#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.

#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.

#15 – Knowing You Look Damn Good

topless-man-pointing-himself-mirror-high-spirits-smiling-young-bathroom-54182660This 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!