Most of you peasants live the normal life, working your 9 to… what… 6’s, 7’s? Sure, you get to live a normal social life, communicate with your friends, do happy hours, have dinners, make plans with people without fear of having to work that night, go to events and games and concerts… But, you don’t get to sleep in on a weekday.
At least, not unless it’s a holiday or snow day.
At least two or three times a week, however, I’m granted this feeling and I must say, it’s a good one. Now, admittedly, this is coming from someone with the sleeping patterns of a 85-year old grandmother. For whatever reason, I’ve lost the ability to sleep past 9:30 AM outside of the rare occurrence (Example: last Saturday I went to sleep after 4 AM and woke up at around 9:15. Can’t explain it.)
However, it’s not the length of the sleep, it’s the ability to not have to worry about when you have to wake up that is the true root of this feeling. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that, typically, on these days you also don’t have to do much once you do wake up.
I definitely believe in the power of a non-interrupted wake-up. I may wake up at the same time (give or take) that I would’ve set my alarm for, but the feeling of waking up of my own volition is unbeatable.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?:Accidentally setting your alarm for that obnoxious buzzer, when you wanted Radio or CD or iPod.
For me, it’s been this… on repeat, for nearly 48 hours now.
Try to not be in a better mood after watching that. Impossibly, even after watching/listening to that song a handful of times, I’m decidedly happier after each watching/viewing.
I love every bit of the process along the way with this feeling.
Discovery: For me, I’d seen the Beats by Dre Pills commercial a few times, enjoyed the song but never looked into it much.
Round 2: Someone usually has to bring it back into your world. For me, this happened when a co-worker randomly brought it up and said how he couldn’t get it out of his head. Naturally, I was in his position in under 4 minutes.
Inability to Listen to Anything Else: Spotify, YouTube, iTunes. Just constant, mother-fuckin’ loop.
Research: For me, this might be my favorite part. I’m a nerd about the music I like. Once I get into someone/something, I want to know as much as I can. I’ll go to sites like whosampled.com to find out where the beat came from, do some wiki-research to see who wrote/produced the song. Almost always, there’s an interesting nugget (or three) to unearth. In this case, I discovered that the above music video is actually a supercut of what was made as the world’s first 24-hour music video. Basically, there’s 24 hours of the song playing on loop with everyone from Steve Carrell to Tyler the Creator to regular ol’ folks dancing. It’s amazing.
Telling Everyone You Know: Well, there’s this. There’s me sending it to my mom, to my sister. Telling my friends, putting it on my iPod and even considering, for a bit too long, making my own version of the music video.
Of course, there’s the decline. But, that’s for another time. I may be getting very close to that point now, to be honest, but it’s been a great few days.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?:When you think you’re the first person to tell someone about a song and it turns out you’re the last one to know. Like, me with Aloe Blacc’s “Wake Me Up”.
A friend suggested this feeling to me just a few days ago and after some brief thought, I realized it (without question) deserved placement on the list. I understand that feeling number 19 is pretty similar to this one, but there’s one glaring difference that puts this one in the 100s and that one in the top 20.
That difference, of course, is the element of surprise. Both feelings contain it, but #19 is total and unexpected. You don’t go to the bank with a cup filled with coins and not expect the teller/machine to give you back legal tender. You may not get what you expected to get (thus, this feeling… more on that in a moment) but at least you’re getting something.
Anyway, now that we’ve exhausted the difference between the two, let’s give a few inches of column space to today’s feeling.
Personally, I keep two cups in my bedroom, one for quarters for laundry (why I can’t just use dollar bills or a credit card is beyond me) and one for every other piece of change. These assholes who simply discard change should burn in hell. If you’re literally throwing away any money, of any kind, please let your largest friend know so they can beat you senseless for an hour.
That second cup though, once it gets filled, I’ll take it to wherever I can go that doesn’t charge me. Sometimes that’s a bank that’s so far away that the gas I’m using makes the trip not worth it, but it’s the principle of the thing. Either way, as I’m heading to wherever will change my coins into cash, I’m trying to piece together how much money I’m going to net. 10, 15? Maybe 20 or 25? I start thinking about how many dimes and nickels were in the cup, as if I’ve got some Rain Man tendencies.
