#5 – Outkicking Your Coverage

billyjoelBefore we get started, we’re all on the same page about what this means, right?

According to UrbanDictionary, a reputable source for things like this, here’s the defintion:

To engage in a romantic relationship with a person who is much better looking, and/or smarter, and/or in a higher socioeconomic class than you. Essentially, a person who is widely considered to be ‘out of your league.’

So, basically every single guy on Earth, right?

I’m not saying that in some sort of bullshit, “the future is female” and all women are amazing type way. A lot of women are amazing. Some men are too. But not all in either group.

The fact seems to remain that there are a ton of men you run into that you look at and go, “Jesus, what is she doing?”

Just off the top of my head, I can think of anywhere from 7 to 250 men I know… literally, just dudes I actually know… that are dating or have dated or are married to women they have absolutely no fucking business being with. Whether that’s because she’s better looking or a better person or more interesting or more fun to be around… or all of those things and more, there’s a ton of guys where you honestly can’t help but wonder what the fuck happened to this poor woman.

Does he have her family tied up to a train track somewhere? Perhaps he’s an evil wizard or magician of some sort that’s cast a spell?

No one will ever quite know for sure.

But, if you do happen to find yourself among the lucky dudes with a woman that you clearly don’t deserve on many or all levels, don’t dwell on it too long.

You don’t want her to get hip to the idea she could (and should) do better.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Thinking you’re the one she’s lucky to have when it’s really the opposite. And now you have no hand.

#6 – Making the Funniest Person in Your Group of Friends Laugh

51-npyorbel-_sx355_The funniest person in my group of friends, at least from college but still likely all included, is a man named Alastair Ingram.

He works and lives in Vermont, is married and has a dog.

None of those facts are humorous.

In fact, in many ways, he isn’t humorous. He’s the kind of funny you can’t quite explain but know is real. The sort of guy that’s always quick with a joke or to light up your smoke. But, you can also tell there’s some place he’d rather be.

Seriously though, Bill Joel lyrics aside, the dude is hilarious. Can’t quite explain it all the time, but it’s undeniable: he makes me laugh consistently harder than just about anyone else I’ve ever met.

I say this because we all have a friend like him in one group or another. And if you’re anything like me, the only thing more fun than laughing at the stuff he says is saying something that actually elicits the same reaction out of him.

Now, to be clear, it’s not as if he (or any other version of this friend in your group) is necessarily difficult to make laugh. It’s not as if they’re the type to withhold laughter or that they have some impossibly hard-to-reach sense of humor. Sometimes that’s the case, but not always.

Frankly, it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that you’ve somehow gotten this person, the one who can make your whole group of friends stop what they’re doing and laugh uncontrollably, to do the same for something you’ve just said.

Take a bow.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: This doesn’t specifically relate to this, nor is it a polar opposite but it’s close enough so here it goes: that moment when you take the joke the step too far and it’s no longer funny. It’s been batted around for a bit, everyone’s had a good turn of it and you get your chance and you kill it. Not with something offensive… just something that isn’t fucking funny. Joke, over.


#7 – That First Bite of Something You Love

51mvmkfp4gl-_sy445_Obviously, I like food.

I’ve already talked about the joy I get from planning my meals and eating sandwiches and apples (and even specifically the act of buying good apples). We’ve talked about bag fries and junk food (and even specifically McNuggets). We’ve discussed the joys of having someone cook for you and of cooking for others.

Fuck, even the delivery guy calling made it on the list.

Clearly, I’ve got a little thing for eating.

So with that said, we get to this next feeling. It may seem like a slight repeat of a few and in some ways it is. But, I wanted something that encapsulated all of the feelings of enjoying that great whatever you’re having.

I’ll give you an example to illustrate:

Recently, I went to a comedy show with a couple friends. It was a weekday and there was enough time after work to meet for dinner before the show. In fact, the other two I was going with were meeting for dinner. I declined.


Because just the night before I’d made chicken tortilla soup and I couldn’t fucking wait to have more of it. Let me repeat that, in a different way, so the girth of it hits you squarely: I was so excited to eat something I declined an opportunity to hang out with friends so I could dine alone and meet them at a later time.


