For a moment it looks like they might burst.
Lips clenched, eyebrows raised, they’re shaking their head and looking away to avoid choking or spraying burrito guts all over the table. You know you dropped a good line when their face turns red and they start frantically waving the “please stop, please stop” signal with both hands.
AWESOME!
Illustration from: here
I fart, you fart, he farts, she farts.
Let’s not deny it, people. Farting is a regular, healthy, and hilarious part of life. Squeezing out big plumes of noxious gas doesn’t always smell good, but it generally feels mighty fine.
Now think back for a second to the last time you saw a tiny baby pop out a stinky heater. I’m betting after they filled the air they just stared at you with a blank expression that seemed to say “Yeah, it was me. So what?”
And maybe that’s a good thing.
Maybe when your boyfriend’s snuggling with you under the blanket and there’s a few chirps from the back of his pants, that’s good. Maybe when Grandpa leans back on his rocker and lets one rip during Sunday dinner, that’s good. Maybe when your wife nonchalantly blasts one while barbecuing on the balcony, that’s good.
And maybe it’s especially good when everyone laughs afterwards.
Because hey, it just means we’re comfortable being ourselves and relaxed enough to know farting is a natural and normal part of life. Nobody chooses farting as a hobby but it’s part of what makes us human. Tuba scales, silent stink bombs, machine gun blasts, whatever you’re putting out there that’s fine, that’s fine, that’s perfectly fine.
Now, we’re not advocating a world of no limits. There’s nothing wrong with keeping some personal space, either. After all, maybe you do your nose-picking in the car, shower behind a curtain at the gym, or burp quietly into a fancy cloth hankie. If so, that’s cool too.
All we’re saying is that if you get to the point where you’re comfortable farting around each other, it means you’re family, you’re friends, or you’re completely in love.
So just relax and let it out.
AWESOME!
Illustration from: here
When someone whips out a camera it’s time to suck it in, baby. Eye the trigger finger and pull in when they push down. After all, maybe there’s a six pack under that stained and baggy T-shirt. I mean, we have no reason to suspect a jiggly bowl of jelly belly or anything.
There’s just no proof.
AWESOME!
Illustration from: here
Here’s how to find that magic grass:
1. Dampness Double-Check. Nobody likes a wet bottom. Keep your backside dry by spying classic signs like slightly dipped areas that pool water or permanently shaded patches that don’t dry up. May also be worth tapping the ground to check with your hand or doing a 5-second Practice Sit, which involves sitting down and staring straight ahead while activating the cold, wet sensors in your sweatpants.
2. Sticks and stones. They may break your bones, but more importantly they’re just no fun to sit on because they’ll jab your rear and slip in your pockets. Plus, they’re a dangerous omen of protruding tree roots, prickly weeds, and grassless patches of hard dirt. Stay away.
3. Temp check. On hot days you’re looking for shady patches under tall trees, on cool days you’re scoping sunny spots by the sandbox, and sometimes you can’t decide so you search for that perfect square of half-and-half.
4. Frisbee Lookout. Some parks have a lot of activities going on. Shaggy-haired dudes in hemp necklaces and bare feet toss Frisbees, dads play catch with their kids, and tiny toddlers in T-shirts and diapers run around playing Chase The Dog or Run till you Faceplant. If you’re looking to relax, you’ve got to avoid this happy chaos.
Yes, sometimes sunny Saturday afternoons are just begging for a casual walk down to your local park. Grab a coffee, throw the kids in a stroller, or walk a dog with friends. As that warm breeze blows by just close your eyes and enjoy a few quiet minutes of relaxing and soaking it all in.
AWESOME!
Photos from: here, here, and here
Illustration from: here
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!
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!
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