Finally, I’ll settle on a number… typically I go low, if only for this specific feeling. And when the number I get back is higher, man, that’s a nice feeling. It’s not exactly free money because you knew you’d been saving it the whole time, but it’s at least unexpected money and that’s got to count for something
Polar Opposite of This Feeling?:People don’t really need to do this any more, but having to individually roll up all of your quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies into those (what are basically just) Chinese finger traps.
Here at scott-spinelli.com we pride ourselves on catering to one and all. A lot of the feelings I’ve already listed have been ones that might not apply to kids, or at the least, apply minimally to those not 21 or older. For feeling #196, youth is served.
The snow day is one of the most glorious things known to boy or girl. Sure, there’s always going to be that negative Nancy complaining about how every single snow day is just one more day you have to spend in school in July. However, you brush that thought aside. You’ll worry about July when you get to July*. You’ve got the whole day ahead of you to do whatever you want. Most of the time that’ll just devolve into nagging your parents, annoying your siblings, playing video games, watching way too much TV, and maybe (maybe) doing something in the snow like sledding or playing football. And you know what, that sounds great.
Now, I work in television so there’s really no such thing as a snow day for me. Best case… I get to work from home, which isn’t bad but if you’ve ever been to where I work, you’d know why I like going in. Either way, for most adults, these days still exist. And, from what I can gather, the feeling is still great. In fact, everything is still the same (and great) except for the list of activities you do with all this new found free time. Substitute everything from the previous paragraph with “drink all day” and you’ve basically covered it the same.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?I can’t speak to this for adults, but as a kid… it’s when you get a little aggressive and anticipate a snow day to the point where you actively don’t do work due that next day. Then, your alarm goes off and you have school.
*For the record, those people were only right on a technicality. Yes, there was school for longer in July than originally intended. BUT, everyone knows those days in July were so unbelievably easy it was basically like not being in school.
Those of you following this closely will inevitably ask… Why is this feeling not either part of #249 or simply one below at #248? Is he fucking with us? Why #247? My answer to all those questions is… if you don’t know by now, you just don’t get it.
But, back to the point at hand… the new toothbrush is a sneaky feeling for a few reasons. First, unless you’re a dental hygienist, getting a new one typically isn’t a top priority. No one exactly knows when to do it (though, these guys have a good suggestion). Second, and I don’t know about you, but I never remember how great a new toothbrush feels until I’m experiencing it. For whatever reason, the feeling sort of fades until it reappears once every (insert normal time to replace a toothbrush).
One day you just notice, “Hey, these bristles are dull as a mother fucker, I think I should get a new toothbrush.” Then, three weeks later, after many trips to the supermarket where you return only to think, “Shit, I knew I forgot something”, you finally pick up a new one. There’s also those ones that have the thing where the color of the bristles might also be your giveaway… I maintain that whole bit is a scam.
There’s the fun of picking out the brush… Do you go for the plain, boring one that looks like it was the first one ever made? How about the one with six different rubber grips and those plastic bristles? Did you get a raise recently? Because if so, I have some battery powered models to show you…
But most important is the first brush with the new guy. I’ve actually (no joke) taken mine out of its packaging and started brushing on my walk back to my apartment from the supermarket. Just wanted my mouth and the new brush to get acquainted, figured toothpaste didn’t need to get involved just yet. Either way, it’s a clean unlike any you’ve felt in months. Instantly, you’re now thinking the dentist will be impressed with your level of commitment next time you go in. Naturally, this enthusiasm fades, but that doesn’t mean the feeling wasn’t great while it lasted.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?Running out of floss when you KNOW you have something stuck in your teeth and can’t get it the hell out of there.
If ever there’s been a question, the fact that this feeling ranks on this list is ultimate proof that I am, in fact, my father’s son.
There was a time—back when we were younger and could actually stomach one another—when my family would go on vacation together. Truth be told, they were amazing (Big ups to Mom Dukes, the architect). However, there were always elements of them (frankly, elements of traveling in general, as I’ve figured out now that I’m older) that would inevitably drive my father fucking insane.
Leaving on time, leaving late, packing properly, fitting everything in to the car, making good time, making sure not to stop unless a urinary tract infection was imminent… These were the things that could set him off.
Now that I’m older and have been traveling on my own for a while, I’ve noticed I’ve inherited his joy for packing properly. Now, I would never be so brazen as to assert that I’m as good—or, even close to as good—as he is but the point is, I enjoy a job well done. When I was younger, I never understood what made him so happy about a well-packed suitcase… or, what my mom loved about it so much.