The beauty of this feeling is that it extends to anything you’re excited about eating. That could be the sushi delivery you have coming for lunch today or the cake you’re allowing yourself to devour on your cheat day or the monthly Popeye’s run you make (this, dear reader, is actually a part of my routine) or when you make yourself a bowl of linguine and clams big enough for two people (yes, I do this as well… it’s both gluttonous and amazing). Hell, it could be something you’ve made at home or it could be something someone’s made for you.

One way or the other, you’re excited. You know, beyond any doubt, you’re going to love every single bite of whatever you’ve got coming.

But nothing beats that first bite.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: The last bite. Now, to be fair, the last bite can be quite satisfying as well. I’m a big proponent of saving and organizing that last bite so it’s a great send off to your meal. That all said… there are no further bites after that.

#8 – The First Fart When The Girl You’ve Just Started Dating Leaves

foods-make-you-fart-mainI’m sure this is the case in reverse for women, but as I’m a guy, I can only speak to my own experience.

There really isn’t much to say in this space that the title doesn’t plainly convey, but let’s at least get into it a bit.

In the beginning of a relationship, it’s almost an absolute no-no until one of you crosses the line for the first time and lives to tell the tale.

Honestly, it’s not that different from the first time my brother or I said “fuck” at the dinner table. My parents, after initially being angry, eventually said “Well, I guess we’ve crossed the fuck barrier” and from that point forward conversations were different. Farting and fucking share this one commonality.

I’ll add, before we go further here, that even when you have crossed the fart line together it’s still not the same as you would when you’re alone. Some things are better left as they are. Farting is one of those things.

But, back to the feeling at hand…

Before you’ve crossed that barrier, every single date and sleepover and hangout is really just gymnastics for your intestines and anus. How long can you hold in this gas before you either implode, something leaks out or you can get to a bathroom that’s far enough away that she A) won’t hear it and B) the smell will dissipate by the time you return?

No matter how great the night or date has been—let’s say, absolute best case, you’ve had mind-blowing, life-altering sex with the hottest chick you’ve ever gone out with—not a moment of it compares to the sweet and total release you’re going to feel the second you hear those heels click far enough away that they’re not coming back.

You know you’re back in the safe zone, so you let it rip. Good and long, multiple times for the next few minutes and it’s bliss in a way that truly can’t be described.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: You think you’ve been good, holding it in this whole time, but you discover you’ve actually had a few silent ones leak out… which is even worse than anything you could’ve imagined because now it just plain stinks and there’s no one to blame.

#9 – Sharing Old Stories With Friends/Family

abc_baseball_brawl_cf_160420_16x9_992Growing up, I used to bug my dad at every opportunity to tell this one story about an argument he got into with a coach during my older brother’s baseball game.

Every time, we’d do the same dance.

When there was even the slightest opportunity, I’d try to shoehorn the story into whatever the present topic of conversation was and get him to tell it. Not only did he know it better than I did as it happened to him, but he told it way better. He’s always been something of a raconteur, a skill I like to think I’ve gotten from him—along with a passion for sports that borders on lunacy, an inability to assemble even the simplest of household items and an impressive knack for flying off the handle at even the slightest annoyance (like, say, your seatbelt not giving you any slack out of absolutely fucking nowhere) and taking it out on the undeserving people around me.

Anyway… I’d bug him to tell the story, he’d initially refuse. Sometimes he’d refuse because he just didn’t feel like telling it, other times he’d refuse because he felt like it painted him in a bad light (it doesn’t, the other people involved were complete dickheads).

So, if we were in good company and I could sense he wasn’t going to get pissed, I’d start telling the story without his help. Inevitably, I’d stumble and trip over a few details, forget something worthwhile here or there and he’d soon tire over how poorly I was telling his great story… and come in, Mariano Rivera of the story-telling world in this moment, to save the tale.

(For the record: here’s a brief version of the story, because he doesn’t write for this blog and won’t be able to tell it himself… My dad’s watching my brother play a game, didn’t like that an umpire let an opposing coach sway a call. He calls out to the coach, something to the effect of “Let the ump do his job, coach!” After the coach and my dad have a little heated conversation–apparently, he didn’t take well to the criticisms from the stands–the coach’s son told my dad to “sit his fat ass down.” In fairness to the coach’s son, my dad’s ass wasn’t exactly little at this moment, but my older brother didn’t take well to that comment and proceeded to rush the mound from the dugout and a fight ensued between the coach’s son and my brother. I’m sure there’s more I’m missing, but that’s basically it. Pretty good, right? Now imagine my dad telling it.)

