"I'm leaving by midnight." Yeah right. The dj will play Elvis and the next thing you know it's 1 am … then 1:30 am … you get the picture. Now, if you're a night-lifer, who also has a day job, there's plenty you can do to fake the 8 hours of good sleep you didn't get. (Hey, it's not your fault you were called to the bar by a higher power.)
When you didn't have steady work, going to the bar for cheap beers on Monday night was a good idea. But, now that you have a great job, you've decided to be a responsible adult and go to bed at 11 pm. Then again, we all need a little tradition every once in a while. So, when your alarm scares you awake at 7:30 am, here's how you pull yourself together.
As soon as you get out of bed, grab your favorite pain killer. You may not have a headache at the moment, but rush hour on the train will create one. Stop it before it starts. After drinking a gallon of water, you'll be ready to put on your work appropriate make up. On days like this, go with a little mascara and a bright red lip. You see, the lip color distracts people from looking at your droopy eyes. Plus, red lips just make you look like a woman in charge. Even though I usually stay away from adding additional eye make up (besides mascara) on days like this, sometimes a small amount of gold eyeshadow in the inside corner of your eyes really makes you look perky.
Now, accomplish the same attitude with your outfit. There is something about a blazer that looks professional, yet relaxed. My go-to is an off-white, almost tuxedo style blazer. The key is to wear something you don't typically wear. See, I always wear black, so putting on something that deviates from my fashion norm shocks and excites me. Plus, people will notice that it's not something you would typically wear and you'll receive compliments. Just like the lipstick trick, people will be distracted from any looks of death that may be on your face. But, make sure you don't look like you tried too hard … that screams "I feel terrible, but look how fancy I am with my matching dress, shoes and nail polish."
Since the sweat from your dancing binge most likely ruined your hair, get out the dry shampoo and fix any out of control pieces with the curling iron. If you're running short on time (a likely possibility), then screw it. That's why the ponytail was invented.
I can't speak for everyone, but my favorite hang out has a certain smell to it. Personally, I love it. It's safe and familiar … like walking into mom's kitchen after she bakes chocolate chip cookies. OK, not at all, but you're following, right? Even though you know the stench lingering in your hair is from the bar, to everyone else you just stink. Get out your favorite perfume, but don't go overboard. A couple sprays will do, no French bath needed.
On your commute to work, it's very important to listen to music that wakes you up and makes you happy. It's not a good idea to fall asleep on the train/bus. You'll probably miss your stop since you'll be half sleeping and half passed out. If you drive to work, blast the AC and pretend your dashboard is a piano (Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis is the best dash piano song. Ever.)
Finally, you're at work. If your place of employment has coffee, drink a few cups (if not, get some … this is NYC, there's one coffee shop to every blonde-haired girl). Obviously it's going to help, and by 11:45 am, you'll feel pretty normal. But don't be fooled. In less than an hour you'll want to rest your head on your keyboards space bar and take a nap. This is where snacking helps. Pour a small bowl of cheerios. Don't add milk … instead eat them one by one. It will take a long time to finish them, and during that time you will be awake (instead of doing that head nod/jerk thing that happens when you close your eyes for a second).
Once you've made it past 2 pm, you're golden. There's always more coffee, more cheerios and red lipstick. Most importantly, you spent a night with people you love, dancing to your favorite songs and singing out loud … all with a whiskey in hand. And now you have a reason to put on that outfit you love, but don't wear enough.
In five years you won't remember how many cups of coffee you had those Tuesday mornings, but I bet you'll remember those Monday nights.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Airport Etiquette
After coming back from a trip to Wisconsin, I realized the times I was the most annoyed were at the airport. It's not that difficult … but some people just don't know how to behave. So, here's a short manual on the topic. Take notes. Please.
Before the plane.
As soon as you get to the airport, know what you need to do, and what line you should be in. Did you check-in online? If so, it's not a good idea to stand in the "check-in" line with your party of 15, when you've already gone through the process. If you're like me, and early for everything, be nice and ask the people behind you what flight they are on. If it's before yours, let them go ahead of you. You'd appreciate it if you were running late, so let them in on the feeling. Plus, do you really want to sit at Gate D53, listening to 23 cell conversations longer than you have to?
