#744 That smooth feeling on your teeth after you get your braces off

bracesPicture a loud, clanging factory with assembly lines zig-zagging all over the place, steam bursting out of pipes, and slick oil spills laying on cold, concrete floors. Then add blaring sirens, honking forklifts, and scraggly guys in cargo shorts and workboots trudging by with brooms now and then.

That chaotic jungle of a factory is sort of like the inside of my mouth. Yeah, it’s sad to admit folks, but I’ve got one messy mouthhole.

See, I’ve got a gap between my two front teeth. I had it filled it with white plastic so it’s invisible, but I still know it’s there. I remember sucking milkshakes and soup in through that Tooth Canal when I grew up and the memories haunt me still. Add to that a handful of black and white fillings dotting my molars like a checkerboard and a dangerous crossbite that wears down my pointy teeth, requiring pleasant maintenance fillings every couple of years. And let’s not forget that my bottom teeth are jumbled and cracked together like a rickety picket fence after a big blustery wind storm.

My bottom teethMost of my friends did the braces thing when they were younger and today they walk around town with confidence, sass, and perfectly straight teeth. After putting up with twisted-tight wires for a few years, they finally got them peeled off and joined the Perfect Pearls club with a punch.

And though I’ve never experienced it first hand, they tell me that slimy-smooth, new mouth feeling they got when the clamps came off can only be described with one big, all-caps word.

I’m just going to have to trust them on this one.

AWESOME!

no more bracesPhotos from: here, here, and here

#746 Getting the last piece of sleep out of your eye

just woke upI’m a mess in the morning.

Drool drips down my cheeks, my mouth hangs open like a mailbox, and my eyeballs roll around their sockets in slow motion. Hair scraped sideways, underwear bunched up and twisted, I dry-swallow and slowly stumble out of bed while trying to form my first thoughts of the day.

Inside my brain a tiny man is feverishly working a broom to sweep away all the dusty shards of dream residue so my conscious self can assume the controls. When he does, some rusty gears are crunched and I groggily shuffle to the bathroom where my own droopy, mashed up face greets me like a monster in the mirror.

It is a hideous sight.

mouth hangs open like a mailboxYes, I immediately notice there was a party in Dreamworld last night and those subconscious animals left my place a real mess. Strange puddles pool on counters, squeezed-up lemon wedges fill the sink, and cigarette butts litter the balcony. Folks, I’m junked right out, my lips chapped with the corners cracked, my skin dry and flaking, and my mouth loaded with a big set of furry yellow teeth.

Plus, to top it all off my eyes are nearly glued shut.

A picture of me from this morningThat’s right — goop clogs the corners and fills the tear ducts with their sharp n’ drippy dregs. And let’s be honest here: those eye boogies will catch us if we’re not careful, showing up unannounced at job interviews, big meetings, and first dates.

We can’t have that.

No, there’s really only one choice and that’s to get digging, people. Cast your finger in the starring role of shovel, rake, and wheelbarrow and jam it right in there. Hard bits, sharp bits, gummy little squishy bits, just yank them all, with each tiny crumb giving you a little pick-me-up when you lift it up and pull it out.

Now that you can see again it’s time to clean up the rest of the joint. Yes, with your eyes back in the game nothing can stop you now. So cue the shave, cut to the shower scene, and get ready to enjoy your big, beautiful day.

AWESOME!

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Get it out and go

Photos from: here, here, and here

#747 Short acceptance speeches

Tight and tinyCongrats, everybody!

Our peppy little community of eyes-to-the-skies optimists accepted the Best Culture/Personal Blog award at the Webbies this past Monday in New York City. We chatted before about how getting recognized for doing something you love is awesome and we’re so grateful to all of you for your support and electronical votering.

Now, the Webby Awards have a tradition of enforcing a strict five-word max speech policy for all winners. That’s right, brother: keep ’em short and get off the stage. No need for the band to awkwardly jam in when you take a breath between paragraphs, no long rambly speeches thanking agents and academies, none of that. It’s just wham, bam, thank you Gram, come up, get down, and keep the party shaking.

So Jimmy Fallon took home the award for Webby Person of the Year with the line “Thank God Conan got promoted”, the Boston Globe snagged Best Photography with “It’s not journalism that’s dying,” and Twitter Co-Founder Biz Stone accepted Webby Breakout of the Year with “Creativity is a renewable resource.” If you’re interested, you can check out  past speeches over at the Webby site.

As for us, we took a reader suggestion and went with a four-word shortie.

Short acceptance speeches.

AWESOME!

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#748 That feeling in your stomach when you go really high on the swings

Because now you’re finally tall and can look down at the world below you. Gone are those constant views of ankles, coffee table legs, and your family cat’s hollow, piercing eyes. Now you’re zooming up and over gardens, sandlots, and your baby brother’s distant, fading cries.

Stomach gushing, adrenaline rushing, it’s your first taste of the high life.

AWESOME!

