Category: Top 250 Feelings

There’s two types of people in this world: people who like who their cookies on the softer side, and the rest of you fuckers.

If you’ve been following this list, it’s likely no surprise that I enjoy a soft cookie. To me, there’s few things better in the dessert world. Now, I’ll admit that I’m on the extreme side of things when it comes to soft cookies. If you gave me the choice between a cookie so soft you’re not quite sure if it’s fully cooked or one of those brittle, crumb-creating pieces of shit, I’d take my chances with the raw guy.

So, I get it that I might be on my own in that specific avenue. But, what I don’t imagine is up for much debate is how delicious a batch of cookies are right after they come out of the oven. Granted, I’m biased because I like ’em soft, but even the most ardent hard-cookie-lover has to enjoy the fresh, soft cookie from the oven. It’s gooey, it’s soft, it’s hot. There’s few things better (when it comes to cookies and ovens, that is).

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Thinking your cookies are ready (if you’re making those pre-made ones, it’s been an interminable 5 minutes), going to spatula them off the tray and discovering they’re even too soft for you. They fall apart on and off the tray, your batch (and, frankly, your life at the moment) is ruined.

So, in previous posts, I’ve actually gone out of my way to make clear that the feeling I get from watching my sports teams succeed isn’t quite the same as it used to be.

That sentiment is still (mostly) true, but I realize was missing a major caveat. One, I honestly thought, I’d never even have the experience to provide.

That caveat, of course, is getting to be there in person when your team actually wins it all.

A few weeks back I had the (incredible) fortune to actually be in San Antonio when the Spurs took home their 5th NBA title. I was with my dad, on Father’s Day. I’d never been to a Spurs game in San Antonio, never been to a Finals game… hell, I’d never really been in a room of any sort with more than 4 or 5 Spurs fans in my entire life.

As you’d rightly imagine, it was an experience unlike just about any other I’ve ever had. I could go into the beat-by-beat details of what occurred, how it went down, but it suffices to say it was a level of joy I’ve never experienced when it comes to being a sports fan. Frankly, it’s one I doubt I’ll ever feel again.

What I’ve always joked about with regards to being a lunatic about a particular sports team is that you have no real connection to them. For me, that was always a strong sentiment because, aside from the Yankees, I route for out-of-state teams. So, that disconnect I felt wasn’t to the players (who you’ll never really connect to) but to my fellow fans.

On Father’s Day in San Antonio, I felt that connection. And it was fucking incredible.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Being that Miami Heat fan I saw sitting a row or two back from me. Man, that sucks. Stupid fucking move to come to the game after what had happened in the last two, but still, awful feeling.

 

You all know how it’s going to end and how it begins. You know every single turn, every single twist. You know the punchlines, where this friend pipes in with his or her commentary, where that friend pretends like he or she was there when they really weren’t.

It’s as predictable an activity as you’ll probably ever engage in, but yet you can’t get enough.

I don’t know about you, but one of my favorite things whenever I get back together with my good buddies (from college especially because of how infrequently we’re all together) is sharing an old story. As the resident loudmouth of my group, I’m typically leading these storytelling sessions but I honestly love them regardless of my role.

There’s something amazing about the comfort of these stories. It’s likely tied strongly (or, exclusively) to nostalgia, but it’s just such a great feeling to get back in to that rhythm with your friends. Because, to me, that’s a large part of what makes it so great. You all know each other, you know how to make them laugh, how to get their attention, what they’ll find more interesting than not, where your common interests and backgrounds lie.

It’s like when an old group (that doesn’t hate one another) gets back together. The music itself might not be as crisp as it was 20, 30 years ago, but you can still feel the groove, the harmony.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Sharing a story with someone and then, once you’ve finished, realizing the reason this person isn’t emoting at all is because this story doesn’t actually relate to them (or the group of friends they’re from) at all.

So, here’s how this one came to my mind…

During *SuperStorm* Sandy a few years back, I found myself living in a flooded, powerless Hoboken, NJ. Honestly, it didn’t turn out too bad for me and my roommate… We live on the second floor so we avoided any real destruction, we were able to stay with friends for a few nights and it was actually nice to have some peace and quiet at night.

Still though, a man has needs. Unlike my roommate (who at the time had what we like to call a side piece), I was a relatively lonely guy when it came to male/female relations at the time.