Now, really pay attention here. I'm going to talk about the security checkpoints. This is where people get really rude. It takes a lot for me to not hit people with those plastic bins that you have to put your shit in. First of all, nobody has shoes on. Make sure you don't drop your 39 pound carry-on bag on someone's foot. That's going to hurt and will probably result in some yelling and cursing. Then, TSA employees come over and have to calm down the person with the throbbing foot. Basically, I'm saying it's not a good idea to drop your suitcase on someone's bare foot. If it happens, please apologize. Duh.
Next, when you get all of your stuff into the plastic bins, be patient. Don't push and shove your bins. Relax … your turn will come. If you're in that much of a hurry, then maybe you need to get your ass to the airport 30 minutes earlier. And, if you're just being an asshole, stop for the five minutes it takes to get through the x-ray machine.
Even if you were up at 3 am for your flight, don't pack all of your 8 and 12 oz. fluids in your carry on. First of all, you look like a fool. Secondly, you may be placed in one of those glass cages while they search your bag … since you're now a security threat. All of this because you put your hairspray, nail clippers and nail polish remover (which is flammable) in your carry on bag. Sometimes, it's just a matter of simple thinking.
When you're eliminated as a threat, you're on your way to finding out if your flight is actually on time. If it is, then great … wait to board, get on the aircraft and be happy. But, if there's a delay, don't have a temper tantrum. If your nine-year-old daughter is behaving better than you, there's a problem. And just because you're bored and frustrated, don't call up your cell phone company and complain about every time your phone locks up. It's not the time and place for that. No one wants to hear your bitching. Browse Facebook, Twitter, download a few apps … just be quiet.
On the Plane.
Once you are actually on the plane (Alleluia), hold your bags in a position so they're not hitting every person you pass. Trust me, a leather briefcase in someone's jaw is not how a plane ride should begin … for anyone. If you are traveling alone and you're safely sitting in your window seat 14F, check to see if anyone around you is separated from their friends/family. If giving up your seat would make it possible for a father to sit with his son, then do it. It will be worth it when you see how excited the little boy gets over a window seat.
During the trip, be nice to the flight attendants. Think of all the jerks they deal with each day … people making ridiculous complaints about putting too much ice in their tomato juice, or people who insist on getting up the last five minutes of the flight to piss (when they've had the past two hours to do so). Just sit, with your seatbelt on and play the air drums. I don't know … it helps me.
When the time has come to get off the plane and all you want is a beer, make sure you carefully remove your bag from the overhead storage bins. That 39 pound suitcase is also going to hurt if you drop it on someone's head … and you don't want to ruin anyone's good hair day, now do you?
Off the plane.
There's not a lot you can mess up at this point. But, if you have to go to the bathroom, don't piss all over the toilet. (Yes, women, this is for you.) Maybe you need to work on your thigh muscles more so you can achieve and master the piss squat. Whatever you have to do, just do it … there is no reason that urine should be all over the seat. Now, I have this down. I go to dive bars where you wouldn't dare let your skin touch the toilet seats. I have perfected my piss squat. Like Kelis, I can teach you … but I have to charge.
Oh, and don't take any luggage unless it's yours. I know … everyone has red or black suitcases. Do something to make yours stand out. I always tie a flashy scarf around the handles of my luggage. But, don't use a scarf you're in love with (like your $760 Hermes or even your $12 H&M scarf) … just in case it gets lost.
Now go fly. Properly.
Before the plane.
As soon as you get to the airport, know what you need to do, and what line you should be in. Did you check-in online? If so, it's not a good idea to stand in the "check-in" line with your party of 15, when you've already gone through the process. If you're like me, and early for everything, be nice and ask the people behind you what flight they are on. If it's before yours, let them go ahead of you. You'd appreciate it if you were running late, so let them in on the feeling. Plus, do you really want to sit at Gate D53, listening to 23 cell conversations longer than you have to?
Now, really pay attention here. I'm going to talk about the security checkpoints. This is where people get really rude. It takes a lot for me to not hit people with those plastic bins that you have to put your shit in. First of all, nobody has shoes on. Make sure you don't drop your 39 pound carry-on bag on someone's foot. That's going to hurt and will probably result in some yelling and cursing. Then, TSA employees come over and have to calm down the person with the throbbing foot. Basically, I'm saying it's not a good idea to drop your suitcase on someone's bare foot. If it happens, please apologize. Duh.