It didn’t (and still doesn’t) matter how many times I hear this story. Every time, I love it.

I don’t know exactly why that is, why we love hearing these oldies but goodies. I’d imagine comfort and fond-memory association play a large role, akin to how you can listen to the same song for years and years. In my mind’s eye, I picture a group of my friends or family members, a bottle of wine or some beers scattered around the table, some food potentially as well, and everyone either listening or laughing.

Even though the exact details can get hazy over time, the punchlines remain unchanged and we ravenously eat them up like it’s the first time we’re hearing them, every time.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: When you try to bridge the gap with a story, sharing one of your personal “oldies but goodies” with a new person or new group of people and it falls completely flat. Fuck those people, go back to your OGs.


#10 – An Actual LOL

tenorThere was a time when I used to be funny in front of strangers.

I had the egotistical notion that I could stand in the front of a darkened room on a slightly elevated platform and talk to people who paid an entrance fee to be in that room.

I’d talk into a microphone and say things I thought were funny and assumed the people consuming watered-down vodka sodas and soggy fries would similarly find them funny.

I would talk, largely uninterrupted, for anywhere from five to thirty minutes and then I’d stop talking and get off the elevated platform and wait to do it all again.

I used to do stand-up comedy.

Sometimes, when it went well, people would laugh.

Sometimes, when it went in the opposite direction, there would be no noise. No one booed. It’s not like there has to be an opposing noise to a laugh… that for every laugh there’s a contrarian boo or hiss. No, the silence of a room after a failed joke is enough to remind you exactly how good it feels to make people laugh.

Most people haven’t done stand-up for a number of reasons. One, they’re not funny. But two, and most importantly, they’re not insane egomaniacs. To do what I did, you have to be a little bit of both.

That said, you don’t need to be a fucking stand-up comic to make people laugh. In fact, it was this realization that allowed me to feel better about giving it up.

Oh, yes. I can just make the people around me laugh. And no one is exploiting my sense of humor for their own personal financial gain? Get out! I can just make someone laugh… or not make them laugh… and we both go on with our lives? 

Unless you’re a soulless robot of a human being, at some point in your life you’ve made other people laugh*. But, I’m not talking about a chuckle, a forced HA that someone gives out of pity or that a subordinate gives you in a meeting. I’m talking about that actual laugh-out-loud feeling you can’t control. That guttural bellow, perhaps accompanied by tears, that can’t be stopped no matter how hard you try.

The only thing better than laughing that way, in my experience, is making someone else laugh that way.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Not that I would know or that this is a specific story in any way… but I’d imagine the opposite of this feeling is doing a show in the back of a bar in Bloomfield, NJ to a crowd of 6 people, three of which are other “comics” and two of which are the friends that drove you.

*I haven’t done a footnote in a while, but I think this warranted one. We all know that this type of person definitely exists. Perhaps there’s some sort of personality disorder at play? I think of these people like computers that have been dropped and still work in a general sense but there’s something off–the CD drive is busted, the internal speakers are off, something. But yeah, these people are real and they’re unbearable. You don’t need to be a god damn court jester, just smile every so often for fuck’s sake. Even if it’s just to imitate the rest of us humans.

#11 – Getting Away With Not Getting A Ticket

maxresdefault1I am a white kid from the relative suburbs.

Generally speaking, I’ve stayed out of trouble.

Weighting the first sentence about 95-99% and the second sentence picking up the remainder, you can see why I have no legit beef or fear of the fuzz.

That said, no matter where you come from no one likes getting pulled over. Unless you’re one of these people. In which case, good for you–there still is joy left in this world, apparently.

It’s probably also worth adding in here that I drive a Toyota Corolla, a car known not so much for its blazing speed but remarkable dependency and incredible ability to somehow look like every other four-door sedan on the planet.

