Your Friend Successfully Using A Fake For The First Time: If you’re from the East Coast, you were a twenty-one-year-old from South Carolina or Connecticut. If you were from the West Coast, you were from Illinois or Texas. You guys are sitting there for the longest fourteen minutes of your life as one brave soldier enters the liquor store with the remnants of a Western Union payment to one Yingzing Chen. Just as you’re about to give up, he comes back with one rack of Natty Ice and a fifth of flavored Svedka that’s packaging resembled the NYC gay pride parade. There’s no rush in life quite like playing Russian roulette, going into liquor stores you know nothing about. Seeing your boy come out with a thirty of Coors Light when you thought he wasn’t getting out of there without a citation is a feeling that can only compare to watching Miracle for the first time.
Letting Yourself Go Balls To The Wall WIth DoorDash: You’re sitting there; life couldn’t be worse. Every time you refresh your phone, another wave of anxiety hits you like 2001 Ray Lewis. Bank of America has emailed you with the persistence of an offended suburban Mom contacting a school-board about her kid watching Hotel Rwanda, you have several “is-typing” notifications that could hit you like daggers, and Scott Hanson is the only thing keeping you from killing yourself. But…spending that last seventeen dollars pigging out on Doordash before you have to get your life together is the average guy’s equivalent to the Make A Wish foundation hungover on a Sunday. It just hits different.
Getting Your Farts Out: It’s like 10:23 in the morning; the girl you’ve been talking to stayed in bed with you for longer than usual. You really like her, and you’re delighted with the way things are going, but it feels like you’ve been holding in a fart since the day Kobe passed. When she finally leaves, and that door shuts as you do that little “yeah just text me” thing all guys do, you let out a fart so awesome in power it might be the reason that your liberal cousin posted an infographic saying we won’t have an O-zone by 2030. As great as things were with the sex last night, this fart is a much better feeling.
Getting A Little Weird On YouTube: Maybe this is just me, but every four months or so, I find myself two hours deep in a WatchMojo rabbit hole about things I normally wouldn’t be interested in. From there, maybe I search some YouTubers I haven’t watched since adolescence and finally wake myself out of a four-hour daze fully convinced that the CIA killed MLK.
Seeing Your Grandparents: Other people’s grandparents are gross and old, but my grandparents are cute and wholesome. There’s no better feeling than watching your Grandma get hyped to Tucker Carlson as you sip on wine that tastes like a good 401k and spin zone questions about how your love life is going. Seeing your grandparents is like going to church without getting your ass sore from the priests or the hardwood. Every time I leave their house, I feel like I’ve been cleansed of my sins.
That One Warm Day In February: Sorry to my Southern audience, but you’re exempt from this one. Every year to a tee, there’s a day in late February where it’s in the high fifties for some inexplicable reason but it feels like it’s seventy-five and sunny. And for the first time in what feels like forever, people are throwing darties, and girls are dressed more provocatively than Tunisian women. While it’s fleeting, it’s a reminder of what’s to come if that bitch-ass groundhog doesn’t see his shadow.
The First Twenty-Five Minutes Of Being In Florida: You haven’t spent all your money in a strip club with more silicon in it than a Nike factory , you haven’t watched two meth-heads try to stab each other with shattered pieces of glass, and you don’t have an STD. Once you get off that plane and that Florida air hits you like a coal-miner coming home to his wife, and you have no cares in the world. Sure, day three in Florida, you’re going to call your Dad with some unsavory news, but that hasn’t happened yet. Passing by the Ron-Jon Surf Shop at the Miami airport with some cash in your pocket and the optimism of a crypto investor is a religious experience.