Category: Top 250 Feelings

This one ranks just a slot above yesterday’s feeling because you’re the man now, dog. You’ve got the juice, you get to play God, you’ve got the power.

Without repeating everything from yesterday that’s located just a few mouse-rolls south of these very words, what this feeling encapsulates is when you have the power to actually do something and you exercise it.

Think about this: you’re on a two lane highway and there’s been a guy that’s weaving in and out of the lanes, driving like a fucking jag-off for as far as you’ve been clocking him in your rearview.

Finally, he gets close to you and you put that left-turn signal on. You’re now in the fast lane not because you want to be, but because gosh darnit, he’s going too fast and someone needs to do something about it.

He sees what you’re doing, almost immediately. He didn’t get this far as a jerkoff by not spotting moral highroadists like yourself a mile away. So he puts his right-turn signal on to go around you.

Not so fast, douche.

You’re on the ball today, you don’t even have time to put your signal on. You just go to the right first, like you’re a fullback in Madden blocking for your running back. Only difference here? You fucking hate your running back.

Essentially what winds up happening is a real life, borderline life-threatening but ultimately petty and extremely satisfying version of the game Frogger.

Is it worth it? Maybe not. But the look of anger on his face as he/she gives you the finger when you finally let them pass and you’re simply smiling in ecstasy… that’s priceless.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Pulling this move and you’re the one that gets pulled over.

No, I’m not talking about an accident.

Sure, there are times when you see that dickhead driver do something shitty and you momentarily wish you had a rocket launcher or were driving a bumper car so you could smash the shit out of that person… Alas, you’re not a “go-to-prison-for-manslaughter”-type so you opt for turning the stereo up louder instead of homicide.

Injuries aside, what I’m talking about is when you’re minding your own business and there’s that douche that does any of the following, in no particular order:

• Cuts you off
• Honks at you to go THE FUCKING MILLISECOND the light turns green
• Stops short every ten seconds
• Drives as slow as is humanly possible
• Drives as fast as is humanly possible
• Weaves in and out of traffic lanes
• Did I mention the honking thing?

The feeling I’m talking about is when you experience someone doing any/all of these things in your vicinity. You feel powerless, that this person will continue to drive like a jerkoff without penalty.

Then, out of nowhere, there’s the po-lice. Finally, Johnny 5-0 is on the case. The ol’ blue and whites to the rescue, the wailers go on and you know—hell, everyone around you knows—who it’s for.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Every single time this happens and you do nothing about it, especially when something else shitty has happened to you that day or night so you’re even more annoyed.

Full disclosure: I cashed out of grandparents over 5 years ago.

And that last one, my mom’s mother who was the shit (lots of people say that about their grandparents–it was patently true about this one), had outlived the previous grandparent by a good 3-4 years.

Point is… I haven’t had a ton of opportunity to experience this feeling over the last 5-8 years, but that hasn’t lessened the enjoyment whenever it does randomly come around. Difference now is, it’s not my grandma.

Don’t get me wrong… some older people fucking suck. I get the distinct feeling I’m going to be one of those people with each and every passing day. They’re often surly and bitter and grouchy and borderline (if not outright) racist and brutally honest and uncomfortably unfiltered. Sometimes they all sleep together in the same bed and don’t offer to help provide for the family until an all expenses-paid trip to a candy factory is proffered and they’re amazingly cured of their bedridden condition.

Of course, there are others. And here’s an example of a small thing you can do to get this feeling, something I’ve done.

You’re cruising down an aisle in your local supermarket, either grooving to your own tunes or just totally digging the in-house playlist (the music at supermarkets is bangin’). You’re so in the mix you totally lose track of your surroundings as you pore over the 37 different varieties of pasta sauce. Are any of these actually on sale or are there just a ton of tags that look like sales? I can’t really allow myself to spend $9.99 on a jar of sauce, can I? Do I really need four different cheeses? These are the thoughts that occupy your mind as you continue your pondering.

Suddenly, you look to your right and towards the end of the aisle there’s an elderly woman seemingly going through the same struggle. Upon further inspection, it’s not the variety that’s giving Nana trouble, but rather the fact that she literally can’t reach or lift whatever she’s gunning for.

Without waiting for an invitation, you go over and ask her if she needs help. If she’s not a dick, she’s thrilled and tells you what she needs. You reach it, take it down off the shelf like an NBA superstar, she thanks you like you saved the store from going out of business in a single swoop and then you both go on your way.

I’ll say this: I think for me the feeling is even better because I can’t capture it unless in the wild.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: I’m not quite sure. Telling your grandma to go to hell? That’s just an awful feeling. I don’t know what the opposite of this is. Fail on me.

Last week, I was out with a few friends at a dive bar. This place was a real dump, in the most lovable way possible. The air conditioning was dripping on the table behind us, the bar itself is a trailer attached to what appears to be a diner, the bathroom door didn’t have a lock on it. It was a wonderful dive.

This preface is given to illustrate the point that we knew, going in, the beers would be cheap at this establishment.

However, when the check came we somehow were still surprised–and boy was that a fun feeling.

The tab came our way, its total being just a tick over $56. For no real reason, the check was itemized… the 13 Rolling Rocks we ordered came to… wait for it… just under $39 dollars. Less than three bucks a beer! Unreal.

Another version of this story can come when you’re out on a date. You go in knowing that you’re picking up the check and that it’s probably going to be fairly pricey. Sebastian Maniscalco details this whole ordeal in much funnier fashion than I can, but if you’re not in the mood to laugh for about 90 seconds, I’ll sum it up: you cannot let on that this check total will bother you, no matter what it is and the whole time you’re doing the mental calculations to try to get a ballpark of what it is you’ll be dealing with when it’s time to pay the piper.

