Yaki udon.

A polecat is no cat. It is a nocturnal weasel.

Last night as I was standing on the subway platform, I was furious because the train took forever to come and I was beyond angry about it. I worked myself up into a snit over my "tax dollars" being squandered by the MTA, leaving me high & dry & drunk at 3:30ish. I was also crying and this made it that much worse because I'd have preferred to be at home making my roommate suffer the strains of my tantrum to mewling for an audience on the 2nd Ave. stop. Of course, seeing people cry in public in New York is so common, we're all used to it and tend to respectfully ignore it and this was no exception. Everyone left me be, except for one wiseass who told me no one who loved me would make me cry like that. And then after some deep consideration, added "Nice tits". I'll take what I can get at this point, sir.

That scene in "American Beauty" where Annette Benning has a slight breakdown after her disastrous open house comes to mind at present. No one likes being a joke.