When you were a little kid and, after a long day of school, your mom asked you how your day was, what did you say? You probably got tremendously excited and blabbed about how well you did on your spelling test and how teacher says you're one of the best readers in class. Then you'd talk about how you were picked first in gym class and how you didn't color outside of the lines in art class. Man, you sure were a happy kid. If someone asked you how it was going today, you'd probably be able to rattle off about ten things that "totally sucked." Man, you are one negative bastard, huh? Well, you're not alone. Complaining is something that becomes more and more central to your life as you enter your twenties and it even evolves into a sport of it's own. Of course, with a sport comes competition and with competition comes envy. It's called Complainer's Envy, and you better get used to it.

People in their early twenties love to complain. Almost every conversation you'll have at this age begins something like, "man, you do not even want to hear about my day..." And, no, they probably don't, but you'll tell them anyway because without complaining, what do you have? While you used to vie to outdo all your friends' accomplishments, you now contend for title of World's Crappiest Life. How many hours of unpaid overtime do you work every week? How small is your apartment? How bitterly single are you? How many nights do you eat ramen noodles in your parent's basement? When was the last time you had a weekend off? How little money is in your checking account? Savings account ... yeah right, buddy. Who do I look like, a Rockefeller? Accomplishing anything becomes a mark of shame, something not to be talked about. Don't believe me? Wait three years, you'll see.

If I didn't know older people I would dismiss this tendency toward the depressing as nothing more than young people trying to relate to each other in the easiest way possible, but, as far as I can tell, this is how it is going to be for the rest of your life. Think for half a second about what old people - real old people, like in their forties - talk about: joint pain, job insecurity, the high cost of living, inflation, tricky politicians, blah blah blah. Complaining truly is our national sport and we just get better at it with age. By the time you reach your seventies, you're probably so good at complaining that you'll find a way to bitch and moan about getting Social Security - which, mind you, is free money from the government.

If I were to be totally honest, I would tell you that I live a relatively comfortable life: I love my job, I love my friends and family, I make enough to get by and I'm pretty much free of serious medical conditions. But, if we were to strike up a conversation at a party, I would tell you that I work like a madman, have far fewer friends than I used to, could really use some extra cash and have chronic ocular migraines which, though not as serious as, say, leukemia, are very annoying. I would tell you that I live in a tiny apartment where I pay an exorbitant rent. I would even tell you that I envy the freedom my unemployed friends have (HA!). I would tell you all of these things because I want you to feel bad for me. And what would you do? Why, you'd come right back at me with a laundry list of complaints far more serious than mine: you're chronically depressed, you're unemployed, you haven't been on a date since high school and you just had to sell your car to pay the electric bill. Man, you're a loser.

But why do we do it? Why do we purposely try to portray ourselves as perennial losers in life's cruel game? I think it all has to do with manners. I was taught not to brag, to be a gracious winner, to be humble and all that other boring shit I was too totally awesome to care about. By the time you reach an 'adult' age, you probably have twenty years of repressed accomplishments under your belt. You won the state track championship in high school and, instead of talking about how good you are at running in your acceptance speech, you talked about how this trophy isn't for you, it's for the team. You made dean's list all through college and told your parents it was because they instilled in you such a good work ethic. But that is not why you made dean's list, is it? No, it's not. While you were out making dean's list your parents were sitting at home, arguing who has sacrificed more of their dreams to provide for this goddamned family. You did that all by yourself, champ, but you don't want to brag so give the glory to someone else.

This complaining complex is so bad that when someone has an actual problem - they're getting divorced or they lost their home in a fire - I feel bad for myself because I can't top that kind of complaint. And, what's worse, is that I don't know if my sorrow over this is the absolute height of modesty or the deepest depth of self-absorption (probably the latter). Do I want to outdo their complaint because I want to make them feel better or because I want to win (again, probably the latter).

So, what is to be done about this plague of negativity that has gripped our lives? Absolutely nothing. So long as this is a bountiful country where people can be prosperous and achieve things, we will always try to remain modest and, as a bi-product of that, we will always try to out-complain each other. I'm sorry but I really don't have time to write about this anymore: I have bills piling up, my credit is about as solid as bag of water, my heartburn is back, I have to walk to work because I can't afford a subway pass, my knees are getting worse, my dog needs heartworm medicine, I'm overweight, I've been eating hot dogs for dinner every night and I think I may be anemic.
 

The leaves are turning pretty colors, there's a turkey on the table, your uncle just pissed his pants and passed out on the couch and the biological slaughter of millions of indigenous people is the last thing on your mind"¦it must be Thanksgiving! And look at you: a new college student, freshly returned home from half a semester away and excited to see your old friends. Looks like it's time for that sacred rite of Fall, that holy gathering of friends, looks like it's time to attend your first Hoodie Party!

Hoodie Party: N - A gathering (party) of recently returned freshman over the Thanksgiving break. The gathering is so named because everyone in attendance - and we mean everyone - will be wearing their school's hoodie.  KEEP READING

It is often said that jealousy is what drives us to be successful. Actually, I don't know if that is said at all because I just made it up for an opening to this piece, but it seems pretty true, no? Jealousy - the deep, burning, coveting mood we get in when we see someone bigger, better, faster, richer and smarter - has been around for hundreds, maybe even two-hundreds, of years and it's not going anywhere. But, while jealousy never goes away, it does change as you grow older.