Next, when you get all of your stuff into the plastic bins, be patient. Don't push and shove your bins. Relax … your turn will come. If you're in that much of a hurry, then maybe you need to get your ass to the airport 30 minutes earlier. And, if you're just being an asshole, stop for the five minutes it takes to get through the x-ray machine.
Even if you were up at 3 am for your flight, don't pack all of your 8 and 12 oz. fluids in your carry on. First of all, you look like a fool. Secondly, you may be placed in one of those glass cages while they search your bag … since you're now a security threat. All of this because you put your hairspray, nail clippers and nail polish remover (which is flammable) in your carry on bag. Sometimes, it's just a matter of simple thinking.
When you're eliminated as a threat, you're on your way to finding out if your flight is actually on time. If it is, then great … wait to board, get on the aircraft and be happy. But, if there's a delay, don't have a temper tantrum. If your nine-year-old daughter is behaving better than you, there's a problem. And just because you're bored and frustrated, don't call up your cell phone company and complain about every time your phone locks up. It's not the time and place for that. No one wants to hear your bitching. Browse Facebook, Twitter, download a few apps … just be quiet.
On the Plane.
Once you are actually on the plane (Alleluia), hold your bags in a position so they're not hitting every person you pass. Trust me, a leather briefcase in someone's jaw is not how a plane ride should begin … for anyone. If you are traveling alone and you're safely sitting in your window seat 14F, check to see if anyone around you is separated from their friends/family. If giving up your seat would make it possible for a father to sit with his son, then do it. It will be worth it when you see how excited the little boy gets over a window seat.
During the trip, be nice to the flight attendants. Think of all the jerks they deal with each day … people making ridiculous complaints about putting too much ice in their tomato juice, or people who insist on getting up the last five minutes of the flight to piss (when they've had the past two hours to do so). Just sit, with your seatbelt on and play the air drums. I don't know … it helps me.
When the time has come to get off the plane and all you want is a beer, make sure you carefully remove your bag from the overhead storage bins. That 39 pound suitcase is also going to hurt if you drop it on someone's head … and you don't want to ruin anyone's good hair day, now do you?
Off the plane.
There's not a lot you can mess up at this point. But, if you have to go to the bathroom, don't piss all over the toilet. (Yes, women, this is for you.) Maybe you need to work on your thigh muscles more so you can achieve and master the piss squat. Whatever you have to do, just do it … there is no reason that urine should be all over the seat. Now, I have this down. I go to dive bars where you wouldn't dare let your skin touch the toilet seats. I have perfected my piss squat. Like Kelis, I can teach you … but I have to charge.
Oh, and don't take any luggage unless it's yours. I know … everyone has red or black suitcases. Do something to make yours stand out. I always tie a flashy scarf around the handles of my luggage. But, don't use a scarf you're in love with (like your $760 Hermes or even your $12 H&M scarf) … just in case it gets lost.
Now go fly. Properly.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
One Rule All Women Should Live By
I don't care what you do to earn your money. I don't care what neighborhood you live in, or if you have fancy clothes and go to the most privileged clubs. All that matters is you're doing what you want … and because it's who you are. That being said, women need to throw out any and all rule books and live by this:
Never change who you are … for anyone, or for anything.
So, you don't think you're normal. Great. Embrace everything non-normal about you. The people that belong in your life will love every ounce of it. Screw the rest.
So, you don't want to laugh at some guys joke when he's sitting at the dinner table with you. Don't. Laughter comes from the heart, not from the girl in college who told you to laugh at every word a man says … even if it's not funny.
So, you like little bars with bad lighting and cheap drinks … opposed to clubs where you pay $30 to get in and sip on a $22 drink. Good for you. You don't have to go to places where you don't enjoy yourself just because people tell you to branch out and meet a "nice" guy.
If you aren't doing what you want and not being who you are, the friends you make and the man who falls in love with you, will really care about the persona you have created. At that point, it must be quite hard to keep up the show, in order to keep those people in your life.
Do what you want and be who you are. Your friends will love you for you (not your shoe collection … half of which you don't even like). The man that falls in love with you wouldn't want you to laugh at his lame joke. He'd probably rather have you laugh at him for telling it in the first place.
