As a student of the interwebs, I come across a lot of lists. There is no denying the “listmania” revolution is upon us. Do I really want to know ten different things everybody my age can identify with? No. Do I click on it anyway? Yes. Stupid internet.
If you are still reading this now, I hope I have caught you in this web. I wanted to come up with a list that is deeply personal to me as a (man) at the dawn of his thirtieth decade. In honor of national underwear day today, I came up with a list of 5 things I ALWAYS need, yet somehow avoid buying all the time.
1. A Sun Visor for my Car
I work at the Washington Navy Yard in Washington, DC. Unlike most people who work in DC, I have the option of free parking. Such luxury, however, comes at a price. I get up at 4:35am and drive into the yard to get to work at 5:45am. It’s beyond early. A friend of mine who works at the yard calls it “coming in with the vampires.” Anyways, its early. Driving to work has been a genuine pleasure. Although I get to work at the ass-crack of dawn, I have the option to leave in the early afternoon on my own time. Leaving this summer, however, has been more than a bitch. It’s been hot. I park my car in a small lot near the river’s edge in central yard. Needless to say, there is no shade for any of the vehicles there. By the time I get to my car at 2:30, it feels like an oven. It doesn’t help that 2:30 is usually the peak time for temperature. No amount of AC blasting will get it cool. By the time I get the car cool, I am back home in Alexandria. I have resorted to just rolling the windows down all the way home. Ironically, it’s actually cooler than trying to cool down the inside of a car that reaches over a hundred degrees on average each summer day. It’s not so bad, though; I get to smell the sweet air of DC Water everyday.
I park next to the same car every day. It’s a silver Mazda with a sun visor. I am half tempted to break into the car to see just how cool it feels at the end of the day. As much as I bitch and moan about how hot it is, I have yet to purchase a sun visor. I keep telling myself I don’t know where to find one.
I can’t wait until summer is over.
2. A Nice Suit/Nice Ties
I’ve never been one with good tastes in clothes. That doesn’t mean I don’t wouldn’t mind some. Sure, I have some nicer things that I wear (or that my fat ass can still fit into) from time to time, but I generally wear the same thing everyday. True story – I haven’t worn a pear of jeans in almost five years. All corduroy, baby. Every website that lists things a man my age “should have” by the time he reaches 30 is a nice tailored suit. Unfortunately, I deal with the mix and match. I rocked the professional look (brown jacket and slacks) for years, and I still bring it out on special occasions for work. Unless a giant cash flow comes in the near future, I will continue rocking the clothes I wear.
I get a little sad every time I walk by a nice suit in a store. For now, I’ll look like I am in a David Byrne video. Things to work for, though.
As far as the ties are concerned, all but one are hand-me-downs from my father. Why? To be honest, I generally suck at dressing myself and chose the most neutral tie choices to match any outfit. I am a poorly dressed chameleon. Also, nice ties are super expensive, and I don’t think I could pull off a power tie anyway.
Listen, if wearing sweatpants to work was acceptable, I would have one outfit.
3. A Potato Masher
This one is relatively self-explanatory. What the hell do you use to mash something if you don’t have a masher? My wife and I have resorted to using a hand blender. It works fine, but it’s truly not the same. I want to mash things, dammit. I want to reenact Alan Rickman stabbing the table in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves…but with potatoes.
This is really just a silent plea for more mashed potatoes.
4. Nice Underwear
You get me, Garth.
In the history of my adult life, I have never bought underwear that did not come in a 3 pack. That being said, the average shelf life of a Matt Eng pair of underwear is at least 6-7 years. Screw you, Marky Mark. I am the real face of the average underwear user.
By the time I am forced to throw them away, they have a look slightly reminiscent of tree rings. It’s magical. The crotch is all blown out and the elastic of the waistband is barely there. The sagging feeling feels like home to me. Looking back, it’s all I have ever really known.
“You know, if you got a nice pair of underwear, it would feel a lot better.”
I bet it would. The reason I have never bought nice underwear is pretty simple. Everybody always talks about their great pairs of broken in jeans. I don’t wear jeans (see above), but I do wear underwear. Mine are broken in and road tested. They are, as Garth said, a part of me. Do any guys really have nice underwear? Do guys buy nice underwear because they want the ladies to see it? Nah. If you don’t love me when I wake up in my frayed Haynes boxer briefs with two holes in the crotch, you prob. never will. Thankfully, my wife still tolerates it.
5. High Quality Toilet Paper.
This one is actually not for me. I asked Angela (my wife) if she had any suggestions about this blog story before I wrote it. Good toilet paper is the first thing she said to me when asked. It took maybe two seconds for her to think of an answer. When she said it, I could see the look of pain in her eyes, like she was dying for me to ask it for years now. Yet I will never waver on my decision to forgo buying expensive toilet paper. I feel like most readers will side with my significant other on this matter. No matter the price, everyone should have a good BM experience. TP is usually the icing on the cake. For my household, one person in particular loathes the experience, so I guess I have to explain myself. My reasons are pretty simple. And, since this one is about poop, I must go into detail.
A. The Clog Issue
Thick toilet paper that is more than double ply (AKA Charmin, Quilted Northern, etc.) are more likely to clog up a toilet. I would much rather be a “rough rider” than have to pump poo through a clogged system at 3am. Call me crazy. You might ask yourself, “maybe you can wipe less.”
Come on…..come on. I do what I need to do to get the job done. END OF STORY.
B. If I Wanted a Peanut Butter Sandwich, I’d Make One
I don’t like the feeling of soft toilet paper. It’s not a pleasant one. I don’t feel in control. I don’t have a control issue overall, unless I am making food sausages.
Listen. I need to feel it. I need to know what I am doing. In short, my buttocks needs to know I am boss. I am the king of my body functions. And I will wipe away the sins of my food choices in any way I see fit. I don’t want to feel like I am wiping myself with wedding cake. Yes..I went there.
And for God sakes, I will never do the wet wipes thing. The last thing I want to feel on my butt is wetness on wetness. It actually gives me shivers.
C. Until the three seashell method is adopted, I will keep on doing it the same way. Your move, John Spartan.
HONORABLE MENTION: Quality Shaving Cream/Razors.
DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE RAZORS ARE! This one is for all the ladies, as well. I have to shave just my face. Most women shave much, much more. That kind of wear and tear is both tiring and very expensive. Thankfully, a Costco membership helps, but even that goes only so far. Discount or no discount, you are always going to shell out serious dough to make your face silky smooth.
The problem is, my face is never completely smooth because my shaving cream is, according to my wife, “the cheapest shit possible.” She isn’t wrong. You can get a can of Barbasol relatively anywhere for only a few bucks. I prefer the menthol scent. I love that it’s cheap, but I do hate that it almost always leaves me feeling half done when I am finishing up.
…and please don’t tell me about Dollar Shave Club. Those razors are pretty shit. I really do like my Mach 3 razor. It feels amazing for those first two weeks of use. Then it starts getting harder and harder to shave, getting to the point of almost digging into your skin to get the stubble off. If I ever upgrade from the two, it will be the cream and not the razor. For now, I can dream about a simpler time when good shaving cream was abundant and plentiful…
Delusional Thoughts From Fantasy Island 