included. Sang to my niece over the phone.

The truth is I am still a little blue, but I am far from bursting into tears. Thanks so much for all your support. I promise, back to drunken exploits next week.

Still crying

Normally, I try not to wallow in my self pity too long, but it seems this time I have dug myself in quite deep and am having a hard time climbing out. The worst part is that I have been pretty proactive about ending it. Last night, I went to book club and chatted about "The Master Butchers' Singing Club." I thought my emotional funk was done.

This morning I woke up, did my morning calisthenics, ate a breakfast of bread, yogurt, cherries, and organic yerbe mate tea. The sun was shining and I even watched Regis and Kelly do a little of their host chat. Normally, on a beautiful day like this I would bike to school, but having gone out a lot the past few days all my bikes were already in the school cages. Well, a walk in cool autumn morning would be pleasant too. I put on my headphones and turned on my Zillion. I was smiling. Smiling thinking about how pretty New England can be in the fall.

Then it happened. Keane's song "Everybody's changing" came on. For some reason, I decided to pay attention to the lyrics. Waterworks ensued. I tried to stop crying, but I could not. Change the song! So I did and the next song was "Everybody gets what they deserve." Yikes. Jem's "Its just a ride." Fast forward. The Shins "Young Pilgrams." This song makes no sense, but I was such a mess that I started reading things into it. Next. Chris Isaak's "Somebody's crying." Are your kidding? Is random shuffle choosing only depressing music? What happened to all the Enrique Inglesias bubble gum crap I uploaded last week?

As I am walking wiping away tears in a busy intersection full of pedestrians, frantically skipping to the next song I came to an epiphany. The much maligned pop station KISS 108 should not be. Hookin' up in da club, shake yo thang mama, and stickwitu, would have been welcomed words this morning.

Okay from now on, no more tears. There is a full moon tonight. Maybe I need to go howl at it.