The Book of Awesome (19 page)

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Authors: Neil Pasricha

BOOK: The Book of Awesome
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And eventually you will. And you’ll think everything is great. And everything will be great.
Until it comes.
Bedtime.
Yes, before you flick out the lights and slip into golden slumbers, you must first guess your Sleep Comfort Zone (SCZ or “See-Zee” for short). And See-Zees ain’t easy. If you’ve ever woken up with the shivers or the sweats, then you added too many blankets or slept
too nude
.
If you’re on your own, there are ceiling fans, heating vents, and your
general sweatiness
to consider. If you’re with a pet or a partner, you’ve got double the hot-breath factor and a lot more sweaty legs under the covers.
If you’re like me, then your eyes might
blink open
in the middle of the night as you realize you’re uncomfortable. And if this happens, then just toss one leg out of the covers and one leg under them.
Also known as the
Toe Vent
.
AWESOME!
Building a stack of pancakes that looks just like the front of the box
It’s no joke and it takes teamwork, timing, and trust, but building a stack of pancakes that looks just like the front of the box can be one of the
most rewarding breakfast experiences of your life
. Here’s how you can make the magic happen:
1.
Assemble a team.
You’ll need a Cook, Condimenter, and Table Setter. The Cook should be an early riser and self-starter, with the skill and confidence to cook for a group as well as a basic understanding of what a circle looks like. Your Condimenter needs to understand the value of real butter and decent maple syrup and know where to find it. A driver’s license is necessary here. And lastly, there’s the Table Setter. Prior experience is mandatory. Also a plus is the ability to fold napkins into nice triangles.
2.
Night-before prep work.
Yes, the show begins the night before. The Condimenter needs to make sure all the key ingredients are in the house. Is there enough powder in the pancake box? Is the tap water running okay? How about the syrup and butter? If necessary, make a list and go to the store before it closes. We don’t want to find out in the morning that something’s missing. Nobody will sleep well not knowing.
3.
Rest up.
It doesn’t matter what time you go to sleep. Just make sure you squeeze enough solid hours of golden slumbers in there to power up the juices and get the engine revving the next morning. Remember: Groggy kitchen work is sloppy kitchen work. Nobody likes an oblong pancake.
4.
Wake up and get down to pancakes.
Showtime! Now it’s the Cook’s time to shine. This job is not for the weak-minded. The Cook must first set the oven to a low temperature because that’s going to be the holding bay until we have a full stack. This is a slow-building crescendo toward a massive stack of pancakes. Let’s not forget that. Once we’ve got the oven set low, the Cook starts doing their thing—tying their hair into a bandana, getting the frying pan warmed up, mixing the batter. There can be no breaks until the full stack of pancakes is cooked, kept warm, and ready to serve. The Table Setter is busy here too, pulling out silverware, laying out plates, folding napkins. And rounding out this majestic circus-like performance is the Condimenter, busy pouring juice and jigsawing perfect squares of butter.
Team,
remember what we’re playing for here
: a towering stack of hot, fluffy pancakes drizzled with sweet, slow-moving syrup, delicately topped with a thick, perfectly melting square of butter.
Yes, it takes some time. Yes, it takes real effort. Yes, you will require a solid lineup of team players who never take their eyes off the end goal. But what could be more fun on a weekend morning than creating your very own stack of pancakes that looks just like the front of the box?
(Hint: Nothing.)
AWESOME!
When your sneeze stalls for a second and then suddenly comes booming out
Your 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 forever dancing together in the majestic
art of breathing
.
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 million never-ending games of
Pong
.
Skull Factory’s a busy place, folks. The line keeps moving every day, every night, every year, forever.
Given 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 brain freeze, 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, silently pleading with the factory foreman to please, please just let it out. One eye popped open, the other squeezed shut, you clench your cheeks, bend your mouth into a triangle, and feel the lost sneeze pinball around your skull.
And then
BOOOOOM!
Oh mama, how good does it feel when that sneeze finally comes screaming out?
Really, that sweet release is like someone yanking a
red-hot, twisted wrench
out of your grinding, crunched-up headgears and letting all the oily parts start quietly purring again.
AWESOME!
Wordless apologies
Tension fills the room and
black clouds
linger by the ceiling fan. Dinner was late, bills piled up, nobody called home.
Now you’re steaming in front of the TV while they’re crying softly in the bedroom upstairs. The stalemate burns quietly until they come down, enter the room slowly, grab your shirt sleeves, and look right at you with a pair of warm, moist eyes while starting to give you a soft, smiling apology.
But you see them coming and your stomach churns with a
wave of regret
, so before they even get it out, you interrupt with a head shake and a hug.
AWESOME!
The smell and sound of a campfire
Slicing a dead tree, tossing it on a pile of dirt, and setting it on fire is pure joy.
As that
dry, withered stump
slowly releases years and years of energy soaked up from the sun, the air, and the
ground around
it, out come bright lights, whispering hisses, sizzling pops, and the thick intoxicating smell of
Musky Smoke n’ Pine Needles
.
You can close your eyes and let your eyelids paint
yellow and orange kaleidoscopes
as the heat washes over you, rosying up your cheeks and giving you that nice, warm
Hotface Effect
. In that cold, dark forest, on that cold, dark log bench, beside the cold, dark lake, your ears and nose perk up as you focus on every little sound and smell around you.
AWESOME!
When your suitcase tumbles down the luggage chute first after a long flight
My friends have theories.
“If you’re the first person to check in for the flight you’re pretty much done for,” my friend Chad will begin as our plane begins its slow descent. “Your suitcase is first in the plane and gets buried under everyone else’s golf clubs,
guitar cases
, and bird cages.”
“No, no, no, it’s not like that at all,” Mike will counter, sipping his diet cola and shaking his head slowly. “If you’re last to check in, you’re last one out. Fair is fair. Unless you’re in
first class
or have a special membership tag, they observe the rules of
suitcase etiquette
. These are big companies. They have standards.”
“You’re both wrong,” I’ll sigh with the pompous air of a frustrated
airline CEO
. “I wish there was a science to it, but honestly the system’s in shambles. Look, if you were tossing backbreaking luggage in the
bowels of an airport
all day, do you think you’d follow the rules of ‘suitcase etiquette’? No, you just grab bags randomly. It’s all completely random. Nobody knows what’s coming out.”
The conversation reaching a stalemate, we all shrug and look away from one another. Mike glances out the window at the bright lights below and Chad flips passively through an in-flight magazine article about
resort swimming pools with interesting shapes
.
Tired and sore, we land, clear customs, and make our way to the luggage belt. Away from the theories and debate, one thing becomes extremely clear: It sure feels great when your suitcase tumbles down the luggage chute first.
If this happens, part the
anxious crowd
, grab your bag, and shuffle outside to get on your way. Smile a big smile because you just won the suitcase jackpot.
AWESOME!
Peeling off your wet bathing suit and putting on warm clothes after swimming for a long time
Nipples freeze,
goosebumps rise
, and you get a shaky case of the shivers.
Yes, when you jump out of the pool after a long swim, the wind just whips by and chills you to the
bone marrow
. For a moment you’re frozen in that drippy no-man’s-land between warm soothing pool water and dry puffy beach towel. Hair matted to your ears, cold water trickling down your legs, you run across the grass or up the patio stones into the warm embrace of a towel. Quickly you dry your hair and face, scrub your arms and legs, and then wrap it around you in the classic
Caped Crusader Huddled On A Skyscraper Rooftop
pose.
And sure, you love the feeling of warming up again, but there’s just one nagging problem: that cold, wet bathing suit clinging damply to your rear end. Icy drops drip down your legs until you finally go inside, head to the bathroom, and get the job done in three easy steps:

