What’s funnier than hearing a stranger fart in public?

Well sure, it can happen in a bank lineup, hotel lobby, or subway car. It can happen in a restaurant, movie theater, or local bar. But the funniest of all has got to be the Elevator Fart. That’s the king of public farts, for two main reasons:

1. Acoustics. It’s almost always dead silent in an elevator. People usually keep quiet, stare firmly at the front door, and wait for their floor. Any whisper or laugh echos around the box with full force, reverberating loudly for all to hear. So a giant, rippling fart popped out by a bald businessman in a suit holding a briefcase in front of him? That’s like a 21 gun salute.

2. Time. If you’re climbing a highrise, you’re spending maybe a minute or two with these people. It’s you and them, locked together. Hearing a stranger fart on the sidewalk is one thing. Hearing a stranger fart in a tiny, enclosed room is another. Nobody can escape the full experience, from big bang to first whiff to total elevator saturation.

Hearing a stranger fart in public is great partly because of everybody’s reaction. There are really four main types of fart reactions you see:

• Concealed Laughers. These folks purse their lips tightly, pop open their eyes, and try not to laugh. If they’re with friends then the sight of their friend also trying to hold in their laugh can be too much, and they suddenly explode into a full-blown belly laughs.
• The Business Class. Folks in suits often try to  pretend that nothing happened. “Nope, everything’s just chipper here, I don’t smell anything at all.” Their only tells might be a very subtle step away from the culprit and a few extra looks at their watch.
• Deep-Sea Divers. These folks try to hold their breath as long as possible. They hear the fart and it’s “Come on lungs, don’t fail me now.” They’re the ones with the chipmunk cheeks who eventually pop and gasp desperately for air when the door opens.
• Innocent Children. Little kids are always the funniest. I once heard a child in an elevator say “Mommy, that man just farted” with a full-on finger point right into the well-dressed ass in front of his face. But hey, I guess if you’re going to fart in a kid’s face, you deserve to be called out.

Yes, hearing a stranger fart in public can be a tiny, hilarious moment in the middle of any day. If you’re the farter, I say be loud and be proud! We’ve all been there, so no need to be embarassed. If you’re in the audience, I say enjoy the hilarious social faux-pas and resulting reaction in the room.

So thank you, strangers farting in public, for adding a great bit of comic relief to the middle of our day.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

Natural team players, your big ol’ teeth chomp and ship freshly ground foodpaste down the gully to the rest of your digestive system, who finish the job up in style. But unlike your stomach or large intestine, teeth actually have to look pretty doing it. They’re the frontman of the band, the captain of the ship, the CEO of Swallow It, Inc. Yes, your teeth are on stage for the big scene at the dinner table, while the rest of the brown, slippery organs down below change sets, hoist lighting, and clink triangles in the pit band.

Now, while our teeth are pulling double-duty on the front lines, we sure don’t make their lives much easier. They’re sweating away, trying to get the job done, and we’re talking, smiling, and laughing. On top of that we’re eating popcorn, spinach, and poppy-seed bagels, lodging tiny bits of food up into their fine nooks and crannies, turning their brave attempts to look pretty into a cartoonish poster about improper dental hygiene.

That’s why it’s so great when someone tips you off that there’s something in your teeth. A quick, subtle tap to their own teeth or a whispered aside are enough to let you know your big, bright smile is currently featuring a piece of tomato skin. Of course, you might not get it at first, so expect to say “Did I get it?” and “Is it gone?” a few times before you finally send it on its way. If you’re comfortable, you might even need their physical assistance as pictured.

So I say we owe massive head-bows and hand-kisses to these gracious tipper-offers. And surely we owe them the same courtesy back, too. Let’s all work together to keep the whole world’s teeth free of little tiny bits of jammed up food.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

Though I hate to admit it, I am a slow, indecisive mess in the grocery store checkout lane.

Since I am an extremely cheap person, I watch the prices scroll up on screen like a hawk, often saying things like “Oh, I thought that was on sale,” or, “Actually, I don’t really want that anymore,” forcing the cashier to call in price-checks to the unresponsive produce department or find a temporary home for the pack of melting Fudgsicles I’ve decided to leave off my list last minute.

