Stare into those eyes.
Pupils grow wide and hearts thump fast as brains jolt and thoughts rollercoaster around. Conversation jumbles and stumbles before fading into footnotes as fingers touch and linger, thoughts twist together, and eye contact drifts and sways before catching and connecting as everything goes quiet…
AWESOME!
Photo from: here
My sister and I killed Dale.
Well, to be honest, the poor goldfish didn’t stand a chance. Nina was six and I was seven when my parents let us have our first pet and the slippery slugger swam in our front hallway for ten happy days before being savagely murdered by overfeeding.
See, we wanted to show Dale our love so much we cleaned his bowl regularly, taped ocean drawings to the back of his home, and fed him every time our TV show went to commercial break.
He wasn’t a suicidal glutton when we got him but we turned him into one. It broke our hearts to flush him down the toilet and we cried hot salty tears as we watched his tiny orange body swirl furiously into the sewer system.
Dale was the first pet I ever had.
Dale was the last pet I ever had.
My brain tried for years to forget him … but my heart just never could.
Sure, I took baby steps, moving forward, moving on, hitting the books in high school, driving off to college, and finally coming back to the big city a new person, a different person, with all my pet-murdering baggage behind me.
Pets completely disappeared from my life. I skipped their stink aisle in the grocery store, avoided eye contact with dogs on the sidewalk, and told friends my allergies prevented me from scratching their cat’s disgusting belly.
But this all changed a few years ago when I found myself living with a girlfriend who needed to dog sit for her parents for a few weeks. I wasn’t working at the time so I became the primary doggiver.
Toby was a tiny black pup who I kept my distance from for a few days. But pretty soon his puppy eyes, sideways glances, and the way he’d lie on my legs while I watched TV warmed my heart. He was my gym buddy and got me jogging in the park. He was my shopping partner and waited patiently outside the store for a lick of ice cream. He was my bodyguard who growled at every dog down the hall. He’d lick up crumbs I dropped on the kitchen floor, cry whenever I left the house, and run around like he’d won the lottery when I came home.
People, I’m telling you: We bonded like glue.
Yes, when Toby finally had to leave I was heartbroken. I stood in the middle of the rain-slicked road watching his paws pressed against the back window of the van slowly disappearing into the distance. As I gazed back up at the apartment building everything felt hollow and empty inside.
Life savagely swirled me and Toby in different directions and I’m sad to say he died a few years later. However, these days every time I see a dog that looks like him my heart does a tiny flip and I remember all the good times we shared. Yes, I run up to that confused Placebo Dog on the street and scratch him behind the ears as my mind photoflashes to Toby sniffing tree trunks, chasing balls at the park, and running with a wagging tongue straight into my heart …
If you’re with me here then you know that seeing a dog that looks like a dog you know reminds you of childhood pets, neighbor’s yappy mutts, or your Grandpa’s best friend growing up. You wonder if they’re long lost descendants of your old friends and you smile at the four-legged memories bubbling up from long ago, popping out of nowhere just to say hello.
AWESOME!
Thank you sincerely for putting The Book of Awesome on bestseller lists for 10 straight weeks.
AWESOME!
Photos from: Nat and Ago Mazzarelli
Let’s go out.
Let’s grab friends, let’s grab drinks, let’s make it happen.
Now, if you’re like me then even though you love hitting a busy scene, you sorta end up sticking to your own corner booth or tipsy table with your own group of friends. Sure, sure, rogue eyeballs drift and linger, small-talk could be swapped at the bar, and elbows might accidentally disrespect the buffer, but for the most part most of us stick to our own teams.
That’s what makes it special when everyone at the bar suddenly starts singing together. It’s a rare moment of unity that usually goes down one of three ways:
1. Sports cheer. Everyone’s watching the home team on the big screen. When a goal is scored as the clock clicks down and it’s time to grab each other’s shoulders, sway side to side, and let the tears stream down those painted faces.
2. Birthday brotherhood. Have you ever been at a family restaurant when the staff started singing happy birthday and everyone chimed in? Yes, this is when the magic of the ten-year-old’s flaming cake infects everybody with birthday love. The best part is when you get to the part where you’re supposed to sing the person’s name. Usually it comes out like “Happy BIRTH-day dear girl-at-the-barrrrrrrrr…. happy birthday to youuuuuuuu.”
3. Late night sing-a-long. Everyone’s chit-chatting into the early morning when suddenly the DJ drops a fan favorite and cranks it up. Fists pump the sky and drinks slosh around as Bon Jovi or Guns N’ Roses gets everyone jumping.
Yes, there sure is something sweet and something special about that magic moment when everyone starts singing together. It’s like the loud chords shake us up, the screaming vocals sweep us in, and our whole sweaty, sloshy crowd comes together in a big beautiful moment of
AWESOME!