Step 1: Slow Peelin’.
Bikini rockers, you’re done in a jiffy here, untying the top and dropping your bottoms into a tiny inside-out mess of wet spandex on the floor. If you’re rocking trunks, just peel them down your dry legs, even if they stick and clump awkwardly until you eventually kick them off in a fit of rage.

Step 2: Finish the job.
Clammy butt cheeks hanging coldly under the blowing bathroom vent, you grab your towel and complete the dry, this time with intense focus on your nether regions. When you’re sure the chilly dampness is finally gone, it’s time for heaven.

Step 3: Heaven.
Slip on the soft cotton and slide up your warm, dry pants. Because you were so cold it kind of feels like wearing underwear just out of the dryer. You’re loving every minute of it and hurry back to hit the deck for a burger or a beer.
You’re back, baby.
AWESOME!
Bedhead all day long
Sure, anybody can wake up with some
serious bedhead
.
Tangled dreads, pillow-dented part, static-flared bangs—whatever you got, we’ll take it. Much like rain hair, bedhead is your temporary ticket to
Cowlick Country
, a place where looks just don’t matter. It’s fun to take a trip and enjoy your citizenship before shampoo, hair straighteners, and sculpting clay step in to mess things up.
But I guess that’s what makes getting away from it all so great. I mean, just look at babies of the world with their Always-On Bedhead, sometimes for years on end. Folks, are you thinking what I’m thinking? Yes,
we can learn much from the baby
.
Now don’t get jaded in your old age. There are some classic moves to pull it off:

No-Time Bedhead.
This is where you wake up late in a panic and barely have time to throw on jeans and grab keys before bolting out the door for work. This is accidental bedhead and may result in worried finger combing on the bus or a splash of water from the bathroom sink later on. Still, you got bedhead all day and that’s what counts here. 5 points.

Lazy Sunday Bedhead.
You wake up at noon, throw on some sweats, have some good friends over, and play video games all day. Or maybe you channel surf with your boyfriend on the futon or watch a golf tournament with Grandpa. Either way, no showering is involved, so the bedhead lives long and lives strong. 10 points.

Just-Don’t-Care Bedhead.
Top of the charts. This is where your day involves going out and doing things, but you just don’t care about your sharp, sideways bedhead. If you can pull off grocery shopping, going to class, or hitting the mall with jagged, bent-up hair, then you win. Note that this is not the same as Fake Bedhead, which involves applying a series of creams and lotions in an attempt to give yourself bedhead-looking hair. No, we’re talking about cruising around town with the real thing here, people. 25 points.

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