#76 When everything you own is fully charged at the same time

No low bars, no dark screens.

No redlines, no flatlines, no waiting in between.

Locked and loaded in full-bar paradise makes you feel a little bit invincible. “I could last forever,” you think, strapping a charged laptop in your bag, stuffing a juiced up cell phone in your pocket, picturing yourself braving for a cold night in a dense forest, camping in some rocky tundra, or getting lost in dark twisting alleys in foreign slums.

“Worst case, I’ll text my mom in the morning.”


Photo from: here

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#78 Finding the right lid in the Tupperware cupboard immediately

Have you ever seen a plastic factory explosion?

Well let me tell you something, homegirl: It’s not a pretty sight. Toxic burnt-rubber fumes fill the air, black billowing clouds mushroom overhead, and factory guys in singed overalls run screaming in all directions. And scattered across the muddy grass and concrete are bits of plastic everywhere. Rogue yogurt containers, melted casserole lids, and stained floral-pattern butter dishes from the fifties all form big messy piles of assorted plastic scraps littered across the parking lot.

Now if you’re anything like The Rest Of Us then I’m guessing your Tupperware cupboard looks just like that, too. Whether you’ve got greasily stained plastic awkwardly stashed in a big drawer beside the fridge, waterfalling out of a cupboard, or hanging in a bag in the pantry, it doesn’t matter. It’s just a plastic factory explosion that’s never organized.

Oh sure, you might have good days. Perhaps like me you organize your entire Tupperware cupboard in a fit of rage one afternoon — sorting lids into piles, sticking containers together, maybe even throwing a few in the garbage. But slowly the mess creeps back in, inch by inch, day by day, until you’re met once again with black billowing clouds and singed overalls.

Somehow the fact that each Tupperware has two pieces causes the problems to start. Some lids fit on two containers, others look like they do, and nothing seems to add up. You’d think there would be more lids than containers in the cupboard, too — since solo containers are more likely to disappear holding grapes on a car ride or popcorn for a basement movie. But you’d be wrong! Lids disappear into the abyss more often and you’re left standing in the kitchen in high heels at 7am — lidless and late for work, awkwardly switching dishes till you find something, eventually taking your single bran muffin in a giant cake container.

That’s what makes it so great when you find the right lid in the Tupperware cupboard immediately. You breathe a big sigh of relief realizing you just saved a frantic five minutes on your hands and knees digging through explosion scrap heaps in the parking lot, looking for survivors, desperate to find a pulse.

Taking leftover pizza to work in peace?


Photos from: here, here, and here

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#79 Little kids running around going completely insane

When I was growing up we had an extra bedroom in the basement that nobody ever used. It had no windows and was coated in thick purple shag carpet and soft velvety wallpaper. There was nothing inside except an old bed with a bouncy broken mattress, a couple pillows, and piles of thin flimsy sponge sheets the size of dining room tables leaned against the walls. We never knew where those spongy sheets came from and just assumed they were packing material from that time my parents were nuclear arms dealers.

Whenever my cousins Nikki and Adrian came over we’d wait until the adults were busy doing boring things like drinking punch and talking about interest rates and we’d sneak off to The Secret Basement Room Of Fun. That’s where we’d flick the lights off and run around blindly like madmen, bodychecking each other against the walls, squeezing each other into foam sheets, and jumping off the bed into mountainous pillowy landings. The whole time we were laughing hysterically, sweating buckets, and in a world of childhood bliss.

Fun time continued until somebody took a flying headbutt to their nose and started crying … or until an adult came to check on us. We would hear loud creaky footsteps coming down the stairs and would flick the lights on and pretend to be casually hanging out, with mysteriously soaking wet T-shirts, in a foam and pillow disaster zone. Since we were trustworthy kids we generally got away with it and flying headbutts, 360 piledrivers, and suplexes into the closet were never discussed.

My cousins and I still talk about that room today.

Little kids running around going completely insane is a beautiful thing. After all, kids grow up in bedrooms and backyards so when they escape into a head-swirly unknown it’s like they hit Total Infant Actualization. Spinning electrons in a spinning solar system can’t help lead to spinning bodies sometimes.

Yes, little girls in frilly dresses twirling in the middle of the dance floor, boys behind the school playing made up games, or just my cousins and I running around in shag carpeted darkness, are an amazing sight to behold. Let’s look fondly at little kids running around going completely insane and let’s let them remind us how easy it really is to find those secret hidden worlds of


Photos from: here, here, and here

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#81 Being the oldest grade in school

Bow down, dirty rascals.

When you’re king of castle the entire school kneels before you:

1. Romeo has left the building. Those annoying older kids who got all the lead roles in school plays and starter spots on sports teams have graduated and gone far, far away. So wherefore art thou now? In the spotlight, baby. So shuffle over and claim your rightful chair as first clarinet of the mighty woodwinds.