But now, even when I’m going somewhere for a weekend, it really makes me feel good. I think the key to it is this: there’s always more room. You think you’ve maximized every cubic inch, but you haven’t. You’ve forgotten about the compartment on the outside or the fact that you can just wear a sweatshirt you planned to pack or that socks can get rolled into the shoes.
What starts as a heap of crap you have slim hopes for making fit turns, in only a short time, into a neatly zipped up (sometimes reluctantly) suitcase with everything you’ll need.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?When you’re trying to close your bag and the zipper gets caught on something inside and the metal teeth refuse to let go. Either the item or the bag is going to be ruined, you know it, I know it, the bag knows it. That’s the opposite.
I’ve joked about this before. That doesn’t diminish how good of a feeling it truly is. Over time, the frequency with which it has occurred has become more and more rare as I’m not typically leaving money unattended in pockets as much as I did in my pre-wallet days of yesteryear.
Still, every so often, it does happen. Typically we’re talking about the change of a season… maybe the first time you decide to head to the beach, or the first time (if you live in the northeast) it’s over 50 degrees out and you decide to wear shorts. Or it could be as simple as digging out a pair of old jeans. Point is, your mind is typically elsewhere, focused more on decidedly trivial things up to an including:
Does this count as a bathing suit if it doesn’t have that mesh/net thing on the inside? Or is it just a board short? What is a board short? Is there such thing as a board sock?
Do people still wear jean shorts? Can I get away with wearing these for the day because my other pairs are at my parent’s house?
Is it cold enough to wear jeans? I’m going to look stupid, I’m going to be hot and I’ll be the only one wearing pants.
So, while you’re focusing on shit like this, you typically don’t notice what should be plainly obvious: there’s something in your pocket. For a few moments, it goes undetected until a couple steps later when you’ve finally dug into said pocket.
Holy shit, there’s something in here!
It feels like money… it’s probably money… yes, it’s definitely money… But now, for those few seconds until you produce the bill(s) from your pocket, you can’t help but guess what denominations we’re dealing with. Is it going to be something disappointing like a dollar bill? Maybe a five? That’s probably the best you can hope for. No way it’s a hundred dollar bill. Who are you, a bank robber?
And then, boom… you look and see a wrinkled (probably through the washing machine at least once) twenty dollar bill staring right back up at you.
I don’t care if you’re unemployed or an NBA player, that’s a great feeling. It was always your money and you obviously didn’t seem to care much that you’d lost it in the first place, but now that it’s back… it’s better than ever.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?Finding out it’s actually just a receipt, a wrapper or lint.
You want me to just wait for you to stop being a selfish jerkoff and realize how good it was?
Typically, the entries in this space explore my dealings with women in a dating capacity. Often, the women in the story are the butt of the joke. I’ve fallen asleep on a date, had women go out of their way to tell me that they had a great time but didn’t want to see me again and, most recently, a woman ignore me at first because my last name ended in a vowel.
Of course, if you’re reading any of these with more than a cursory glance, you’re obviously aware that my ineptitude is just as big of a focus of the joke as these women are. The point, generally, is this: we’re all fucking clueless, some less so than others.
That all said, the story that follows fits like a Bizzarro World entry to the ‘Single Man’ cannon because, this time, I take center stage as the jackass.
I dated this girl for about a month… about a year and a half ago. You may wonder, why write this now? I don’t have a great answer for that other than boredom on a slow day at work. During down time, I found myself going through old e-mails and conversations and hers came up. Sifting through the correspondence, the events of that time period from over 18 months ago came sprinting back to my conscious and was met head-on with a strange cocktail of anger, annoyance and sick-to-my-stomach-ness.
We met (shocker) through Match.com and (honestly here—shocker) she was remarkably well-adjusted. She was easy to get along with, attractive, fun to be around and had no issue coming to Hoboken. Oh, and somehow saw something fun in me*.
We’d hung out a number of times, gone to dinner at a few places, spent the night a few times. I met a few of her friends, she met a few of mine. To a normal outsider, it would appear that things were going swimmingly, that something legitimate could be blossoming.
However, I was on the inside and when it comes to things of this nature, I’m anything but normal. I remember exactly how things ended and that’s the part that cycles over and over in my head.