It's not an enjoyable life if you're trying so hard to not be yourself. You are who you are for a reason.
Fuck the people who want you to change.
Never change who you are … for anyone, or for anything.
So, you don't think you're normal. Great. Embrace everything non-normal about you. The people that belong in your life will love every ounce of it. Screw the rest.
So, you don't want to laugh at some guys joke when he's sitting at the dinner table with you. Don't. Laughter comes from the heart, not from the girl in college who told you to laugh at every word a man says … even if it's not funny.
So, you like little bars with bad lighting and cheap drinks … opposed to clubs where you pay $30 to get in and sip on a $22 drink. Good for you. You don't have to go to places where you don't enjoy yourself just because people tell you to branch out and meet a "nice" guy.
If you aren't doing what you want and not being who you are, the friends you make and the man who falls in love with you, will really care about the persona you have created. At that point, it must be quite hard to keep up the show, in order to keep those people in your life.
Do what you want and be who you are. Your friends will love you for you (not your shoe collection … half of which you don't even like). The man that falls in love with you wouldn't want you to laugh at his lame joke. He'd probably rather have you laugh at him for telling it in the first place.
It's not an enjoyable life if you're trying so hard to not be yourself. You are who you are for a reason.
Fuck the people who want you to change.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
You'll Never Change A Free Bird
Ladies … don't ever fall in love with a free bird. It's not going to work out. He's not going to wine and dine you. He's not going to want to take time out of his schedule to get to know you. You won't be gushing about him to your girlfriends. Instead, you'll be venting and asking a whole bunch of "what the hell is his problem?"
Actually, as much as it may suck to hear this, it's not really his problem. (Unless he's jerked you around for months pretending to be serious … then he's just an asshole.) It usually goes as follows. You fall for this dreamy guy … the one that's just your type. At first he likes the attention, but as soon as you want something more, he'll go all "I'm not good in relationships" on you. You can huff and puff all you want, but he's probably being honest.
For some reason these men want to be unattached. They feel like they have to in order to accomplish something. Maybe they're selfish … or maybe they're just trying to save great women from getting their hopes crushed.
I've been there with these types of guys. They're not jerks, they just know what they want. And, to put it bluntly, it's not a woman. That doesn't mean you are any less than amazing … and he knows that. Trust. It's been said before, and I'll say it again, "Never give your all to someone who doesn't want it."
Now, if you prefer the Rock n' Roll version, Lynyrd Skynyrd said it best, even though it took about nine minutes to get it out (granted, an amazing guitar solo takes up some time). The lyrics read, "Cause I'm as free as a bird now … and this bird you cannot change."
But, here's the key. You must know the difference between the free birds and the ones who wouldn't mind being caged up with you once in a while.
Actually, as much as it may suck to hear this, it's not really his problem. (Unless he's jerked you around for months pretending to be serious … then he's just an asshole.) It usually goes as follows. You fall for this dreamy guy … the one that's just your type. At first he likes the attention, but as soon as you want something more, he'll go all "I'm not good in relationships" on you. You can huff and puff all you want, but he's probably being honest.
For some reason these men want to be unattached. They feel like they have to in order to accomplish something. Maybe they're selfish … or maybe they're just trying to save great women from getting their hopes crushed.
I've been there with these types of guys. They're not jerks, they just know what they want. And, to put it bluntly, it's not a woman. That doesn't mean you are any less than amazing … and he knows that. Trust. It's been said before, and I'll say it again, "Never give your all to someone who doesn't want it."
Now, if you prefer the Rock n' Roll version, Lynyrd Skynyrd said it best, even though it took about nine minutes to get it out (granted, an amazing guitar solo takes up some time). The lyrics read, "Cause I'm as free as a bird now … and this bird you cannot change."
But, here's the key. You must know the difference between the free birds and the ones who wouldn't mind being caged up with you once in a while.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Products that Help a Woman Survive the Heat … and Look Beautiful Doing It.
One of the reasons I loathe summer weather is what it does to my hair. When you have naturally curly/wavy hair, the humidity can make your hair so big that people in Texas can see it. After many trips to Ricky's NYC, I found a couple of genius products.
