It felt good.
I felt like I made it. I felt like I did something. There was a tingling buzz of satisfaction burning in my shredded calves, a lingering ache of pride in the dirt bike tracks riding up my stomach for three days, and a quiet happiness with the gym pain I'd inflicted upon myself.
When you reach up higher than you've reached before, give a little more than you gave before, and dig deep to your core and end up sprained and sore, well, around here we say that's a little something called
AWESOME!
Squeezing through a door as it' s shutting without touching it
Tiny squirts of adrenaline pump into your bloodstream when you pull off this classic move.
Yes, suddenly you morph from Guy Walking to the Subway After Work into Indiana Jones in That Scene Where He Slides Under the Wall at the Last Second. Your hands stay clean, your strut stays mean, and you zip through that closing door and don't look back, hoping it doesn't nail anybody in the face behind you.
AWESOME!
Snow days
Let's break it down a bit. Let's talk about the three main types of snow days:
1. The Pre-planned Snow Day. Your town gets hit by an ice storm and four feet of heavy packing snow. It's going to take a couple days to dig out, so somebody makes the call to cancel school in advance. This is definitely a good snow day, but it zaps out all the anticipation. Worst of the three types.
2. The High-Probability Snow Day. This is where it's snowing hard and heavy the night before. There are reports of black ice and cars in the ditch. People hunker down by the window with hot cocoa and turn the radio on for weather updates. This is known as a high-probability snow day. You're almost positive it's going to happen, so you go to sleep excited about getting up the next morning. And really, the night before is almost as fun as the snow day itself, because you're already planning the day in your head, putting off your homework, and calling your friends. Of course, once in a while the sun is mysteriously shining the next morning and the roads are clear, but this is very rare.
3. The Surprise Snow Day. This here's the Mighty King of Snow Days. This is where nobody suspects a thing the night before. Have some dinner, do some homework, brush some teeth, yup--just a typical night around the house. But then suddenly the next morning there's a firm knock on your bedroom door and it's your mom or dad telling you . . . it's a snow day! Now that's a body buzz for kids. Homework already out of the way, no risk of missing anything at school, it's time for an all-out lie-back-and-relax chill session with your friends. And the day really can't disappoint because there were no expectations to begin with! You want to sit in the basement and play video games all afternoon? No problem. Build a snowman and shovel the driveways for cash? Sign me up. Construct elaborate forts for a massive neighborhood snowball fight? I'm in. Just be a kid and love it lots.
And so, when it starts to get a bit chilly, let's all cross our fingers and hope for a good snow day season. Let's hope this isn't one of those winters where we put up a goose egg on the snow day category. No, I say let's break the record. Let's go for four or five of the suckers. Hey, maybe six even. Let's get El Nino in on it. Because ladies and gentlemen, say it with me, if there's one thing we all know, it's that a snow day . . . is a good day.
AWESOME!
The first time you fly alone
Flying can be scary.
First of all, the airport's usually in a distant part of town you don't visit very often. Maybe you snake up a jammed freeway , take a special off-ramp, or ride the subway to a nearly off-the-map stop where you exit into a garage full of diesel fumes and shuttle buses.
And when you get to the airport it's not much easier.
Digital boards flash departure times, arrows point in all directions, and winding lines lead to a mishmash of checkout counters. Custom forms need filling, bags need weighing, passports need checking, and boarding passes need printing.
Toting your awkward handfuls of documents, papers, and suitcases, you pass bomb-sniffing dogs, security scans, and suitcase inspections. Then there's the separation anxiety that comes from watching your luggage disappear on a black rubber belt into a dark tunnel.
It doesn't end there.
Now there are gates to find and fuzzy announcements about delays and cancellations. As you double-check that you have all your forms and you're at the gate for New York, not New Delhi, you wonder if they called your name, if it's your turn to board, or if there will be enough space for your carry-on luggage when you find your seat.
Flying can be scary.
Now just remember the first time you did it all by yourself.