I’d spent the night at her place in the city. She had work in the morning somewhere further downtown, so while she got dressed and ready, I put on my clothes from the night before and prepped myself to take the busy subway with her. She stepped closer to me once we were on the train, probably out of necessity but also out of something else. In what has to be one of the sweetest things ever done for/to me, she innocently placed her head to rest on my shoulder. And instead of taking that for what it was—a girl (one that I liked and was beginning to like more and more each time I saw her) feeling comfortable enough to relax around a man that was a stranger not more than a month ago—I freaked out. I took it as a sign that she was getting too comfortable, that we were some how now an official couple because of this gesture.
An attempt at explaining these (totally insane) thoughts and the “logic” behind them is pointless. Essentially, I’m a self-saboteur and as such I took this obviously positive sign as cue to look for any and everything wrong with this girl. I picked at nits with the honest ambition of finding the one that would unravel everything. And, naturally, I was successful.
Immediately, I broke off contact with her at that point**. The next time we “spoke” was through a drunk text I sent at around 11 PM, about a month later. Not surprisingly, she ignored it. The following times we spoke were on G-mail about three or four months after that. And then, again, a few more months after that, once again on G-mail.
I got to see her again in April or May of this year. Out of a mutual love for Justin Timberlake, I’d finagled what I hoped to be another chance out of her. We met for a few drinks, got some food after and—on the crowded streets of New York—I expressed how stupid I felt about having let her go, how I wanted another shot. She smiled, even kissed me good night before disappearing into the subway.
This time she was the one walking away from me and I couldn’t really blame her.
—
Postscript: I should clarify, this isn’t a “woe is me” story. I don’t spend hour upon endless hour thinking about this girl. Just because I follow her every movement on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook doesn’t mean I’m a lunatic.
Kidding. I honestly don’t do any of that (we’re not friends on the Face, I don’t know if she has a Twitter account and I can’t figure out what the fucking point of Instagram is).
I think this is just a case of regret for the one you let get away. Even the happily married have that person in their past, to some degree.
—
*Let the record state, this was before the dating-related chip on my shoulder grew to be what it is today, so big you can “see it in AUSTRALIA”, as one friend mildly put it recently.
**I’ve spoken with her about that… she attests that she was the one who backed away from me. Neither here nor there, really.
Don’t even ask what I was doing playing Minesweeper in this century. I could give you the reason, but besides the embarrassment of the explanation, I’m not sure you’d even believe me.
The point is this… the game is an incredible way to kill time, when you have it to murder. I don’t know about you, but I like to free ball for my first few clicks. I won’t start a game in earnest until I’ve unearthed a few open fields, a place for my soldiers to spread out and start sweeping.
Once I’m in, I then do the normal routine. Find your two’s, locate the one’s… god help you if you run into anything 6 or higher. Typically, I find it best to go into battle with a superior ranking officer. A friend of mine who will remain nameless in this space usually serves as my high command, signing off on most moves of serious import and generally taking charge when the most elementary moves have been cleared off the board.
However, even the most rookie sweeper knows that there comes a point where you’re just going to have to say, “FUCK IT, I’M GOING ROGUE!”*
We all know how most of these suicide missions wind up—with an X’d out Frown Face, that’s how. But, every so often, in the crucible of justice and minesweeping, there is that lucky selection, the one that unlocks the rest of the game. All of your hard work was up in the air, literally hanging in the balance, and a correct selection is a thrill unlike many other.
Guess right, you keep playing. Guess wrong, you lose a lot of good men.
It’s a lot of pressure, but that’s why it’s such a good feeling when you get it right.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?I could go with “guessing wrong”, but that would be too obvious. I think the better answer is, “Reading this post, deciding you want to play minesweeper, then realizing you don’t have a proper mouse and have to wait til you get to work the next day.”
*Of course, if you actually either shout this or say it at all, you’re a lunatic.
Most of you peasants live the normal life, working your 9 to… what… 6’s, 7’s? Sure, you get to live a normal social life, communicate with your friends, do happy hours, have dinners, make plans with people without fear of having to work that night, go to events and games and concerts… But, you don’t get to sleep in on a weekday.
Those of you following this closely will inevitably ask… Why is this feeling not either part of 
I’ve joked about this 
Don’t even ask what I was doing playing Minesweeper in this century. I could give you the reason, but besides the embarrassment of the explanation, I’m not sure you’d even believe me.
scott spinelli 