 

Close your eyes and feel the windPhoto from: here

#749 The quiet satisfaction of settling the group bill after dinner

The root cause of the problemGut busting with chicken chow mein, nursing a fried rice hangover, your frenzied hour of pillaging the steam trays quickly dissolves into a table full of sticky-smeared plates, bloated bellies, and quiet groaning.

Folks, if you’re like me this scene is called The End of The Buffet, a dimly-lit freeze-frame featuring you and your friends lazily sliding in chairs with slack jaws and heavy eyelids.

And it gets worse, too.

The chipper waitress drops off the bill and everybody just eyes each other suspiciously. Who owes who money? Who ordered drinks and who didn’t? Is anyone riding a fat paycheck high and feeling generous? Since I am an extremely cheap person, I generally choose this exact moment to skedaddle to the bathroom in the hopes that everyone else will overpay and allow me to just drop a fiver on the stack before heading out.

Of course, it never works out that way.

You know what you need to do, Math GuyInstead, I return to an untouched bill and generally get pegged as Math Guy, also known as The Job Nobody Wants After Dinner. See, my friends start chatting about what movie to see and I’m suddenly stuck with my head down, brows furrowed, figuring out tips, collecting cash, and trying to follow the paper trails of who paid what.

If you’re hanging out with me and my friends then Math Guy is a doubly terrible job because we’re always forty bucks short. People shrug, eye contact is avoided, and there are some phantom wallet reaches, until we figure out that two people didn’t add tax and tip and one guy still needs to get cash from the bank machine.

Holla if you been there.

Math Guys and Math Girls of the world, we feel each other’s pain. It’s tough asking people to put more money in and sometimes we just reach into our own wallets to get the job done. Twenties are broken, coins are counted, and there is constant checking and rechecking that it all adds up right.

Yes, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down, then you know that moment of quiet satisfaction when you finally close that sticky, vinyl, duck-sauce smeared billfold over a stack of crumpled bills and sliding coins.

Because at that exact moment the shackles of Math Guy are finally busted.

And you’re free.

AWESOME!

Now go see a movie

Photos from: here, here, and here

#750 Dangling your feet in water

drip those feetFeet need to breathe.

People, people, we’ve discussed this before. Those corny paws sure are sitting ugly at the bottom of the You Chain. Stepped on, squished on, dripping with sweat, they’re down low all day long getting no damn respect.

So once in a while give them a well deserved break. That’s right, girlfriend: peel the hot socks off, roll the tight jeans up, and flash them sexy ankles, because it’s time to drop your bare, aching feet into some cool, waiting water.

Yes, that gentle lapping on the edge of the dock, side of the boat, or in the hotel pool is just calming, soothing, and good for the soul.

And good for the sole.

AWESOME!

Rodney Dangerfield has a lot in common with your feetPhotos from: here and here

#751 Big crowds enjoying big fireworks together

Fire trickles and drips across the sky, old folks huddle and cuddle and babies cry, teenagers squeeze sweaty palms and look up, up way high. Because light fills the night, kabooms bang in the air, conversation stops, jaws drop, we all crane our necks up … and stare. Yes, when those fireworks erupt, when they splash in the dark, when those bright waterfalls drip down into our park, we all ooh and ahh at them big beautiful sparks.

AWESOME!

fireworksPhoto from: here

#753 When your sneeze stalls for a second and then suddenly comes booming out

the sweet releaseYour head is a machine.

Honestly, just face it: your face and scalp are really just oily gift wrap over the giant, whirring Skull Factory running full-throttle inside your coconut. Just think about what’s going on up there.

First you’ve got sound waves constantly navigating your twisty, waxy ear canals like Luke Skywalker weaving through Death Star trenches. Then there’s your nose on permanent high sniff alert, searching out gas leaks in the basement, fresh croissants at the bakery, or coffee aisles in the grocery store. And we can’t forget your mouth and nose dancing together in the majestic art of breathing.

Some sort of sound wave metaphor

But wait, that’s not all. On top of these rickety assembly lines of important Head Business, you’ve got blood swirling around, mucus dripping all over the place, and neurons firing and bouncing off walls like a never ending game of Breakout.

Skull Factory’s a busy place, folks. The line keeps moving every day, every night, every year, forever.

BreakoutGiven how much is going on it’s no wonder the gears get gummed up once in a while. Rogue lashes jam your sockets, popsicles give you brainfreeze, and sneezes stall in your clogged-up noggin just as they’re trying to escape.

And you know what that feels like.

Face frozen in an awkward crunch, you stare at the ceiling and hold your hand up to your friend, pleading with the factory foreman to please just let it out. One eye popped open, the other squeezed shut, you clench your cheeks, twist your mouth into a triangle, and feel the lost sneeze pinball around your skull.

And then BOOM.

How good does it feel when that sneeze finally comes ripping out? The sweet release feels like someone yanking a red-hot, twisted wrench out of your grinding, crunched-up and steaming headgears to let all the oily, metal parts suddenly start whirring again.

You feel wild, you feel refreshed, and you just got a big face splash of

AWESOME!

Midnight shiftPhotos from: here, here, here, and here