2. Hair products that lock out humidity.
Year-round, I swear by my cheap, drugstore color-care shampoo, but my summer conditioner is the Keratin line from Rusk. This Keratin stuff is amazing. It's a little bit more pricey than drugstore options (it sells for around $17), but it's definitely worth it. It locks out humidity and leaves my hair manageable and easier to style. Because it's sodium free, it helps maintain the smooth and straight memory of your hair. This is key when it's 5 million degrees … who wants to be using a hot straightener in this weather?
Check it out: Rusk Deepshine Keratin Smoothing Conditioner
In addition to the conditioner, I also picked up an oil treatment by Rusk. This product, Rusk Sensories Wellness Heal Repair Drops with Organic Argan Oil, penetrates your hair and leaves it silky smooth. After one use, my hair wasn't course and frizzy like it usually is in the humidity. Plus, it's completely organic … for all you people who swear by everything organic. Oh, and it's color-safe … and sells for around $6.00. It may be a little bottle (1 fl. oz), but it goes a long way.
Find it here: Rusk Sensories Wellness Repair Organic Argan Oil
Basically, Rusk has saved my hair this summer. And, when something saves my hair, it pretty much saves my life.
2. Hair products that lock out humidity.
Check it out: Rusk Deepshine Keratin Smoothing Conditioner
In addition to the conditioner, I also picked up an oil treatment by Rusk. This product, Rusk Sensories Wellness Heal Repair Drops with Organic Argan Oil, penetrates your hair and leaves it silky smooth. After one use, my hair wasn't course and frizzy like it usually is in the humidity. Plus, it's completely organic … for all you people who swear by everything organic. Oh, and it's color-safe … and sells for around $6.00. It may be a little bottle (1 fl. oz), but it goes a long way.
Basically, Rusk has saved my hair this summer. And, when something saves my hair, it pretty much saves my life.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Products that Help a Woman Survive the Heat … and Look Beautiful Doing It.
It's hot. And it's only going to get worse over the next few days. So, I'm going to start filling you in on some products that will keep you looking fabulous … even while your clothes are sticking to your body and you're thanking the man upstairs for your window AC (or praying for one).
1. A Great Primer
As a woman, I know that you can walk into any Sephora store and find at least 20 different types of primer. Even with all those choices, I prefer to walk into a pharmacy and pick up L'Oreal's Studio Secret Magic Perfecting Base. It sells for around $12.99, and it is magical. As soon as you put it on your face, the texture improves and your pores begin to shrink. On the weekends, when I'm lazy, this is all I wear on my face (it's that good).
But, when I do get all dolled up, this is perfect under make up. Through sweaty subway rides, sticky bars, dancing, and any other physical activity, your make up stays put. After eight, even ten hours, my foundation doesn't drip off with my sweat. With a heat index of 110 degrees, anything that keeps your make up on through the work day (or the fun night) is worth a try.
Get it here (or read about it before heading to the pharm): http://www.ulta.com/ulta/browse/productDetail.jsp?productId=xlsImpprod1980035
As a woman, I know that you can walk into any Sephora store and find at least 20 different types of primer. Even with all those choices, I prefer to walk into a pharmacy and pick up L'Oreal's Studio Secret Magic Perfecting Base. It sells for around $12.99, and it is magical. As soon as you put it on your face, the texture improves and your pores begin to shrink. On the weekends, when I'm lazy, this is all I wear on my face (it's that good).
But, when I do get all dolled up, this is perfect under make up. Through sweaty subway rides, sticky bars, dancing, and any other physical activity, your make up stays put. After eight, even ten hours, my foundation doesn't drip off with my sweat. With a heat index of 110 degrees, anything that keeps your make up on through the work day (or the fun night) is worth a try.
Get it here (or read about it before heading to the pharm): http://www.ulta.com/ulta/browse/productDetail.jsp?productId=xlsImpprod1980035
Monday, July 18, 2011
Putting the Shoes Back On
When I was five years old I started tap dancing. When I was six, I started competing and won a first place trophy. I danced to Barry Manilow. My costume was full of gold sequins and a dramatic gold headpiece that I still have. The next decade was full of more shiny costumes, cans of hairspray, hooker make up, late night practicing, some tears and many, many smiles.
That was my childhood. I've never been to Disney or on a road trip to the Grand Canyon. The dance competitions were vacations. What would have been the vacation fund, went to private lessons, costumes and new shoes. (Here's where I mention my amazing parents. My Mom sewed costumes. My Dad drove me to all my lessons and sat in the waiting room with all the "dance moms." I was such a lucky child.)