And because I’m watching the screen so closely, I start late and take forever to bag my groceries and pay, awkwardly leaving my shopping cart blocking the lane for the next customer, a metal criss-crossed castle knight enforcing a firm “Thou shall not pass” law in its trademark silence.

Yes, I clog up the line and annoy everybody behind me. I’m one of four People You Don’t Want To Stand Behind in the grocery line, together with:

• Fidgety Grandma, who on cue dumps a pile of warm nickels on the counter to pay and then slowly counts them out by sliding them across the counter with her index finger
• Flyer Guy, who hands the cashier a dog-eared flyer from home, forcing him or her to manually tear out all the coupons while everybody waits
• No-Math Jack, who sneaks in piles of extra items onto the Express Lane and acts like it’s no big deal

Yes, those tense, winding checkout lanes can be a pretty rough go sometimes. It’s not easy out there. You have to watch the anxiety levels, keep that blood pressure in check.

That’s why there are few things better than a spritely new cashier hopping onto the scene, grabbing the ‘next lane please’ sign from the end of the belt, flicking on the lightbulb above their station, and offering a loud, beaming “Next customer, please!,” to the scowling, stressed-out masses.

When that cashier lightbulb goes on, a bright warm glow showers down upon everybody waiting. People like me feel less guilty about holding up the line and folks at the end win the big front-of-the-line jackpot. Yes, it’s one, giant mood swing, one massive swelling of goodwill, complete with buzzing chatter, a few laughs, and even the occasional crinkly plastic sound of a tightly wound frowning turning upside down.

And sure, there’s a bit of line etiquette to sort out. Who gets first dibs on this new empty lane, after all? But it’s almost always better for everybody, regardless of what happens. So most of us, we just smile and enjoy the ride.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here and here

You know when you get caught in the rain and your fabulous hairdo turns into a wet, frizzy mess? Well, I say that’s a good thing. Because hear me out.

Let’s talk about how much time, money, and effort we put into the managing and upkeep of our golden locks of dead skin cells. How about a lot? Now, don’t get me wrong, I play the game too. I wash my hair, condition it up, gel it up, shake it up. I prepare it for the day and check in periodically to see how it’s doing. Any rogue locks, fallen bangs? What’s new in the slowly-going-bald corners? And how’s that back-of-the-neck beard coming in this month? I spend way too much time on it. And my hair looks like a squirrel that’s been run over on the highway for a few weeks.

Our pals over at Wikipedia make hair sound like the Sun or fresh water, saying in their snooty tone that head hair has ‘gained an important significance in nearly all present societies as well as any given historical period throughout the world.’ But then again, those eggheads can make anything sound pretty serious. It’s just hair, after all.

I say maybe the army got it right when they instituted crew cuts after World War I trench warfare gave everyone lice and fleas. Maybe there’s something to be said about the no-maintenance plan, the low-maintenance plan, or the no-plan at all. Because whenever I walk by someone with hair just flying everywhere, all unkempt and full of knots, dirty dreads, and dead leaves, I get jealous for a second. Think of the free time they have! I mean, sure, they stick out. But… what if we all got in the game? Then maybe we’ve got something. Then maybe everyone’s garden would look immaculate, the gyms would get really crowded, and the libraries would run out of books. You’d just have to put up with all these shaggy, scraggly sasquatches walking around, that’s all.

And that’s what I kind of like about rain hair. It’s a temporary escape from the Hair Prison we live in. When everyone shows up at the movies or mall with the wet and frizzy flyaways, the hair matted to their foreheads, and the hair spray dripping and stinging their eyes, it’s like yeah, we all look like a mess. But the rain sure does wash away expectations, too.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here and here

Sometimes sneezes hit you and hit you hard.

Unless you’re rolling around in a pile of ragweed or sleeping on a pillow filled with pepper and cat hair, it usually starts completely out of nowhere. You feel that tickle deep up your nose. Just a tiny little quiver way, way up there, near where you eyeball connects to your brain. You squint a bit, pull your hand up to your mouth, and then BOOM! Your eyes squeeze tightly, your face contorts and crunches together, and it screams down your face at the speed of sneeze, exploding out of your mouth in a wet and ugly climax of snot droplets and head goo flying in all directions.