I say all this because, in fairness, it’s not as if I’m constantly ducking and dodging my way out of a ticket. I generally stop at red lights, I consistently stay within 20 miles an hour of the posted speed limit and when convenient I will typically go hands-free when making a phone call.

No matter how careful you are as a driver, however, you’ve likely experienced the dread that is squalie either following you for an inordinate amount of time or—gasp!—peeling out from a speed trap after you pass.

Hell, sometimes it’s not your fault. Perhaps it’s that time of the month, quotas aren’t being met and the man or woman behind the wheel of the ole blue and white had a bad day. Or, maybe you’re doing 80 in a 55.

EITHER WAY… there’s two stages to this feeling.

Stage 1 is the feeling of thinking you’re getting pulled over… and you don’t. The best of this is when you’re cruising down the highway, blasting some non-ironic 90s boyband bangers mixed in with the occasional “Notorious Thugs” as you notice you’re suddenly going way faster than anyone on the road.


Because you’re the only dickhead that’s too into your music to notice the po-po posted up about 200 yards ahead. So you do the thing we all do, the most subtle option available: you slam on your brakes and pretend as if you’ve been doing the speed limit this whole time.

187 somehow doesn’t fall for this Daniel Day-Lewis performance and decides to pull out behind you as your car passes the post.

That moment 5-0 pulls off your tail (be it other-worldly intervention, something actually important happening that calls their attention elsewhere or anything else)… that’s the deepest exhale you’re going to take for a while.

Stage 2 is when Jake actually pulls you over. It could be for not having your seat belt on, it could be for having drug paraphernalia on your person, it could be for stealing a mini-van with a family in it. No matter what’s going on, it’s never a good moment when they’re walking up towards your car. Or, the car of the family you stole it from.

The heat is coming and you don’t want to face it.

And then, again by some miracle, you’re off without a ticket. Sure, they’ve probably issued some bullshit warning along with a pedantic and ridiculous lecture about how “they’re going to let you go, this one time” as if they’re doing you an actual favor and they don’t work for us, as opposed to the other way around. No, that’s not a chip on my shoulder. Keep moving.

Either stage you’ve found yourself in, that moment when you realize your whole day is going to be completely different is where this feeling resides. You went from completely carefree to having to deal with AT BEST paying a trumped up fine and AT WORST paying that insane fine plus your insurance potentially going up and your license getting points.

Think about how sweet it is, then, to go back to carefree. Exactly.

Go ahead and exhale.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: You already know.


#12 – Routinely Having Intercourse (with the Same Person)


Some treatments may not work for you. Consult your doctor before taking Eliquis.

I’ve always enjoyed that word. Honestly, it never fails to elicit a chuckle either from me or from the person listening to me say “intercourse” instead of any of the more coarse synonyms.

Seeing as how this is a family site, I’ll attempt to keep it as clean as we can.

As we’re nearing the end of this list, the feelings from this point out are real no-doubt-abouters. The sort of slam dunk-type feelings that almost everyone has enjoyed at some point and plainly understands how unbelievable they are.

This one is no different. Of course, I should point out that something very similar will be even higher on this list, for reasons you’ll read in a few weeks. For now, let’s focus on why we included the caveat of “routinely.”

If you’re routinely having sex with someone, it likely means one of two very good things is going on in your life.

  1. You have an amazing hook-up with someone and both of you are on the same page about what is actually transpiring between the two of you.
  2. You are in a healthy, fulfilling relationship with someone.

Those of you that know me personally are probably surprised to read that last one from ol’ Ebenezer Scrooge of Dating, the Grinch of Boyfriends past over here.

But if I’m being honest with myself and the relationships I’ve been in throughout my life, there is something undeniably amazing about routinely getting it. And not just because you’re doing the one thing nearly all of us spend some amount of time in our lives thinking about. No, that’s great but it’s not just that.

When it becomes routine that means, sure, you’ve maybe lost some of that BRAND NEW, HOLY SHIT, EVERY SINGLE TIME IS A DISCOVERY OF LIFE feeling. But what you’ve gained in its stead is much, much better. You both know each other far better, you trust one another, you understand comfort levels and preferences and desires and turn ons.

There’s really no denying that while the absolute WOW factor may have diminished, it’s definitely better after that point in time. It may never be as novel or as shock-and-awe as it was initially, but that’s ok.