Now, I want to first clarify, I think the city of Hoboken did a fantastic job preparing us as best as they could. What products to buy, how to best fortify yourself for the storm we knew was coming. What they DID NOT prepare you for was that when shit hit the fan, you’d be up the creek when it came to adult videos.

It never occurred to me (or to other guys, I’ve now found out) that all we’d have in the absence of Internet access were the same things we *watched* as freshman in college. At first, I was annoyed. The classics are great, sure, but I had a new rotation, a new gaggle of videos I was just starting to round into form with. I wasn’t ready to work the ol’ guys into the act just yet… But, times were tough, circumstance forced my hand*.

And, once it was all over, it was actually quite the experience. Everyone talks about the past, about being younger, about looking more youthful… There are few ends that’ll achieve those goals more effectively** than having a few moments with yourself and some of those old friends.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Having your computer die in the middle of one of these sessions because, again, there’s no power. Not that I know about that…

 

*See what I did there? I know, sad.

**Granted, only for like 90-120 seconds, but still.

I somehow never noticed I had this feeling on the list in two places. Apparently, I really like flossing.

(Note: I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t happened more, the doubling up of entries on this list)

Anyway, as great as flossing is, it certainly doesn’t deserve more than one spot. So, for the time being I’m retroactively going in and changing this feeling to “Driving on Grass” with the caveat that I reserve the right to change it at any time should I think of something better.

Or, as I did with this feeling itself, steal something better from a friend.

I say that because though he’ll likely never see this, a friend who occasionally reads this list told me he liked the idea and started jotting down his own. One that struck me was the idea of driving on grass.

He wouldn’t go so far as to say “driving off road” because that felt far too encompassing, slightly dangerous at times and not in line with the exact sentiment he (and now, I) was trying to convey.

For me, it’s really about that moment you go from gravel to smooth grass, that little welcome bump you hit when you first journey off the road to the grass and you feel a touch of wildness inside.

Intellectually you understand you’re not in a James Bond movie, but it’s as crazy as it’s going to get for a guy driving a Toyota Corolla.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Eating steak and realizing it’s going to get stuck in your… wait, wrong feeling. Uhhh… going off-road to find this feeling, but going too far off-road and getting into trouble with a ditch or hole or anything similar that turns this into a disaster.

 

 

 

I’ve gone back and forth about this one. Part of me absolutely detests doing it. I actually get some anxiety when I take too long to plan things out, when I don’t know where I’m going to go with a particular meal or group of meals.

Buttttttt…. when it does work out, when I find a few different meals to make for the week that will last me at least those handful of days (and likely more) it’s a true feeling of accomplishment.

Typically, the height of this feeling is when I’ll plan two or three meals for a 3-4 day window. One of those meals is likely a staple, something I have all the time and always love. Another will be a new-ish recipe, something I’ve only tried a handful of times but have loved every time. And lastly, there’s the one that’s a total new one. Of course, they all have the theme of spicy/soup/stew/Italian-or-Mexican because I don’t really do much in the way of culinary exploration.

There’s also the thrill, admittedly it’s one that’s worn away as I’ve grown older and more accustomed to it, of being able to do it on a budget. Not a fixed, I-can’t-do-this-if I-spend-that-type budget, but one that still makes you feel good if you divide Meals Made/Money Spent and get around $8 or $9.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Knowing that you want to eat something, having food and time on your side and not being able to decide what you want because you are either too lazy or too indecisive about everything (or both).

I know those people that hate… yes, hate… going to the dentist. They’ll avoid it like the plague, throw away those nice little reminder postcards, deny the fact that they’re teeth hurt every time they even look at something with sugar in it—just to not have to go.

I’m not one of those people. One of my good friends is a dentist. His wife is a dentist. Three brothers on my mother’s side are dentists. Fact of the matter, they’re people just like the rest of us. Of course, their profession involves sharp metal instruments inside unwilling mouths, but I’m pretty sure it’s all done benevolently.

Point is, now matter how you feel about going to the dentist, leaving the dentist is a great feeling. First off, you know (unless there’s a real problem) that you won’t have to come back for a while. In fact, depending on how shitty your insurance is (or if you have it at all) you might not be back for years.