When I was 16, I started teaching a beginner tap class for young children. I loved it. I bonded with those children, and I think I was more excited than they were when they final got the shuffle down. Then, just as classes were starting up for the fall of my second year, my dad passed away unexpectedly. After going through the roughest and most terrifying time of my life, I went back to teaching a month later. Maybe I wasn't ready, but it just wasn't the same. My heart wasn't in it, and I decided to move on.
It's now been a decade since I put on my tap shoes. I knew they would still fit. When my mom came to visit a few weeks ago I asked her to bring my black tap shoes with her (I also have a pair of tan shoes, but c'mon … we all know how much I love wearing black). She remembered, of course, and this past weekend I put them on. I didn't try them on at home first. I just packed them into a bag, headed to a studio, signed into a class, and finally … put on my shoes. I felt 16 again. I fell in love again. I was going to tap again.
With all my years of experience, I figured an Advanced Beginner course would be a breeze. I forgot that this is New York City. Everything is harder than it is anywhere else. This class was a challenge. Even though my self-esteem was taking a dive, I was keeping up with the class (for the most part). There were even a few steps where my technique was just as good as ever. I liked those moments. The moments where I threw my hands in the air, not so much. I'll get there … I know I will. The hardest part was putting on the shoes and walking into a class.
When it was over, I called my mom to tell her about the ups and downs of my first class in a decade. Her encouraging words helped, as did my ability to laugh at myself. All in all, I'm sure I wasn't that bad. One student even told me I did really well for not dancing in a decade. But, I'm just extra hard on myself. I figure if I take a couple classes a week, I should get comfortable in my shoes again in no time.
All I know is I was the sixth student to walk into the scratched up, wooden-floored room. The number six has always been good to me. And that goes all the way back to my first competition. That has to be a good sign.
I only wish I could have called my Dad to tell him. He would have told me to listen to "Daybreak" and let it all come back to me.
That was my childhood. I've never been to Disney or on a road trip to the Grand Canyon. The dance competitions were vacations. What would have been the vacation fund, went to private lessons, costumes and new shoes. (Here's where I mention my amazing parents. My Mom sewed costumes. My Dad drove me to all my lessons and sat in the waiting room with all the "dance moms." I was such a lucky child.)
When I was 16, I started teaching a beginner tap class for young children. I loved it. I bonded with those children, and I think I was more excited than they were when they final got the shuffle down. Then, just as classes were starting up for the fall of my second year, my dad passed away unexpectedly. After going through the roughest and most terrifying time of my life, I went back to teaching a month later. Maybe I wasn't ready, but it just wasn't the same. My heart wasn't in it, and I decided to move on.
It's now been a decade since I put on my tap shoes. I knew they would still fit. When my mom came to visit a few weeks ago I asked her to bring my black tap shoes with her (I also have a pair of tan shoes, but c'mon … we all know how much I love wearing black). She remembered, of course, and this past weekend I put them on. I didn't try them on at home first. I just packed them into a bag, headed to a studio, signed into a class, and finally … put on my shoes. I felt 16 again. I fell in love again. I was going to tap again.
With all my years of experience, I figured an Advanced Beginner course would be a breeze. I forgot that this is New York City. Everything is harder than it is anywhere else. This class was a challenge. Even though my self-esteem was taking a dive, I was keeping up with the class (for the most part). There were even a few steps where my technique was just as good as ever. I liked those moments. The moments where I threw my hands in the air, not so much. I'll get there … I know I will. The hardest part was putting on the shoes and walking into a class.
When it was over, I called my mom to tell her about the ups and downs of my first class in a decade. Her encouraging words helped, as did my ability to laugh at myself. All in all, I'm sure I wasn't that bad. One student even told me I did really well for not dancing in a decade. But, I'm just extra hard on myself. I figure if I take a couple classes a week, I should get comfortable in my shoes again in no time.
All I know is I was the sixth student to walk into the scratched up, wooden-floored room. The number six has always been good to me. And that goes all the way back to my first competition. That has to be a good sign.
I only wish I could have called my Dad to tell him. He would have told me to listen to "Daybreak" and let it all come back to me.
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