Photos from: here
After sitting on a wobbly wood desk coloring in multiple choice bubbles for hours, you finally tip-toe to the front and hand in your last exam. Now you can say goodbye to biology, say goodbye to photosynthesis, say goodbye to hypotenuses, and say goodbye to the hot stench of chalk dust and B.O. sitting heavy in the hot room.
Now you can say goodbye to early mornings, say goodbye to pop quizzes, and say goodbye to weekend homework.
Now you can say hello to summer.
It’s finally here.
AWESOME!
Catch you next time, distant cousin’s baby shower. We totally would have been there, new coworker’s birthday party. Sorry it didn’t work out, someone we don’t know’s wedding.
AWESOME!
Photo from: here
Personally, I’m a crustless gentleman.
Gimme that melty tip of of cheesy goodness, gimme that pepperoni with crispy edges, and then gimme another slice.
Yes, for my money Belly Space Analysis dictates I’m better off grabbing another slice from the box rather than chomp away at the crust’s puffy blandness. So I gaze up at the feasting lions clawing the pizza zebra to bits around me and offer up my crust to anyone who wants it.
Sometimes I even leave a little cheese and sauce at the edges to sweeten the deal.
If you’re a crust lover this is when your eyes flash fast and you growl at the others before tearing it from my hands and ripping it to shreds.
AWESOME!
Massive congrats to our friend Justin Halpern for hitting #1 on the bestseller list with his book Sh*t My Dad Says
It’s dinner party night.
Yes, sweaty and flushed, you run around baking bread and breaking eggs before that doorbell bing-bongs, the guests ping-pong, and everyone sits down to eat up your delicious homemade meal.
Of course, you enjoy the dinner — you love it, it’s great — but you don’t really enjoy it. No, you’re running around refilling glasses, folding napkins, scooping seconds, warming pies. You’re cleaning crumbs, wiping babies, and keeping an eye on the kids table. While everyone sits and chats you’re a Tasmanian Devil of dining room insanity, whipping into a whirlwind and making sure everyone enjoys their meal.
By the end, you’re completely and utterly exhausted. Your bones are bleeding, your skin is stinging, and your body is aching for a tender hug from a cushy couch.
This is why it’s great when your guests offer to do the dishes after the meal.
“No, no, no,” you say. “Sit down, sit down, sit down.”
But they insist, but you insist, but they insist, but you insist, but they insist … and then finally you just stare back at them with hollow, broken eyes and give up.
Now you crashland on the cushy couch as your guests fill the sink and bubble up the suds. And what a beautiful moment of sweet relief it is when you walk back in there and see everything sparkling clean.
Plus, for the rest of the week to get to enjoy the Treasure Hunt that comes with finding your own dishes in all the wrong cupboards. But it’s no big deal so just smile and enjoy those Gravy Boat Rescue Missions and Wooden Spoon Search Parties with a smile.
Yes, this one goes out to guests who wash the dishes even after we told them not to. Today we say thanks for love, thanks for the memories, and thanks for scrubbing the crusty casserole dish.
AWESOME!
Careful now.
You started strong but now you’re down to the drippy ice-cold clump in the middle of the stick.
You can’t reach it from the top, you can’t reach it from the bottom, and using your fingers or a fork is cheating. No, you’re going straight in and facing the big risk of a cherry chunk of icy goodness crashlanding into a neon pink stain on your shorts.
There’s no time for stalling so put on your game face and let’s get to it.
Take a deep breath and carefully twist the stick upside down really quickly while tilting your head sideways and loudly sucking your way into a tongue-twisting, teeth-tightening, gravity defying moment of pure popsicle biting
AWESOME!
Time for a trim.
Yes, step into those grass-stained workboots, toss on a faded ballcap, and roll the rusty mower out of the wobbly tin shed. You’re about to spend an hour mindlessly chopping lawn so stare at those grass-covered wheels, duct-taped wires, and chippy paint patches before getting down to business.
Now, if you’re like me then before pulling that cord you sort of get it in your mind that you’re in for three or four full-body yanks before that machine starts purring. I don’t know about you, but since I’m a limp, wimpy noodle of a man I find pulling that cord about as physically draining as benchpressing a full keg of beer, building a house out of boulders, or dragging an 18-wheeler up a steep hill with a rope.
See, 
I put my whole body into it and just get some slow sputtering. Wheeze, wheeze, die, you feel me?
But hey, that’s what makes it great when us noodles pull those cords and they start up on the first pull. Now when the motor starts up and the gas fumes float up we suddenly get to feel like the World’s Strongest Human.
Yes, pass the black spandex shorts, tattoo a skull on our neck, and toss us some barbells, baby.
We’re going in.
AWESOME!
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