Author: Neil Pasricha

Have you ever waged a quiet, ten-minute war against a stubborn price tag?

You know how it is: Slapped on the side of a souvenir, stuck to the bottom of a vase, you spot the sticker and start peeling it off with your fingers. But then it quickly tears and you hold a sad little scrap in your hand with the remaining bit stubbornly laughing at you. So you start peeling again from the other side but it is no use. It just rips off too — leaving you stuck with a sticky square of frustration.

That’s when it’s time to roll up the sleeves.

That’s when it’s time to go Domestic MacGyver on it — wheeling out big guns like the edge of a credit card, nail polish remover, Windex, or even a hair dryer. Nothing is off limits as you fight for your right to give a non-sticky boxed action figure to your nephew for his birthday.

So you rub in oils and lotions, dig your fingernails in there, and finally, huffing and puffing, smear it all off. But it takes a long time, gums up your fingers, and causes a great deal of stress.

So just smile and love it lots when that tag rolls off in one smooth peel.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

Time to get squished.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Sweaty crowds in sticky shirts scream and scramble for better views between songs. Drums kick boom and guitars get tuned just before the bright lights flip up and flick on. Everyone slides forward on the beer-slicked floor and as the first notes kick in we all catch our breath.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Sometimes those old, ratty sandals need to get buried. When sidewalk steps rattle your spine and walking to the store gives you severe Blackfoot, it’s time to go shopping.

Next time you slide on that fresh new pair in the store, just pause for a second and look wistfully at the broken, smooth-soled flat ones in your hand. So many rainy nights, so many deck parties, so many quick trips for gas. Fight tears and steady your lip as you stare the teenage cashier square in the eye and say:

“Do you guys have a garbage can?”

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Racing up staircases or jumping down them gives you that I’m-in-a-rush rush. Handrails play helper as you leap on stage as the quick-zipping star of the show.

Here’s how to make the magic happen.

Okay, if you’re going up, two of the classiest moves include:

1. Roboto Man. You’re a straight-faced, mild-mannered Stairskipper 4000, an advanced prototype who skips steps nonchalantly and even does the triple step every so often. Robotos sometimes act super casual because they’re quietly racing someone in the escalator beside them.

2. Eager Beavers. These are sweaty six-year olds who just scarfed all their candy, businesswomen racing to catch the commuter train, or teenagers in ballcaps and baseball gloves running to the park. Eager beavers sometimes leap up two, three, four stairs at a time. Although it’s in their best interest to avoid you, keep your eyes peeled for sharp elbows and sweat showers.

Okay, now if you’re going down I recommend one of the following:

1. The Tarzan. Some lords of the jungle motor down the stairs and then plant their hands on the rail to swing themselves the rest of the way. We’ve all heard long tales of six, seven, even eight steps at once, but details are always fuzzy and hard to check out. Still, if done well The Tarzan can be very majestic. If done poorly, it can be very ankle sprainy.

2. Cliff Jumpers. This one’s for pros only. This is just a huge, free falling jump, generally on the way down to the rec room to play video games. Hopefully you’ve got a padded cushion landing and don’t crash head first through the thin wood veneer wall. There is no limit to the heights you can reach with this move.

Yes, jumping stairs gets your blood flowing from mini cardio workouts throughout the day. For a few brief moments you transform from a gal on her way to biology class into an animal in the wild again — scaling mountains, leaping rivers, and jumping cliffs like you were born to do. So as you go about your day don’t forget about your primal roots and caveman instincts.

Jump up. Jump down.

Jump forever.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, here, and here

Lazing around in crumpled sheets, sun streaking through the blinds, your eyes slowly blink open and your lips curl into a slow smile. You make some deep, grunting noises as you twist your back and stretch your neck.

You smile and enjoy the soft and slow process of waking up after sleeping in on a weekend morning. You glance casually at the alarm clock, you stare at the ceiling, flip your pillow, and roll around in Sheetworld.

Then it hits you.

Nose twitching, brain sniffing, you catch faint fumes of sizzling bacon drifting up from the kitchen. Can it be? Is this why you woke up? You bunny-sniff again and this time you’re positive, you’re certain, you’re sure.

Bacon!

