Author: scottspinelli

I suppose this one makes the list because of how truly rare it is. Think about it… how often do you actually get a check, before or after taxes, that comes out to a whole number. I’m talking $34.00 even for something. It never happens.

Amongst my group of friends there was a game we’d play call “guess the check”. First person to grab the bill gets to be the game show host and go around the room asking for everyone’s guesses. Based on that knowledge, the host, if so inclined, will guess at the end. Depending on the group of pals I’m with, we may or may not be playing by Price is Right rules.

The point of all that is this: I’ve been playing the game for a long time and never–not once–has a check come out to a whole number. Once, a friend guessed a whole number. We didn’t talk to him for a week (then again, he couldn’t do much talking either seeing as we threw him in a burlap sack and beat the shit out of him for an hour).

I’m not sure I’ll feel any true satisfaction when my day comes for this feeling, which is probably why its #250. Still, I think the rarity will account for at least a hint of a smile. And when it happens, I can cross this off the list.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Having a bill come out to way, way higher than you thought with a group of people you’re not that great of friends with anyways.

As today is, in fact, the anniversary of the day of my birth, I felt it only appropriate for this post to be written.

Like many of the feelings we’ve already outlined, namely #209, this one doesn’t quite have the same punch to it now that I’m a little older. Of course, it’s still garnered entry into the top 100, so it’s not like it’s fallen completely off the map. But, I think we can all agree, if I was making this list at age 9, “your birthday” would have easily been a top 5 selection.

Still, despite the fact that people no longer dote on you on your special day like they did when you were younger, there is a special air of the day. You feel entitled to do and say much more than you might normally and people don’t tend to react the way they typically might. A simple, “Come on, it’s my birthday” is sure to squash any beef.

Beyond the obvious–gifts, attention, some misplaced feeling I always have to the effect of “let me treat myself to [insert something fairly unnecessary and likely more expensive than I should be purchasing] because I happened to born on this day, years ago”–one of my favorite things about the birthday is that you can use it to get your pals together.

If I told people I was having a party on a regular weekend, odds are strong that few people show. My roommate isn’t even likely to turn up. But, when I say it’s for my birthday, then people come out of the woodwork. I don’t say that in a “my friends are phony” sense. No, quite the opposite in fact. It’s just that for whatever reason we all feel an incredible sense of duty not to let friends down on their birthday. We’ll talk shit and miss out on the things that are truly important in their lives, but a birthday party… forget it… not missing it for the world.

Another thing I love are the Facebook well wishes. You always say it doesn’t matter and who cares, right? But, you know that there’s a definite part of you that needs there to be at least some activity on that wall. It doesn’t matter who it is… hell, you might not even speak to the person… but there needs to be something. One additional note here: I love how early some people get on it on Facebook. I’m amazed, year in and year out, that there are people who consistently have the Happy Birthday post up there before 3 or 4 AM East Coast time. I can’t explain it.

Either way… while the rest of you peasants wait for your big day, today is mine. I’ll enjoy the rest of it like it’s my last.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Tomorrow.

I truly do applaud those that can give up bread, be it for a diet or just general health purposes. I imagine that as I get older I’ll have to limit my intake of such things, but to cut them off entirely wouldn’t be worth it. I mean that.

If you think I’m kidding, you don’t know me.

Some of my happiest times are walking back from any of the number of delis in Hoboken, sandwich in hand, ready to devour it once I’ve returned to my apartment. Sometimes I’ll go with the breaded chicken cutlet, some arugula, mozzarella, pesto spread and sun dried tomatoes. Other times it’ll be roast beef, turkey and hot soppressatta with lettuce and tomatoes. When I’m really lucky, I’ll get my true go to: just ham, hot soppressata, sharp provolone cheese and fried long hot peppers.

Just typing that stuff right now, as it’s near noon and I haven’t had lunch, gets my mouth watering and my whole body excited in a way few things can.

Of course, we all have our favorites. I’ve listed a few of mine above, but I could go on for a while. There’s the various Gobbler sandwiches around Thanksgiving, Jewish deli corned beef, hot sandwiches like chicken parm and cheese steaks… I think you get the point.

That first bite though, of your favorite, that’s a fantastic feeling.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Walking to the deli only to find out it’s closed.

Actually, not just a full gas tank. I’m talking about that brief period of time right after you fill up, when the needle actually rests above the F. That, my friends, is freedom.

You feel like the whole world is your oyster (though, now that I use it, what does that expression even really mean? Don’t most people dislike oysters? I do. I find the consistency disgusting, but that’s neither here nor there).

Either way… I don’t know about you, but every time this happens, there’s a part of me that feels like I should just take off for some sort of ridiculous road trip. Maybe I’ll head to California or down South. Perhaps Boston or Chicago. Point is, not wherever I am at that exact moment. Then, of course, reality sets in. The attendant hands me back my credit card with my receipt, I thank him, he mutters unintelligibly in Russian and I carry on my way.

Sometimes the greatest feelings are the most fleeting. This is one of those cases.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? When that light comes on and you have no idea how much time you have left til you run out of gas. Your life turns into Hunger Games for a gas station.

Music. Food. TV Show. Movies. The list is endless, but the fact remains: when someone likes something you suggested they try, it feels really good.