Despite the look of it, sneezing can feel pretty great. Not only does repeated sneezing give you a weird, spacey head rush, but it can also be quite refreshing. Those sinuses get cleaned out a bit. The nose hairs get a brief, windy blow down. Plus, you fire whatever might be irritating your nasal cavity out of your nose like a cannon, sending it flying across the room in a spastic I Must Get This Out Of Me overreaction.

Now, although sneezes are usually a surprise, there are times when you know they’re in there and you just want them to leave. What’s worse than that frustratingly stubborn sneeze? I’m talking about the kind that pauses all conversation, leaving your friends stuck grimacing and watching you writhe in an agitated Potentially Sneezing Soon state, trying to force the sneeze locked in your nose in or out.

It’s just awkward.

But that’s why it feels great to let that booming sneeze out, preferably in a punctuated rat-a-tat-tat sequence of three or more sneezes for the full effect. Tiny mousesqueak sneezes or booming dogbark sneezes welcome, because whatever your style man, that’s cool. It’s all good.

And hey, you know what’s the best part? Free blessing! Yes, everyone around you chimes in just when your body is buzzing, your sinuses are sparkling, and your head pipes are all vacuumed clean.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

While traveling on a road trip across the US last year, my friends Ty, Chris, and I ended up staying at a hotel that had two beautiful double beds cordoned off in private rooms, and one thin piece of felt spread over a hard metal frame in the middle of the common area. Clearly, there were two good places to sleep and one joke of a pull-out bed that came with a free Day Full Of Back Pain at no extra charge. So we stood in the front hallway and surveyed the situation, bags in hand, stern looks on our faces. We knew decisions needed to be made, and quick. After sleeping in basements and on motel floors for a week, we all finally had a chance at getting a good night’s sleep. We had to settle it.

Well, first of all, we ended up giving Chris one of the rooms, since he actually found the place and we were driving his car. It was a gift and Chris took it immediately, without a word, leaving Ty and I to fight over the remaining room. Well, we were through being nice guys. We both wanted that room bad. So we agreed to settle it the only way we knew how — with a long, drawn out best-of-seven Rock-Paper-Scissors war.

Quickly, we took care of logistics. We agreed to ‘shoot’ on the count of three instead of right after it. Any double-clutching would be interpreted as a rock, no questions asked. We ruled out celebrating each win with the ceremonial action move, where you snip your scissor-fingers across their palm-paper or smash their scissor-fingers with your rock-fist. No need for any of that gloating. And lastly, we of course made doubly sure that it was a best of seven. Nothing more, nothing less, and no extensions. Whoever got four wins first got the good bed and that was that.

With that we dropped our bags, steadied our fists in front of us, and sized each other up, cracking our necks and loosening our shoulders for the big game.

And so it began.

I opened with rock, soundly shattering Ty’s flimsy scissors. Ty then countered with scissors again, falling immediately once more to my sturdy rock. Then Ty switched gears to paper, but I was ready, this time employing his very own scissors to slice him to bits. Down 3-0 in a flash, Ty called for a quick pause. “I need to think,” he said. And I’ll never forget it. He looked me square in the eye for a moment, squinted a bit, laughed, then said “Alright, I’m ready.” The next three rounds were a nightmarish blur — his paper smothered my rock, his scissors snipped my paper, there were a couple of draws, and then he completed the comeback with a fateful suffocating of my once-sturdy rock with his murderous sheet of airtight paper.

He had quickly tied it up with that move and so it all came down to the final toss. Before we threw our fists I peeked behind me at the open bedroom door, the setting sun casting warm shadows across the shiny, silk bedspread, a flatscreen TV propped up on the wood dresser, a little loot bag of mini toiletries laying across the fluffy pillows. I looked and I dreamed and I drew…

“And a one, two, three!”

Ty took it with a quick slice of the scissors. I was left holding my open palm in my hands, wondering why I didn’t go back to my faithful old rock. I could have shattered his scissors to smithereens, and I would have, too. I could have, too. But it never happened.

Ty retreated gleefully to the private bedroom, slamming the door shut hard, sealing my mind-boggling loss with a brain-piercing bang. And so it was. Of course, I couldn’t sleep that night. And it wasn’t just because of the metal prongs stabbing my kidneys. It was because of the way I went down.

But I can’t blame the game. No, Rock-Paper-Scissors was there, settling an undebateable debate. It answered our big question, shutting the lid, closing the door, sealing the deal. You can’t argue with Rock-Paper-Scissors. When it’s over, it’s really over. Sure, you can beg for that extension, but the victor never needs to take your bait. They played by the rules and they won.