2. All Godzilla Mode, All The Time. I work an office job where I’m about average height. Some are taller, some are shorter, but for the most part we’re all the same. But back in eighth grade I could storm school hallways and send three-foot first graders flying in all directions. It was like being in Giant World in Super Mario 3 for those kids. Of course, there is one major problem with Godzilla Mode — getting on your knees to use the short water fountain.

3. Backstage Passes And Secret Hideouts. Top grade means you’ve likely earned a lot of teacher trust and scored big brownie points over the years. Backstage passes could come in the form of special access to the A/V closet, responsibility for the gym equipment room, or perhaps the holy grail — a key to the school. Who’s up for Midnight Dodgeball?

Yes, when you’re the oldest grade in school you sure are loving it lots. Scoring prime cafeteria seats, getting first dibs on lockers, and doing it all without bullies from the big grades is a big deal. So savor every single second of your year long You Dynasty and rule the school with a big steely fist full of


Photos from: here, here, and here

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#83 Flushing a toilet with blue water in it

We used to pee in ponds.

Believe it — back before the third millennium BC there was no such thing as toilets. It was sometime around then we all agreed that pooping in the corner was to be frowned upon and so began the dawn of “The Age of Cleanliness.”

One place toilets first popped up was Mohenjo-daro, a site in Pakistan that was home to one of the most advanced societies on Earth back around 2600 BC. They had brick roads laid out in grids, swimming pools, vented rooms, and even a giant condo where 5000 people crashed. On top of that, they built toilets into the sides of their homes — with wooden seats and flush chutes that drained out into a street sewer system.

We never looked back from there and today many of us are lucky enough to have toilets close by. For disgusting pit-scratching, fart-popping animals like us, having easy access to a loo is a beautiful thing. Sure, sure, keep them in a special room — with a lock, fan, and pink cableknit toilet paper cozy — but keep them close, my friends, because nature calls us all a few times a day.

Nowadays let’s give thanks we’re not peeing in ponds too often.

But once in a while let’s enjoy pretending we still are.


Photos from: here

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#84 Ripping your present open like a wild animal

First, some apologies.

We’re sorry, Endurance Wrapper. You spent thirty minutes getting the present just right with your scissor-frilled ribbons, crisply folded corners, and those adorable little bows. You put time in and we didn’t respect that with your raccoon-with-rabies slaughtering of your gift.

We’re sorry, Auntie Paper Collector. We know you quietly keep all the discarded bows and paper to fold back into little piles for next year. Nobody minds the creased sun-faded reindeer wrapping paper because we know you’re saving money and the planet. But this time we didn’t leave you with much. Unless you’re collecting saliva-smeared scraps, squashed boxes, and torn bows.

We’re sorry, Garbage Collecting Dad. We see you trudging around the living room with the World’s Lightest Garbage Bag, scooping up all the tiny bits of tissue paper and sticky ripped price tags. We know your job would be a lot easier if all presents moved to a Gift Bag Only Policy.

We are very, very sorry to you all.

And now that we’ve apologized our conscience is clear.

Because the truth is we love ripping presents open like a drugged-up reindeer.


Photos from: here and here

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#85 Seeing all the Christmas lights on your drive around town

Every city has a street.

It’s the quiet cul-de-sac where all the neighbors play it big for Christmas and decorate their homes with the great light show the world has ever seen. Word gets out through the local paper or radio station and soon everyone knows it’s just the place to go for a late night cruise down Neon Light Lane.

It’s the one place everyone enjoys traffic jams.

Sitting bumper to bumper around the quiet crescent, you push your hat above your forehead, press your mittens to the window, and stare out at the twinkling scene. Reds and greens flicker and flash on your darkened face as snow reflects classy floodlights, roofs beam with strings of white, and inflatable Santas bob and wave from the middle of lawns.

And there’s always one house that is just a bit better than the rest. It’s probably the family that got the parade route started with the big splash every year. I like thinking the neighbors leaned on their shovels with furrowed brows when they first saw lights spelling Merry Christmas being draped across the roof, but over time their Grinchlike hearts melted and they felt the Christmas spirit themselves.

Somehow over time the street grew and grew and grew until it became the sparkly beauty we see today. There’s something fun and something sweet about bundling up and just driving down the street. Hear the carols softly on the radio, feel the smiles in the car, and just take a moment to relax and remember how lucky we are.


“For anyone who relates more to Clark Griswold than Buddy the Elf, Christmastime can be a minefield — a season of pinched nerves and picked-over family wounds instead of plain old peace and goodwill toward men. If your home is starting to feel comparable to chaos theory, then perhaps it’s time to pick up Neil Pasricha’s The Book of (Holiday) Awesome to deliver some solace amongst the stress.” – The National Post

Photos from: here and here

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