Second, while your mouth is probably a little sore, it’s certainly feeling cleaner. You can actually detect a space between your bottom teeth now that they aren’t glued together by whatever that shit is they rake apart with the mini-Captain Hook instrument.

Third, and probably most importantly, you get to go home with some free stuff. Tooth brushes, mini-tooth pastes, perhaps some other goodies. My personal favorite was the floss card (literally a card that has floss in it that you put in your wallet) I’d get each time I’d go.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: It’s a little obvious to say “Going to the dentist”, so we’ll go with when the dentist either has horrible breath or won’t shut the fuck up while they’re doing the damn thing. Or, both. I’ll never understand why my guy decides its a good time to have a chat when I’ve got a tube sucking the air and saliva out of my mouth, a sharp knife probing my teeth and cotton balls wedged up against my cheek.

Everyone has that uncle/cousin/friend that calls things during a game, constantly. Each time the bases are loaded, “Grand slam. You heard it here first, just watch, here it comes!” And, undoubtedly after some wild number of misfires that always go by the boards, that guy will ‘call it’, just once. That double play will happen, the homer will be hit, the touchdown thrown to that guy… And that honestly doesn’t count.

Those people are frustrating, because they mean well… but you and I both know they’re just charter members of the “Throw Shit at The Wall” School of Predictions.

For those of us who don’t put voice to every single prediction that pops into our brain, we know the true value of getting it right. Of being the guy that predicted, months in advance, who the villian would be in the new Batman movie or how Lost would end. Or that 24 would come back. Or… you get the point.

Point is, there’s something to being that guy that predicted something right, especially when you’re not doing it all the time.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: When you boldly, loudly proclaim something will happen (because you’re essentially certain it will based on a tip or inside information you’ve received) and, of course, it does not. Think: telling everyone for years in advance how great Dustin Ackley would be.

 A few weeks back, I was watching the Spurs play the Dallas Mavericks. That’s a random thing to say, given the title of this post. Stay with me.

I am a (huge) Spurs fan. I also happen to hate the Dallas Mavericks. Other facts worth considering: the Spurs won 62 games during the regular season, best in the league, and were, by nearly every measure available (if not every single one), the superior team.

That said, you could imagine my frustration in watching the Spurs lose a potential clinching game to the Mavericks. At one point*, the frustration boiled over to a point where I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

I lost my shit, screamed at the TV like a lunatic and had a raging impulse to take my controller and smash it to a million pieces in spite. While I was able to resist the urge to do that last bit and I did feel slightly embarrassed for acting like a crazy person with my shouting, there was, in the short term at least, an incredible feeling of release upon allowing myself that primal scream.

And that, I’d say, is really what this feeling is about. The reason for the screaming can be anywhere from ridiculous to embarrassing to dangerous, but the release is what it’s all about. Everyone always works so hard to keep their emotions in check, to keep calm… It’s nice to be able to freak the fuck out every so often.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: That person that insists on telling you, “Calm down” after these moments. That just makes you A) angrier and B) more likely to want to punch that person in the face with your fist.

*I can’t remember exactly what caused the eruption, though that’s probably the best part. It was most likely a missed assignment on a boxout, or something similarly trivial.

That should also include “And That Person Knowing They Have To Actually Do It, Or At Least Pretend Like They’re Going To In Your Face.”

Yes, we’re talking about power here. I have so little of it (some, in fact, may argue I have none) that when I do get to exercise that little bit… it feels great.

If you’ve ever had this feeling, you can easily imagine how it is that people go totally power crazy and wind up becoming dictators or supervillians (or, both… MUAHAHAHA)

Or, to put another way, it’s how I’d imagine people feel when they force strangers to do degrading, borderline homophobic shit in order to pay money to be their friends. Or, fraternity pledging*.

Point is, it all boils down to having a little bit of sway. It can be something as simple as, “Hey, do you mind taking care of this” because the actual “to do” isn’t the fun part, it’s the “telling someone what” that really is great. It’s knowing that you don’t have to worry if you’re putting someone out by asking, it’s knowing that you’re the one who they have to help.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: When you think you’re dealing with someone that has to listen to you and you find out that’s not the case. You just got taken down at least one peg, most likely two or three.
*Sorry, unnecessary, unprovoked potshot.