Rock-Paper-Scissors helps you decide between pepperoni or sausage, the freeway or the back roads, the drive home or the sleep home. It answers the little daily decisions that freeze us up. Which team starts the game? Who gets to shower first? Who pays for pizza? And who gets to change baby’s diaper?

These are all tough, challenging questions. And they are all easily settled once and for all with a quick game of Rock-Paper-Scissors. But if you do enter the arena, then take my advice.

Just go for two out of three.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

What’s this? I can talk into a clump of plastic and wires over here and you can hear me from the other side of the planet a millisecond later?

AWESOME!

When it comes to where to sit in a movie theater, everybody has their favorite spot:

• The back row crowd. We all know these people because most of us have been these people. With nobody behind you, the back row becomes a prime make out spot, perfect place to sneak sips from your secret flask, or just somewhere to place your incredibly tall and lanky body without blocking anyone’s view. Thanks for that, by the way.

• Middle of the packers. These folks go for some of the most popular seats — the middles all the way. They like the middle seats in the middle row, about midway back. They might go on about how the sound is better from straight ahead or how they get a headache from too close, but really, I think they just like being in the thick of things. And who can blame them?

• Side guys, that’s who. Yes, the folks who enjoy sitting in the thin side sections of the movie theater are a rare breed…but they’re out there! Maybe they have peapod-sized bladders or nervous and fidgety children in tow and need access to quick getaway lane. Or perhaps they just want some thinking space and don’t like fighting for armrests. Whatever their reason, I think I can safely say that most of us are glad they exist, because they really help our odds at getting the other seats.

• La-Z-Boys-N-Girls. These are the people who like to put their feet up on the seat in front of them. “I came here to relax,” they seem to say to themselves. “So I’m going to relax.” They have no problem taking up a seat in front of them with their dirty sneakers or corn-covered heels. Brave souls may even try to pull off the X-Treme La-Z-Maneuver which involves very slowly and softly putting your feet on the chair in front of you, despite someone already sitting in it. It also involves pissing someone off, generally. So basically, these folks like their feet up, and they’ll even take a corner seat that nobody wants to pull it off.

• Front Row Crazies. You know, I used to think people who sat in the front section just had incredibly poor judgment…and incredibly good chiropractor coverage! Hey-ohhhhh! But seriously, craning their necks sky high, rolling their heads left to right the whole time… what were they thinking? But then I realized that some of these people are just my friend Mike, who always realizes at the last minute that he forgot his glasses and forces us to sit near the front row just so he can see the screen.

So sure, everybody has their favorite seat. The problem is just that we don’t always get them.

Some people buy tickets online and line up really early, so when we get to the theater they’re already there, waiting near the garbage can, smacking their gum, reading their free movie magazine. No, we’re not going to beat those folks unless we want to play their game. And their game is generally pretty long and tedious.

Other times people just run in and seem to know a back route or something. You think you’re going to get a good seat, but then suddenly there are two ladies sitting there out of nowhere, stretching out their sweaters and purses across a long row to save seats for all their friends. They’re like nervous hens, eying you cautiously like you might just grab an egg and take off. They get right into it, too. I’ve seen a stretchy wool sweater cover four seats. That’s some serious wingspan.

So in conclusion, it’s pretty tough to get that perfect seat these days. The crowds are big, the crowds are feisty, and the prime plushes ain’t easy to come by. But then… isn’t that what makes it so special when you do really nail it? When you skip up those stairs, eye your prize, toss your windbreaker out in front of you, and grab your perfect little bank of seats before the big show? I think you’ll agree that getting those perfect movie seats is like melted joy and sizzling happiness served on the big pizza of heaven.

So I say when you finally score your prime time #1 Certified Best Seats For You, then just sit down, nod slowly, catch your breath, look at your friend and open your eyes real wide and let a big, toothy grin just hang from your face.

Because you won this game, my friend. You came, you sat, and you won.

And yes, tonight… you’re the feature attraction.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, here, and here

If you’re like me, then a war is waged every morning near your alarm clock. It is a neverending 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 afterwards.” 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 for me 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 other side of the room in order to give my waking self time to figure out what’s happening, and 2) setting the time further and further ahead to try and trick my heavy-eyelided other half into believing they’re gonna make me really 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 so long aspired to and letting them become an official Part Of The Day.