That first time you fly alone is an exhilarating moment. So many things could go wrong, so when you're through with all the documents, checkpoints, and security and finally on the plane, you're loving it lots. The flight takes off and the attendant sneaks you an extra snack as you tilt your seat back, let your eyelids droop, smile, and flash back at how far you've come . . . at how far you've come . . . you've come . . . you've come . . . you've come . . .
Color-streaked, postcard-faded blurs flash of tricycles giving way to bicycles, of you as a nervous eight-year-old under a big helmet getting The Pushoff and wobbling down the sidewalk, your neighborhood opening up into a patchy jungle of parks and sidewalks to be explored. Too big for backyard britches, you teeter down to playgrounds and corner stores far, far away. Licking Popsicles with friends, you find bugs, run up slides, and blow wide open your view of the world.
Flash forward to the day you first realize you can drive. After stressful tests and nervous parents, you finally get the keys and explore your town with carefree recklessness. Distant streets and shopping malls all connect to the road you're on, and you smile as your hand slips out the window and the summer breeze whips your face. Burger joints across town are suddenly close by, and you cruise late at night eating fries with friends as your parents sit nervously in housecoats in front of a flickering TV waiting for you to come home.
The seatbelt sign dings on and you open your eyes.
As you tilt your seat up and glance out the window, just look how far you've come.
Jumbo jets whisk people from Seoul to Sydney to San Francisco as the entire world becomes your oyster. You feel free as you stare out the window and watch your city zoom out to patchy splotches of crisscrossed yellows and browns.
The buzzy feeling of pride you get the first time you fly alone is an amazing sensation. It's a sense of growing up, a sense of growing older, and a sense of growing into a confident and capable person in charge of your own life.
AWESOME!
When you spill something on your shirt and it doesn' t leave a stain
We've all been there.
Mustard swirls drip from the back of the hot dog, coffee cups splash on the drive to work, and spoonfuls of lumpy ice cream go for a ride.
Yes, we're all familiar with the classic Day-Long Shirt Stain, also known as the International Symbol of Clumsiness. Whether it's a samosa spill on your sari, a wasabi smear on your kimono, or an olive oil splash on your toga, we all know what that spill means and that spill screams: You are messy.
It's sad but it's true, folks. Kiss the job interview goodbye, end the first date early, and skip the toast at your daughter's wedding. It's all over now because you had your chance and you blew your chance. Guacamole smears on your tie and tomato squirts on your tux just trashed your night and trashed your mood.
Yes, we've all been there. And none of us like stained shirts.
But that's why it's so great when you just barely escape the stain. Yes, these drip-dodging miracles can happen one of three ways:
1. The Pick-Me-Up. That lumpy clump of ice cream skids off your stomach straight to the ground, leaving only a couple chocolate chips lying in your belly-button dent. What a save. Just pick the chips up and you're golden.
2. The Camouflage Mirage. This is when the juicy beef drippings leaking out of the taco land squarely on a juicy beef-dripping-colored stripe
on your clothes. Lucky break because now you can enjoy the day being clumsy in camo.
3. The Against-All-Odds. Here's where you have absolutely no right to avoid the stain but do so for mystical reasons that defy all logic. Somebody steals a perfect nacho off your plate and carelessly dumps its load on your sleeve, but somehow it just skis off gracefully onto the tablecloth. A full beer gets spilled and drips all over you, but some quick whisking blows it away and . . . no harm done. We can't explain these, but they are true miracles.
A big spill without a big stain means you played with fire and came out cool, hung over the edge but pulled yourself back, and nearly ended it all but instead just ended up being
AWESOME!
Finding the last item of your size at the store
It all starts with The Hunt.
Mall walking, clothes shopping, you're searching for cute tops or a new pair of jeans. You pop into stores, you do the Figure-Eight Walk Around, you pop right out. You pinch fabrics, peek at wash instructions, and hold pants in front of mirrors, bending knees, biting lips, and flipping over price tags.
