The Book of Even More Awesome (3 page)

Well, what choice did we have?

We made little beds from couch cushions, used sweatshirts for pillows, and covered our shivering bodies with zippery, snow-smeared winter coats. As if that wasn't bad enough, the clocks
tick-tick-ticked
all night and somebody got home really late and left the back door wide open. Nobody noticed until morning when all our teeth were chattering and there was a
foot-high snowdrift
under the ping-pong table.

It was a nightmare, but I know you've been there too.

Power-napping on bumpy airplanes, crashing on
flabby futons
or jabby mattresses, sleeping in rainy forests in leaky tents, you've had your fair share. Bad sleeps, sad sleeps,
sackpillow heaps
, weird alarm clock beeps, and through it all you enjoy long, fidgety nights of groggy pillow turns and fuzzy blanket burns.

But after those killer sleeps in
nightmare paradise
, it's always a great feeling when you come home to the warm and cozy comfort of your heavenly bed. Yes, you're like a bear scraping together
crinkly leaves
and warm mud for a long winter of hibernation or a
soaring eagle
swooping home from the windy treetops to the twiggy goodness of your comfy nest.

Your dented pillow, warm flannel sheets, and preset alarm clock are waiting for you.

So welcome home, baby.

You made it.

AWESOME!

Contraband candy tastes better.

Here's how to make the magic happen:

Get in there and get crunching.

Get in there and get

AWESOME!

Green baby buds pop out in the spring, healthy leaves
fly high to the sky
all summer, and aging beauties flash and change colors in the fall. Then they eventually snap off and crack off and
crumble and tumble
down to the sidewalk.

People, it's true—the sun rose, the sun set, months went by, and the Earth actually
tilted on its axis
before this moment could appear before you.

So smile a big smile on your way to school and enjoy the
crispy crunch
that comes when you walk ten inches out of your way to smash a brittle little leaf into smithereens.

AWESOME!

You know when you can just feel that
popcorn kernel
stuck back there in the
swampy recesses
of your mouth and it's totally infuriating?

Yes, your tongue slides past its smooth surface unsuccessfully, your toothbrush's
flimsy bristles
just can't shake it, and your fingernails can't pop it from the
tight molar deathgrip
.

So the fork is dropped and the dessert lies unfinished, the conversation fades to a blurry, distant noise,
and the world stops
around you as you keep trying and trying and trying and trying to bust that kernel out. You close your eyes and squint, you tilt your head, you emit a deep-bass
nnnnnnn
sound, as your body directs all available faculties to getting this thing gone. But the dastardly kernel still clings tightly,
clogging and gumming up
your entire system until you're completely frustrated and annoyed beyond belief ...

Then it suddenly falls out.

Trumpets blast and
angels sing
as your mouth rejoices in a tiny moment of heavenly relief. Now it's time to dive into that cheesecake and rejoin the lost conversation in a beautiful moment of

AWESOME!

Peel the pleasure.

It doesn't matter if you're a
Smooth Roller
who uses your finger to slowly wheel the sticky icky into a little jelly roll or a
Stretch Inspector
who grabs a glue corner and yanks it further and further until it eventually snaps.

Nope, doesn't matter at all.

Just enjoy the ride.

AWESOME!

The Kids Table is where all the kids eat dinner at holiday family gatherings.

It's generally a rickety card table from the basement pushed beside a
yellow plastic one
from the playroom that ends up turning Grandma's hallway into an eat-in kitchen. Sometimes it's two different heights, sometimes the chairs are broken, and usually the whole thing is covered in a plastic Christmas tablecloth freshly ripped from the
dollar store
cellophane.

No matter what, though, The Kids Table is a great place to find
burps
,
laughs, and juice spills
at a holiday meal. Everyone's enjoying a warm evening with cousins, decked out in their finest cable-knit sweaters, rosy red cheeks, and sweaty bedhead.

The Kids Table is great for many reasons.

First of all,
no parents
, no problems. Nope, the grown-ups are all baking pies, playing ping-pong, or sipping eggnog by the fireplace. The parenting theory here is that the kids sort of form a group safety net that will come screaming if somebody gets hurt, so no need for a pesky watchful eye. With all adults distracted, rules fly out the window and suddenly elbows lean on tables,
chewed-up broccoli
gets hidden in napkins, and somebody starts eating mashed potatoes with their bare hands.