So now I say hey, if you absolutely must get out of bed by 8am, that’s fine. Just set the alarm clock for 7:30 first. Throw your sleeping self a bone and hook them up with three solid snoozes. And you know what, you win too! Those nine extra minutes sometimes feel like an hour, complete with vivid dreams and fresh drool on the pillow to show for it. You wake up refreshed, happy, and smiling. And the best part comes later in the day, whenever somebody asks how you slept — because you know what to tell them:

AWESOME!

Photos from: here and here

Trick-or-treating ain’t no game.

No, it’s a life lesson in goal-setting, planning, and tactical execution. Kids who master trick-or-treating go on to become successful world leaders. Kids who don’t could possibly also do the same, but with less chocolate to show for it. The point is that chocolate is delicious, and you should fill your pillowcase with as much of it as possible. You just have to master the 4 Rules Of Strategic Trick-Or-Treating first:

4. Mo’ money, mo’ problems. In terms of where to go trick-or-treating, there’s always a lot of chatter about getting a drive over to the rich neighborhood for the big score. People would have you believe that the rich enjoy lavishing children with unopened boxes of twinkies and full cases of root beer. But that’s a lie! Rich people got rich by being cheap and their massive front yards will just slow you down. That’s right, you’ll be navigating wrought-iron fences, duck-shaped hedges, and koi ponds instead of ringing doorbells. Instead, aim for the new neighborhood with little kids and the all-important densely packed homes.

3. Dress for success. Trick-or-treating is a race against the clock, so set yourself up for success by wearing running shoes and avoiding masks that affect your visibility. No ballet slippers, high heels, or sandals. No robes, capes, or togas. And none of those cheap plastic masks from the dollar store that attach with a thin elastic and a couple of staples. Basically, keep simplifying your costume and then timing yourself running up and down the basement stairs until you’ve found a winner. If in doubt, go as Carl Lewis.

2. Partner up. It will be tempting to form a trick-or-treating posse and move from door to door as one big, shifty amoeba of fluorescent tape and facepaint. Resist that temptation. The amoeba will cause two problems: first, the group will travel at the speed of the slowest member. That means one kid with flat feet and asthma ruins everyone’s night. Secondly, a big group triggers the rationing instinct in the person handing out candy. They become overwhelmed and default to the “One for you, one for you” candy-for-everyone technique. You don’t want that. So instead, you need to pick one partner. Qualifications for that lucky someone include a low resting heart rate, winning smile, and really cute costume. The last one is key. The costume must trigger the “Aren’t you adorable!” reflex, which inspires extra candy. The gold standard here is a fit toddler in a ladybug costume with new Reeboks.

1. Timing is everything. The last rule is all about the three key stages of Halloween candy collecting. Times may vary depending where you’re from, but they go something like this:

• The 4 – 6pm Start Up: You must be very active and running around here, before the street gets too busy. This is your time to hit the houses at the peak of their inventory levels, when they may hand out more because of excess supply or poor foresight.
• The 6 – 7pm Rest Up: This is when the streets are their busiest. Don’t get caught in other people’s amoebas. Now’s the time to go home and dump out the pillowcase and refresh the face paint. Also, it’s a good time to hit your local fast-food joints. McDonald’s is usually pretty generous.
• The 7 – 9pm Clean Up: Now it’s all about picking up the scraps. Some houses will be left with too much candy and they’ll start giving handfuls instead of fingerfuls. Others will feel guilty about running out and start handing out creative treats from their kitchen like cups of pudding or boxes of Jello powder. The Clean Up stage is a real test of your cardio fitness levels, as many houses will have turned out their lights by now, forcing you to zig-zag the street in search of the remaining bounty.

Now that you’ve got a game plan, just remember to keep it clean out there. Under cover of night and camouflage facepaint some folks venture into the murky trick-or-treating ethical gray zone. Stay away from these folks, because while they’re telling people it’s their birthday too, collecting a second bag for a ‘sick sibling at home’, or body-checking toddlers into bushes on their way up the walk, you can rest knowing that you came out to play by the rules.

And you won.

AWESOME!

Pictures from: here, here, and here