Sure, everything's fine and everything's dandy, until later in the afternoon when you're still empty-handed and your legs start burning, your boyfriend falls asleep on The Man Couch, and you get really, really, really, really, really, really thirsty.
But you don't stop, won't stop, can't stop the walking, just can't stop the shopping. So you keep going, keep plugging, keep trudging along. You keep moving, keep motoring, keep soldiering strong. No, you won't quit, won't split, won't call it a day. You won't run, won't ditch, till you find something and pay.
So you keep looking and looking until it finally comes--that moment where you spot a perfect top glowing from the other side of the store. You hold your breath, run over to check, and the color looks good, the material looks good, the price looks good, the wash instructions look good, but . . .
Do they have it in your size?
Panic sets in as you begin frantically flipping through the hangers. Shoot, XXL, XXL, XXS, XXXL. Suddenly you start thinking you wasted the day. Your calves ache and your stomach rumbles as you ask yourself: Did I survive six hours on a Snickers for nothing?
But then just as the worry is settling in, putting its feet up and getting comfortable, it finally happens.
You find one.
Clouds part, sun shines, bugles blare, and angels sing, as you somehow manage to score the absolute last item in your size at the store. Oh, you're buzzing free and your brain flies as you enjoy one of three versions of this classic high:
* Version 1: Back o' the rack. Just as you're getting bummed out by all the oddball sizes, you eventually find your perfect shape chilling out in the shadows at the back. Good find!
* Version 2: Lost in Thread Paradise. Employees struggle to keep restocking customer throwaways, so sometimes that perfect shirt gets lost in thread paradise. You discover it hanging with the wrong clothes, crunched in a ball in the change room, or lying on the counter behind the cashier. Good find!
* Version 3: Same solar system, different planet. This technically isn't the last of your size in the store, but it's still a classic. Here's where you curl up into a ball and start crying big snotty tears on the floor while pounding your fist into the ground until a friendly cashier calls a nearby store and has them hold one for you. Good find!
And now you're laughing.
You grab your bag, stretch your back, and walk the long walk back to the car. Sun setting over the parking lot, you feel energy, excitement, and accomplishment. Now the day feels productive and well spent. You got exercise, your boyfriend survived, and you came, you saw, and you conquered.
AWESOME!
When the boss goes out of town
Who's up for a three hour lunch?
AWESOME!
Getting out of the car and stretching at the highway rest stop
I spy, with my little eye, something that starts with U.
If you guessed Uncomfortably Long Car Trip, you got it, baby.
Maybe you're in the Backseat Squeeze for hours, one leg on each side of the Floor Hump, bladder clenched tightly, holding on for dear life. Maybe you're in a blissful Game Boy Cocoon, headphones in your ears, video game in your lap. Or maybe you're driving the boat, steering the ship, mind on the road, navigating steep curves and sharp swerves.
Whatever your situation, it sure feels good when that hot, steaming car rolls to a slow stop off the highway.
That's when you pop open the door and stretch like you've never stretched before. Arms out, arms up, way up to the sky, just popping that back and twisting that neck in all directions while saying Ohhhhhhh a lot. Maybe squeeze onto your tippy-toes and feel the burn rise up your legs, those cold, clenched muscles getting a hot slap wake-up call. Feel your hamstrings stretch long, stretch hard, and cry out with tears of joy as freedom rings again.
Plus you finally get to pee.
AWESOME!
Planning for snoozes
If you're like me, then a war is waged every morning near your alarm clock. It is a never-ending series of epic clashes between The Awake You and The Sleeping You, with each side sticking to its guns, fighting fiercely in the ultimate battle for the first half hour of your day.
Sometimes it seems like if it were up to our subconscious selves, a lot of us would be lazing around in a world of rumpled sheets and dreams all day. You know how it is--maybe at night you're a level-headed gal with a level-headed plan. "I'll go for a quick jog tomorrow before work," you say to yourself. "Maybe whip up some oatmeal afterward." But your groggy, bedheaded self just ruins everything the next day. "Let's keep sleeping," she convincingly suggests when the alarm goes off, hitting the snooze button on your behalf. "See you in nine!"