And no matter how old everyone is, the rule at The Kids Table is that you must act like you're seven. Teenagers who think they're too old for the table quickly start blowing bubbles in their milk,
pouring salt in people's drinks
, and giggling like mad. Then someone pops a
loud fart
and everyone laughs for ten straight minutes.

Lastly, let's not forget that The Kids Table eats first and sometimes features special items like lasagna with no onions, random chopped-up hot dogs, or real Coca-Cola awkwardly poured from heavy 2-liter bottles into tiny Styrofoam cups.

A lot of good times and great moments happen at The Kids Table. Little ones learn from older siblings and cousins. Childhood bonds are formed over toys, tears, and
gravy spills
. And it's good practice for growing up and eating with high school pals at greasy spoons, scarfing hungover breakfasts with college roommates, and enjoying Christmas dinner with old family friends from the dining room next door.

So thank you, The Kids Table.

For all you do.

AWESOME!

I'm the
Robin Hood
of batteries.

Since I am an extremely cheap person I always rob from the rich battery-filled remotes on my couch and
give to the poor
new gadgets lying on my counter. I stumble around Sherwood Living Room, clicking open plastic battery doors, hunting for dependable double-As to get the job done.

Of course, this battery robbery always backfires next time I sit down to watch a flick. I plop onto the couch and pick up the lighter-than-usual remote and then curse my former self for screwing my current self. Then the camera pans to another scene of me stumbling around again, this time
batteryjacking
the poor so I can feed the rich.

It's a terrible, neverending cycle.

That's what makes it special when batteries
are
included. That's what makes it special when you yank open the new Baby Farts-So-Real and there's a small, plastic-wrapped case of cheapo batteries from the
Taiwanese black market
sitting in the box.

Sure, sure, maybe those knockoff Ultra-Power or
Extra-V Vvoltage
batteries don't inspire the most confidence, but whatever man, because surprise batteries are a big win every time.

It's like the company is saying “Come on, let's get going, people.”

“First round's on us.”

AWESOME!

Maybe a quiet haze drifts in your dorm as you worry about upcoming exams and patchy friendships. Maybe your heart just got flattened by a
runaway relationship
and the knots in your stomach are twisting and burning. Or maybe you're trekking cross-country with a backpack and a dream and are suddenly
sucker-punched
with a jabby stab of loneliness.

When you're pumped up,
pumped down
, shaken sideways, or rattled around, it's always comforting to share a moment with a song that perfectly reflects your mood. Sometimes it seems like they're singing right to you.

So come on and smile along,
nod quietly with the song
, and push ahead, plow forward, and keep soldiering right on.

AWESOME!

Doors can be trouble.

Strutting to the mall,
strolling to the store
, you spy those glassy doubles in the distance just waiting for you to size them up and give them a big push or pull.

Sure, it looks easy, but we all know it's nothing but.

Nope, thanks to years of tense negotiations, backroom deals, and political infighting, the
International Alliance for Door Design Consistency
has reached a suffocating stalemate in its goal of coming up with one door we can all understand. So while those corporate bigwigs give each other evil eyes in smoky boardrooms
We The People
are left figuring it out on the front lines, door by door, day by day.

It sucks when you make the wrong move too. Pull a push or push a pull and you're suddenly five years old again with wide eyes,
untied laces
, and thick boogers snaking down your upper lip.

Yes, that's why swinging open a confusing door on the first try is such a great high. You just saved yourself a
horrible second of humiliation
and are now coasting smoothly through life in the fast lane.

AWESOME!

Cruising cops cause traffic stops.

Yes indeedy, we law-aspiring citizens immediately slow to a
speed limit cruise
when we spot cops silently swerving behind our bumpers. We're the jittery
school of fish
with jumpy eyes and they're the silent shark swimming over to our lane.

With our hearts drum-thumping and our
white-knuckled hands
gripping the wheel, we temporarily become
Super Drivers
—using our signals, leaving space, and checking our mirrors every two seconds.

We don't know if the cop is eyeballing us, about to
flick his flashers
, or typing our license plate into his computer, so we're in a heightened bug-eyed state. Seconds tick by like hours when
Yourtown's Finest
stick to our heels and force questions through our brains: Was I actually speeding? Should I change lanes? Does he want me to speed up?