Plus, what’s better than coming home from (insert anything on this earth that takes you away from home) to return to your significant other and know you both want to and will have great sex with one another.

OK, aside from the NBA.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Going so long in between sessions that you forget how long it’s been since the last time.

#13 – When a CD/Movie Lives Up To Your Expectations

maxresdefaultNowadays, it’s almost impossible to really achieve this feeling.

When it comes to movies, you have to go out of your way not to see trailers and teasers of trailers and second trailers and first looks and any other number of things that, essentially, serve as a way to raise your expectations so goddamned sky high that nothing could possibly match the hype.

Of course, you go see the movie anyway so that’s really all that matters to them… but it’s not as enjoyable of an experience.

In the music industry, it’s not quite the same… almost the opposite in many cases nowadays because artists are more frequently dropping albums without any buildup. In the long run, I think that’s a good thing.

Take someone like Nas, for instance. His last album came out in 2012. He’s been rumored to be releasing a new one for the last 24-36 months. For some context, consider this: in the time between Nas’ two albums, DJ Khaled will likely have released three albums–at least two of which contain songs boasting about the Nas album being done or near done.

This is all to say that with each passing day his album doesn’t come out, it gets just a little more difficult for it to live up to its own hype. And barring something completely unforeseen or unfortunate, this album will come out and it will, at the very least, be solid. But had it just come out right away or with normal fanfare as opposed to the multi-year build up… it probably would be met with better reviews.

I bring up all this negativity to illustrate just how difficult it is for something to reach expectations. Largely, I think this is because we only really create expectations for things we love and as such, we then tend to build them up higher in our mind than they should rightfully be.

Of course, such is the curse of being a super-talented actor, musician, etc. The better you get, the more well-known you are, the higher the expectations are for each new things you produce.

As the non-talented consumer of those people’s art, all I have to do is hope their shit is as good as I expect it to be. Seems simple enough.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Each of Kanye West’s last two albums. I’ve never felt more disappointed in an artist that I used to love.

#14 – That Middle-of-the-Night Drink of Cold Water After A Long Evening of Drinking

istock_000045207098_large-2e16d0ba-fill-735x490Apparently, drinking water throughout an evening of heavy boozing is good for you. Who knew?

Assuming you’re not exactly among the most hydration-conscious of us, you likely have returned home after a night of high-volume drinking without having so much as a single glass of water. And that’s fine. For now.

You sloppily take your shoes off, toss your clothes aside and perhaps even remember to brush your teeth before you crash, face-first, into your bed. It feels blissful to finally be off your feet and surrounded by pillows and blankets and comfort.

The room has begun to spin, ever-so slightly, as all the beer and shots and other poor decisions from earlier tonight have come home to roost. But again, for now, it’s all good.

You close your eyes and drift quickly off to what will be a fitful and interrupted sleep, but a rest nonetheless so you welcome it with closed eyes and mind.

Until, of course, you’re woken up three and a half hours later because someone has broken into your home in the middle of the night and stuffed your mouth with sand paper, cotton balls and sawdust.

There isn’t a word in the english language powerful enough to describe your exact level of parched. You have no choice but to get up, head to the fridge and poor yourself something to drink. For some it’s soda or Gatorade… for me it’s always water.

Crisp, clean and clear H2O.

You pour one glass and as it’s being guzzled it down, water dripping down your chin and onto your t-shirt, you’ve already mentally prepped for another pour. You’re drinking as if you’ve never had access to liquid in your life, let alone hours prior. The cold relief washes over your insides.

Three glasses later, you’ll return to bed a new person, satiated and ready to get back to sleep.

And while that’s a wonderful moment in and of itself, that’s not the feeling. The feeling is that moment of consumption, the trip from absolute desert-of-the-mouth to complete refreshment is astonishing.

I’ve never been a caterpillar, but I’d imagine this feeling has to be extremely close to what it feels like to become a butterfly after being holed up in that coccoon for a while.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Having this feeling at someone, anyone, else’s house. You have no idea where anything is or where to get something cold. Actually, the worst version of this is at a hotel because you’re basically forced to guzzle hotel tap water. Yay.