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.
- 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.
- 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.
Nowadays, 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.
Apparently, 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.
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.
This doesn’t happen to me that often.
I don’t say that self-deprecatingly, fishing for some sort of undeserved compliment.
I’ve said what I’m about to say multiple times, to women I’ve dated throughout the years: I’m neither good nor bad looking. I don’t have a third arm or goiter protruding from my neck. At the same time, no girl is going to see me out, elbow her friend and say, “Would you look at that fucking guy!” That will not happen.
Typically when I go out somewhere, I get dressed in some version of the dark, take a quick look at myself in the mirror and then leave. If I spend too long on any of these steps I’ll likely decide it’s not worth it and ruin the whole thing. So, I don’t.
The only time I’m that locked into my own appearance is when I’m attending a wedding. It’s not often I like or give a shit about the way I look in a piece of clothing. Suits do that to me. I suppose it’s because I never wear them aside from special occasions.
I’ve started upping the sock game, introducing the pocket square, embracing different colored suits and shoes than I’d ever thought I’d be comfortable with (in the first 20+ years of my life, the suit was either dark, dark blue or dark, dark gray and the shoes were black… no exceptions).
For those of you that know me, this part is probably the most shocking: I actually put product in my hair. Prior these weddings over the last few years, I’d last put gel in my hair for my sister’s wedding over 10 years ago. It’s just not something I do or (get ready for it) give a shit about.
Anyway, when it’s all over and the hair has been gelled, fresh white shirt put on and tie applied perfectly, cologne spritzed gently, pocket square angled just right and shoes shined… I look in that mirror once before I leave, put on my sunglasses and know one thing is certain… I look damn good.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Being as stunningly good looking as I am, I honestly have no idea how the opposite of this might feel. Best of luck, though!
I don’t really enjoy going to football games.
It took me a while to realize this, decades in fact.
I wasn’t able to piece it together because it’s not as if I have a bad time when I go to a game. In fact, quite the opposite. I usually have an incredible time to start, then it tapers off and I find myself experiencing the remainder of the day either really having to pee or waiting on line to pee.
Sometime a few years ago it dawned on me that the part of the day I like the most is the tailgating. And honestly, it’s not even close.
Unless my team is playing, I have no reason to go to the game. All going into the game signifies to me is more expensive food, more expensive beer, longer lines for the bathroom, more uncomfortable sitting/standing arrangements and less ability to bullshit with my friends.
To be fair, I only really tailgate once or twice a season. When I go, it’s with a fairly large group of people and for them it’s one of their only tailgating opportunities of the year. So, we bring the good food and the beer (notice how I omitted the qualifier “good” before the beer, of course). We get there hours before the game and get the music and games and all that shit going early.
It’s an absolute motherfucking blast and if the weather’s nice there’s few things on this Earth better than a really good tailgate with your best friends. If the event you’re tailgating for is something you’re super-psyched for… all the better.
But that’s what makes the tailgate so amazing. Rare, if ever, is the occasion where the pre-party the clear topper of the party.
This, friends, is that situation.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: That moment when you realize the tailgate is over and you’re inside the walls of the event. Lines longer, beer more expensive. It’s a nightmare, and it’s only just begun.
In my life, I’ve successfully hit on a woman I met that night at the bar no more than ten times. Of course, what qualifies it as a “success” is relative to the individuals involved but I think it’s fair to say we’re talking about anything that’s a step above a good conversation and a number exchange.
TO BE FAIR… there’s nothing wrong with–in fact there’s many things great about–getting a number. If both parties are honest and hopeful, it could mean the start of something good. It could mean the beginning of a relationship.
Of course, it could be the woman’s way of finally getting you to leave her alone because you won’t stop talking to her all fucking night.
But, and let’s be honest with one another here for a moment, sometimes we go to the bar and we’re looking for a little more… and I’m not just talking about men here, nor am I speaking specifically of the one-night stand.
Think of it this way:
As the night began, all you could focus on was that guy or girl across the bar. The way they looked, the confidence they carried themselves with, the manner in which they seemed to laugh so effortlessly with their friends. It was intoxicating.
The very notion that this person would go from complete and total stranger you could only dream about to an active participant in your life story… it’s simply unbelievable.
Whether that means you had a great conversation at the bar, got their number, sloppily made out before going to McDonald’s, went home with them or even slept over… well, that’s a matter of how you define success, wouldn’t you say?
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Getting shut down. Big time. In front of all your friends.
Nowadays, this feeling gets experienced less and less every passing second. With smartphones being omnipresent in society, there’s really no need to ever have to think about the answer to a question.
Just look it up.
But picture, if you can, the days before smartphones were everywhere… or, if you’re friends with me, picture hanging out with me somewhere and me saying, “No wait, don’t look it up just yet!”
We’ve gotten into a good conversation about this movie or where that basketball player went to college or some thing that happened when we were all in 7th grade together.
If it’s a small group of people, there’s always going to be the one person that can’t possibly imagine a universe wherein they’re expected to wait for more than fifteen milliseconds to know anything. How on God’s Earth could they not look it up? Better question, why would they not look it up?