The next level of this feeling is when you’re one of the first people to know about something, let’s say, a band. You have a pal you know would love them, so you pass it along. Like most things, your friend says “Sure” but doesn’t get to it right away. Days, maybe weeks, go bye and you hear nothing so you assume he/she either didn’t look up the band/artist or that they didn’t like them.

But, wait. The latter has to be impossible, no? HOW COULD MY FRIEND NOT LIKE THIS MUSIC?! Maybe your friend was tragically killed in a fire or lost control of his/her fingers.

And then, the e-mail/text comes, “Love that [guy/girl/band]”.  All is right with the world, you feel fully redeemed.

I’m pretty sure my grandmother instilled this in me. She had a way about her that would make you feel guilty if you didn’t like the things she recommended. She passed over a year ago and I still feel bad I didn’t want to go see Jersey Boys.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Being either told that the band/show/movie/etc. sucks, or finding out about it last.

The last “trip” I took via public transport was to Washington, D.C. It was also the first time I’d ever taken MegaBus. Waiting in line for my specific bus to arrive on 34th between 11th and 12th (for those of you not in New York, it’s an area of town that no one really goes to, especially considering how actually close it is to everything), it dawned on me that I was going to pretty much have my pick of seats when we finally boarded.

That much excited me, but I also realized, I’d be the guy that had the empty seat next to him for the longest, which seemed like a sure fire way to ensure that the seat would be taken.

I meandered to the top deck and grabbed a seat in the very front (a friend recommended I try that seat and it turned out to be really great). Now, I couldn’t see who was milling around on the bus behind me, but once I had gotten myself situated with my laptop and water bottle and snack exactly how I wanted them, the bus pulled away from the curb and off we were. I turned to my right and the seat remained empty. I turned behind me and every seat was filled. I almost did a cartwheel from joy.

Now, on the return trip a few days later, the same thing happened to begin things… I got there insanely early, was first in line, got to pick my seat in the front of the bus on the top deck… Except, this woman with the veiniest legs you’ve ever seen and absolutely no concept for what constitutes normal human cell phone volume sat down right next to me. Oh yeah, she also thought nothing of taking her shoes off almost immediately once the ride began.

Think about the difference between those two experiences and you can see why that empty seat is such a great feeling. Of course, length of trip and mode of transportation are mitigating factors, but empty is always better than occupied, unless of course it’s a really hot, single girl. But, what are the odds of that…

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: See two paragraphs above.

This one is just slightly better than the sweatpants feeling. They’re not that different, I realize, but come on… this list is supposed to be 250 items long. If you really wanted, we could group all 250 feelings into, what, five groups? Sex, friends, sex with friends, beer and cookies? That’s probably even stretching it.

Fact of the matter is, George Costanza was on to something:

I think we’d all love to live in a world where we A) only have to do underwear laundry once a year and B) get to wear a new pair of underwear every day of the calendar year. Similar to sweatpants, the new underwear feeling (and socks) is centered primarily around comfort and newfound strength of elasticity. The bands are strong, they’re new. The socks won’t fall down or bunch up. Everything stays where it should, comfortable and well-held.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Having those two socks that not only aren’t technically a pair but also have those really loose ends so that the top of the sock is about 5 times as wide as the bottom.

I don’t lift my hand often when I write. I have fat fingers (relatively… they sort of look like baby sausages). I have what almost everyone would consider to be, at best, poor handwriting.

Finding a pen that fits me like a glove, that’s a great feeling. I want to love the rollerball pens, they just seem so fucking cool. But, like I said, my style makes whatever I’m writing a mess if I’m using one of those.

For me, the ballpoint pen is my go-to. Give me a fresh pad, a ballpoint pen that has a full load of ink (and, more importantly, isn’t one of those pieces of shit that constantly makes a show of running out of ink when it’s clearly not low) and a nice grip and I’m a happy man.

For what it’s worth, there’s nothing like writing on a piece of paper. I do realize, of course, that like the button and the book, the handwritten word is going the way of the dinosaur. But, for now and until touch screens rule the world, enjoy the pen that works best for you.

(By the way, this site exists. Unreal.)

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? When a pen explodes in your pocket, or, worse, in your mouth. That literally happened to me in middle school. Side note to this side note: Am I the only one concerned that future generations won’t even know what this is like in the not so distant future? There won’t even be pens with ink to explode. I weep for the future.

I don’t know about you, but when I get done with a busy day at work, I can’t wait to get home and change into my hang-around clothes. Now, for some crazy folks, the preference is to stay in those same work clothes. To get home from a day of tucked in and khaki… and stay tucked in. It’s lunacy to me, but diff’rnt strokes for diff’rnt folks, I suppose.

I’m so anti-button and stuffy clothing that I’ve been known to start the process of undressing before I even get into my actual apartment. Granted, those times have almost exclusively been late at night (either coming home from work or coming home drunk from somewhere else), but still, it speaks to how much I value my clothing-related comfort that I’m willing to appear partially undressed in public.

Don’t get me wrong, men and women alike look nice in work attire. But, that doesn’t men it’s more desirable than a pair of sweats or basketball shorts and that one t-shirt we all have that is so old it’s nearly see through (or, a relic for other reasons… like my mom’s New Jersey Devils shirt—she’s never watched a hockey game in her life).

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: See paragraph one.