It smells like mom’s cooking breakfast. It smells like a sunny Sunday sleep-in. It smells like pajamas and a fresh paper. It smells like little white grease bubbles in a crispy black frying pan.

And it smells a lot like

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

The kids, they love The Jonas Brothers.

When the pop group visited Toronto a few weeks back you would walk down the street and notice anxious little pods of teenagers circling around their hair-stylists and drum tuners. Or maybe people were crowding an actual brother in the flesh. I couldn’t quite see in there, but when there’s a celebrity in our midst , we know what to do, don’t we gang?

That’s right: Get tight around them, shove Sharpies in their face, and tell them to make the autograph out to our little sisters.

Right, usually when you see those buzzy groups of people crowded together, it’s because there’s a celebrity in the middle winking, making kissy-faces, and signing autographs. Either that or it’s a dead bird and a group of sixth-graders are poking it with a stick. Either that or it’s an open sewer and everyone’s scratching their hard hats looking down at the one crew-member who fell in there.

Either that or it’s a baby about to burp.

Come on, don’t lie to me, you know what I’m talking about. It generally happens after the adults have eaten and our special little someone just downed a big bottle of milk all by himself. Oh yes he did! Ohhhhhh, yes he did! Didn’t he? Didn’t he?! Who’s the big burper! Who’s that little guy!

Sorry, but this is hilarious. Wrapped in blankets, rocking on a shoulder, everybody peeks in for the big moment when the bundle of joy lets out a thundering adult-sized burp.

And then there is cheering.

I mean, it’s funny to hear a big booming sound come from something so tiny and fragile. Only babies and old people get away with this kind of social behavior. And it’s not nearly as cute with old people. Hey, I’m not knocking them, though. When I let out a loud belch after chugging a glass of soda, people hold their applause because there’s nothing adorable about it, either.

But with babies, it’s different. It’s like they’re discovering the true biological pleasure that comes with popping out hot gas from their insides. Burping, farting, just look at them smile and laugh when nature rings. They’re loving and appreciating the small joys in life.

We can learn so much from the baby.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

It doesn’t matter whether you’re on clean up duty at your niece’s wedding reception, throwing in for a third poker tournament with the boys, trying to defeat every level of Bubble Bobble, or last to get dropped off after the bachelorette party downtown. All that matters is if you stumble over tomorrow’s newspaper sitting on the stoop on your way up to bed, it means your excellent evening out just got a little extra party cred.

AWESOME!

Illustration from: here

As old school assignments, half-downloaded mp3s, and duplicate photos crumple and disappear from your hard drive, you settle back into your office chair, slap your hands together, and smile at finishing up The World’s Easiest Chore.

AWESOME!

Illustration from: here

Spin the dial to the left and you’re drowning under a frozen glacier waterfall. Spin it to the right and you’re stinging under some sharp second degree burns.

We all know your perfect temperature lies somewhere between these dangerous extremes so every time you strip down to scrub up you’re playing detective. Oh, you know that perfect temperature is out there, but there are so just many problems.

First off, there’s the tale of the tank. See, we all know hot water is made not born. Chances are good that a fat clunky water heater sits somewhere in the basement under piles of rust, cobwebs, and Christmas tree ornaments, and each morning you’re crunching numbers to figure out what she’s got left to give. Bubbling to the top, you’re fine, but if you’re the last to go, it’s time to crank it.

Secondly there’s The You Factor. Yes, you and your temperature fussiness. After all, if you live somewhere chilly winter mornings are marked by running from your sheet cave across ice-cold linoleum floors to the bathroom, then your perfect temperature could be hotter than normal. And on sweaty summer mornings, you might make do with a slightly cool rinse. And if you just finished a basketball game, just got out of the pool, or are aching with a sore neck, you could have all kinds of different shower plans.

Point is: there’s one or two dials max, without numbers or letters on them, that you’ve got to spin around in your groggy half-asleep state, to find the perfect shower temperature. Sometimes you stick your hand in to test, sometimes you jump in there in your birthday suit ready for anything.

When you step into the shower and it’s at the exact right temperature, you’re absolutely loving it. Bring on the shampoo afros, lathery bellies, and nose blowing as you get ready for ten hot minutes of

AWESOME!

Photos from: here and here