I don't know about you, but until recently I've been trying to deceive The Sleeping Me with the only two weapons I've got: 1) moving the alarm clock to the other side of the room to give my waking self time to get its act together, and 2) setting the time farther and farther ahead to try and trick my sleeping self into thinking it's making me late.
But after years of playing the same game, it eventually happened.
I hit a breaking point.
I just couldn't do it anymore.
So now my new gig is trying to keep everybody happy. That's right: keep snoozing in the picture and hold down a job at the same time. Folks, I'm talking about planning for snoozes. Adding them to the list. Budgeting them right in there. Finally giving them the credibility they've long aspired to and making them an official Part of the Day.
So now I say, if you must get out of bed by 8:00 a.m., that's fine. Just set the alarm for 7:30 a.m. first. Throw your sleeping self a bone and hook it up with three solid snoozes. And you know what, you win too! Those nine extra minutes can feel like hours, complete with vivid dreams and fresh drool on the pillow to show for it. You wake up refreshed, happy, and smiling.
The best part comes later in the day when anybody asks how you slept.
Because you know what to tell them.
AWESOME!
New Socks Day
Rip open the plastic wrap, slip off the hairpins, and peel off the sticky tape because it's time for New Socks Day! Let the streamers fly down and the balloons rise up for this magical moment.
Oh, New Socks Day is a terrific treat for your feet. We've talked before about how they got it bad. Toe knuckles get stubbed, dry skin gets rubbed, and bunions grow on your baby toe. Squeeze those caked and cracked pita-bread heels into tight shoes all day and you'll soon agree: Your feet deserve to be treated like royalty. On New Socks Day, feet aren't forgotten warriors clad in an unprotective armor of dry skin and old socks. No, they're queens cloaked in royal gowns, bathed in soft cotton, and tenderly hugged in factory-fresh fabric.
Also, let's not forget the Slip n' Slide. New socks grease your feet and let you move with reckless abandon across the hardwood floors of this great land. They let kids dream big dreams of futuristic frictionless worlds.
/> No New Socks Day chats are complete without discussing that high-quality toe jam. What's more satisfying than picking out those furry chunks at the end of the day? When I do the deed, I pretend I'm the world's greatest surgeon, wearing baby blue scrubs, leaning over a sliced-open stomach under bright-white spotlights in the middle of a tense operating room, and then, in a dramatic moment, I just start lifting out bloody pliers again and again, yanking out glass shard after glass shard, as everybody in the viewing gallery jumps to their feet and erupts in cheers.
Could just be me, though.
Hey, now listen: All socks eventually get old.
Tiny holes grow, heels brown and yellow, and elastics fray and rip away. One day you'll hold a warm sock up from the dryer and wonder if your washing machine's busted. That's when you know the dream is over and it's time to go shopping.
New Socks Day is the start of that clean dream.
It's the beginning of your new life together.
AWESOME!
Watching your odometer click over a major milestone
When your bucket of bolts clicks over a major milestone, you can't help but smile and feel proud.
"We made it, rusty lady," you say out loud, slapping the dash and honking the horn as you sit jammed in the fast food drive-thru. "Happy birthday, you ol' highway roller. Never thought we'd get this far."
And isn't it true: When your car clicks over a big round number, it sure is a special day. After all, assuming you cruise an average of fifteen thousand clicks a year, you only achieve this major accomplishment once every five or six calendar turns.
That's reason enough to celebrate.
I'm guessing you probably saw it coming for a while, too. Maybe you were grabbing groceries or dropping the kids off at day care last month when a 99,398 caught your eye or a 198,881 made you do a double take. And maybe you made a mental note to get ready. Maybe you wondered where you'd be when the big day came.