I’ll tell you why: so they could struggle and feel the unquestionable joy of saying, “The Super!” twenty minutes later, long past the point where anyone gave a shit. The question of course was, “What was the name of that movie with Joe Pesci where he plays basketball in Harlem?” No one knows, except you. Only problem is, your memory isn’t as good as it used to be because you’re no longer 12-years old or you’ve been drinking all night. Or both.
Regardless, you know two things to be true…. The first is that despite your temporary amnesia you do know the name of this movie and the second is that you know you could find it out instantly… but that’s no fucking fun.
So you soldier on, a warrior of an older generation that prefers slower speeds and harder work for the same payoff in reality.
But, when mental lightning does strike and you’re gifted with that freeing of the mental energy you’d been spending on trying to think of that movie… you’ll know you spent your time wisely.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: That interim period where your group has moved on to talking about something else and you can’t even contemplate participating because all you can think about is that fucking movie title.
This one probably never would have made the list if I did this all between the ages of 12 and 17.
I was never a great sleeper, but I certainly didn’t give a shit about where I laid my head nearly as much as I do now.
As currently constructed (and I know I’m only getting worse by the day), I’m sensitive to light, sound and movement. Basically, I need to sleep in a temperature-controlled, perfectly silent, perfectly still hyperbaric chamber… that also happens to be large enough that I can roll around multiple times and not have any issues.
Oh yeah, I am a mover when I sleep. I’m a real joy to rest with.
Anyway, this is all to say that at this point in my life every time I go to sleep somewhere other than my own bed, it’s all I can do to not think, “That is one less good night’s sleep you will have in your life. I hope you’re happy.”
Sometimes it’s worth it (staying over a girl’s place) and sometimes it’s not (staying over a girl’s place). Whether or not the reason you’re staying somewhere new is a good one is irrelevant.
What’s important is that you’re no longer on a futon or a hotel bed or a friend’s couch or a spare bedroom or some new chick’s bed with her cat… you’re in your bed, with your shitty pillows and your unmade set of sheets.
It’s catered to your exact specifications… which is why you’d probably prefer to never leave.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: This is obvious, right? Sleeping in someone else’s bed. But, to give an example I’ll expound upon the cat thing from a paragraph or so ago. I slept over this girl’s apartment maybe 2 years ago at this point. It was a fun evening after our third date, she was a cool girl and everything was, at worst, fine. It turned when we actually began the legit sleeping portion of the evening. She had an air conditioner that sounded like it was running off a Model T engine, a cat that she refused to keep in the bathroom and allowed to crawl all over us and sheets that made steel wool feel soft. I pretended I had something to do at 5 in the morning just so I could go home and sleep.
I’ve written a lot, in this space, about traffic. In fact, in looking specifically into exactly how many times I’d written about traffic in this list I discovered I’d done the same feeling, worded differently, twice.
The feeling of being stuck in traffic that suddenly starts to move was so wonderful to me, I placed it at both 60 and 103. There’s even a feeling about watching jerkoffs in traffic finally get caught for being… well, jerkoffs.
But this feeling is better than all of those for one simple reason: you’ve avoided the worst part.
Traffic is, by any measure, awful. No one enjoys it, no one likes it, no one prefers it. It’s awful in every conceivable way.
Most feelings on this list revolve around that moment when the less-good thing stops or finally turns into the more-good thing.
This feeling is the absence of that less-good thing entirely and going straight into the more-good thing.
And what’s more, you know the less-good thing is still out there plaguing other people but you were smart enough, cagey enough and by golly lucky enough to not have to deal with it this time.
Good for you.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Thinking you’ve avoided traffic, you’re really starting to cruise where ever you’re heading… and you run right smack into a whole brand-new mess of traffic.
I’ve never intentionally stolen anything.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Once, after a softball game in the city, I stopped at a Jamba Juice and grabbed a water from the open-air fridge while waiting on line. I chugged it all before I could even place my order and without thinking I tossed the bottle into the trash.
So yes, technically, that was stealing. I never paid for that bottle of water and never told the place I had it.
But outside of that, never intentionally.
The reason I throw that qualifier in there is because once I stole something and didn’t even realize I did it. Because I plainly am not some hoodlum stealing things on the daily, this little story that follows is the illustration of the rare fun and fleeting joy of getting away with something like this.
Summer of 2006… I was about to leave to study abroad in London for the semester. Because this was taking place during the Stone Age, I went to the local CD/record store to buy myself one of those CD booklets for the trip (I needed something to hold my dope mixtapes, sonnn).
Anyway… while buying the booklet, I perused the store to see if any new stuff had come out that caught my eye. Looking up and down the “New Top 20” section, I checked out a few that piqued my interest for a bit but there was nothing noteworthy. So, I resolved to just purchase the booklet.
Upon leaving the store, a UPS or FedEx delivery guy was trying to get in so I held open the door for him and even helped with a box or two he’d left on the sidewalk.
I mention this last part because when I got back to my car, I realized I’d never put down one of the CDs I was looking at from that Top 20 rack (the Method Man CD pictured above). If they ever reviewed footage of that day, I must have looked like the calmest thief in recorded history. I literally left the store and came back in with stolen merch multiple times, calm as could be (because I had no idea it was in my hands still).
Of course, at that point I kept the record and moved on with my life. Sure, it’s basically petty shit. But hell, they overcharge us all the time, why can’t we get one back every so often?
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Getting caught? I’m not sure what else could possibly go here.