Some number of appetizers and main courses and drinks and desserts and coffees later, the bill comes. You’ve got a number in you’re head, and it’s a biggun’.

Some how… some way… against all odds and by the grace of all Gods… it’s WAY less than you expected. This, of course, is what you want to do:

What you actually do is nothing… but you are quietly thrilled. And that’s enough.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: The obvious opposite, but an example would be grabbing something small from some place you didn’t even want to go to just to be nice to find out it’s crazy expensive. Specifically speaking: you stop into a coffee shop to use the bathroom without telling someone and then feel bad for doing that, so you order a cappuccino—and it’s 8 bucks.

Sure, those three places are all different, for different reasons. Las Vegas is, by and large, cleaner and nicer than the other two. Atlantic City is cheaper and no frills, plus it has a beach. New Orleans has zepolis (come on already with the fucking beignets) and no issues with drinking in public.

But what they have in common is that they’re all  dens of sin. Whether it’s gratuitous drinking, excess gambling, wild overeating or any combination of the three or those unlisted, you never leave there without some level of regret.

A full weekend in any of the three is more than enough time for any of us to spend there on vacation.

So, when it’s time to finally pack it up, get in the cab and head to the airport or bus terminal or wherever you’ll spend the next few hours feeling sad about your life choices, the only thing that should stop you from taking your life or laying face down in your own vomit is the clear notion that you’ll be rid of these places in short order.

To be clear: I love going to each of these places and I will go back multiple times before I’m done on this Earth. However, each time it’s over, I’m more than ready to head home.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: It’s hour three of a delayed bus/train/plane and you haven’t left yet. And you don’t know when you’re going to leave. And you’re hung over. And you’ve got no money left. And you hate your friends.

Somehow, many years ago, I was in my old library, across from my middle school, in the town I grew up in. Even more without reason, I found myself looking something up on the fossilizing computer.

I came across two games that I played all the time as a kid, that we all played as kids. Those games were Oregon Trail and Where in the World is Carmen San Diego? 

The feeling of double-clicking on those icons to fire the games back up after what had to have been at least 8-10 years since having previously played was a combination of both joy and horror.

Joy in that I was really excited to experience the games again, see all that I had missed over the years. However, actual nervousness over the fact that I knew these games most likely didn’t stand the test of time and that I’d surely be disappointed by how shitty they actually were.

The amazing thing? Outside of the two-bit graphics–which I knew would be the case– the games didn’t really skip a beat for me.

If anything, I found Carmen San Diego to be harder than I did as a kid. I’m not joking. Frankly, I’m not sure how any kids were good at that game. Did anyone know what the primary exports of these various South American countries were? If Carmen stole the Statue of Liberty or the Eiffel Tower, isn’t that on the fucking doofuses at TSA to let her know, “Umm, miss, you can’t bring national monuments on board with you, you’ll have to check that bag.”

Oregon Trail was as simple as I remembered it being–the only difficulty, that was difficult back then as well, was attempting to shoot those squirrels. The game was pretty straightforward and fun… shoot a few water buffalo, leave a few children behind either because of lack of room on the wagon or typhoid fever and call it a day.

Either way, it’s not often you get to run into RBI Baseball or NBA Jam or Carmen or any of these old school games and have them not let you down. It’s a great feeling when they don’t.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Getting all geeked to play whatever the game is, and it either won’t load or won’t play or won’t start or whatever. You get nothing. And you have nothing.

On its face, this seems like it actually would be a bad feeling, no?

If asked, we’d probably all instinctively answer that we prefer to have plans. Very few openly admit they like having no plans… although secretly, that’s what we all want.

The truth is, it’s not so much about sitting in a room doing nothing all day and night for two to three days in a row. It’s really about getting some minor shit done, things like cooking that pain-in-the-ass soup you love but haven’t had time to make during the week or binging a few episodes of (insert Netflix show here) or getting some reading done.

Basically, here’s what you’re looking for… by the time it’s over and you’re back at work and someone says, “How was your weekend?”, you have nothing to say other than “Didn’t really do much.”  You know you got a ton of shit done and had a great time barely ever leaving your apartment, but it’s so banal you don’t even bother to waste this person’s time with a detailed answer.

Side note: Unless I cured polio during my time off, I almost always answer with some variation of “not much” to that question. I hate conversation like that.

That silent feeling of satisfaction knowing you did exactly what you wanted to do, no matter how little it actually was… that’s this feeling.

Oh, and the fact that it’s the oasis in a drowning, all-encompassing, until-you-drop-dead struggle known as 9-to-5 work.

Yeah, that too.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: That third weekend in a row where you go from thing to fucking thing without a break in sight. Basically, the month of December.

It’s just sweet, sweet release isn’t it?

Taking a dump has its own merits, but this is just slightly better in my opinion for a few obvious reasons.

First, it’s quicker. Sure, taking your time with a good ole number two isn’t a bad thing, but brevity often wins out in my opinion.

Second, unless you’re wildly drunk, there’s far less cleanup.

Third, unless you’ve had some sort of enormous salad with whole milk and Indian food, the great release of a long-held pee is unlike many other feelings in this world.

You’re going for so long, at a certain point, you don’t even feel it any more. You’re on autopilot, just kicking back and enjoying the bliss of piss.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: You’re walking home from the subway or bus or whatever and you know you’ve got at least 4-5 more blocks or 10-15 more minutes until you can finally get to a bathroom… That wait and build up and oncoming UTI are your polar opposites.