0-8 Years Old: Toys. At first, it's all about oedipal complexes. You hate dad for taking mom away. But that jealousy soon fades when you realize how that dad is the one with the means to buy you toys and when you're a kid, nothing means more to you than toys. Not only are toys fun to play with, they are invaluable social status signifiers. In my day, if you had a either a Nintendo or Fireball Island nobody could touch you, you were that cool. I had both and, man, did I milk that for all it was worth. The problem with toys is that when a newer version of your toy comes out, you immediately go from envied to envious. I still remember the day Super Nintendo came out and ruined my entire childhood.

9-18 Years Old: Girls. I could be wrong about this one but I think I first started noticing girls when I was about nine years-old. I remember it was at this age when I first experienced body shame, which is a sign that I was thinking about what girls thought of me and my baby fat (still there at 22) Girls become like baseball cards; things to be collected. Of course, the fact that you're reading this online means that you did not date the hottest girl in school and probably spent most of your time hating the guy that did. You would look at your own girlfriend and brainstorm ways to make her more like that goddess who wouldn't even look at you, but to no avail. Also, you probably had a lot of conversations about how girls don't want nice guys like you. God, isn't it amazing how well I know you?

19-22 Year Old: Internships. Forget girls, you've been there and - literally - done that. It's time to focus on your future, son, and the best way to do that is to get really intense about finding an internship. Internships are the college equivalent of sports cars; the cooler yours I, the cooler you are. At my college, the kids who had the internships at MTV and Virgin Records pulled way more tail than the kids stuck at Simon, Webb and Cranford and Associates. I spent my college years practically drooling at the prospect of some glamorous internship where I'd be invited to sexy parties and hobnob with the cream of New York society. Instead I worked as a bouncer in a dive bar in the ghetto. And even though I love my job now and literally couldn't ask for a better one, I'm still pissed MTV wouldn't even look at my resume.

22-28 Years Old: Real Estate. Now that you're a grown up with a big boy job, you need something new and grown up to envy about your friends. Inevitably, you will turn to real estate. "Man,"� you'll say, "Chris' apartment is awesome"¦sure beats my blah blah blah."� You'll find yourself looking at the real estate classifieds, window shopping at property brokers and driving around trying to find that perfect house you can't afford. You'll pretend that you own property in the country and plan out where, exactly, you'd put your helicopter landing pad on your imaginary estate. You'll inevitably have one friend who will make a ton of money right out of college and set himself up in a tremendously sexy bachelor pad. Remember who this guy is, you'll hate him for the rest of your life because he'll always be one step ahead of you. It's really best to just kill him now and go back to your studio apartment on the wrong side of town for a night of ramen noodles and stolen cable.

29-38 Years Old: Children. Well, look at you: married, nice house, good job and even a few kids. What could you possibly be jealous of now, you have everything you've always wanted, right? WRONG! Sure, you love your kids, but, man, wouldn't it be great if your kids could be more like your friend's? Your son wins his JV matches but his son wins varsity. Your daughter is at the top of her class, his daughter is comfortably in the middle of hers"¦at the country's bet private school. From soccer to little league to pee wee football to the science fair, there will always be kids better than your own. Sure, you could work with your children, educating them and molding them into better, more complete people, but isn't it easier to just curse them under your breath while you drink whiskey alone at a bar?

39-55 Years Old: Second wives. The kids are growing up and spending more time with their dirtbag friends than at home with you and your loving wife. There was a time, a few years ago probably, when you guys all felt like a family. But now, with the kids out doing heroin and sleeping with dangerous minorities, it's just you and your wife at home. Look at her, will you. What happened to the girl you married? Where did her ass go? Her toned thighs? Last time you checked her breasts weren't flopped lazily on her stomach, were they? No, this isn't the sexy young girl you married, this is her mother. That being said, you look at your friends who, being good Americans, got divorced and re-married. Their second wives are so much younger than that old bag you share a bed with. Look, Steve's second wife can still wear a bikini! Lucky guy"¦I bet they still enjoy sex. If only there was some way to divorce your wife and un-have your kids?! Sadly, there is no legal way to accomplish this. You can, however, have an affair. Why not, you've earned it! Plus, college girls who would have called you a loser twenty years ago now think you're refined and mature!

56-74 Years Old: Erections. Like it or not, you're stuck with your wife till death do you a favor and take that sour bitch away. The kids are long gone, off making horrible life choices by themselves finally, and you've probably been given that golden handshake after a lifetime spent toiling away at an office. Welcome to the golden year pal, but don't get too excited, there are still thing to be jealous of. At this age, you couldn't care less about what you look like or which gold diggers your friends are marrying, but you never stop caring about your abilities as a man. When you and your hag of a wife do enter into that most sacred and disgusting of unions you still want your soldier to stand tall. However, this is not always the case as, after years of abuse, your little guy isn't always up to the task. Of course, one of your friends will never have a problem getting or maintaining an erection. You'll quietly curse him, spending more time thinking about his genitals than a man your age should, and ponder ways in which you too can be a rock hard super stud like him. Then you'll give up, purchase Viagra and resign yourself to chemical boners for the rest of your life"¦whatever, it's not like you're going to enjoy the sex anyway, what with the arthritis and all.

75-88 Years Old: Regular Bowel Movements. Let's face facts, around 75 years old even you get grossed out at the sight of your naked body. You're wrinkly, saggy, leathery and God knows what else. Sex at this age becomes a serious risk to your health because Lord knows what you'd do if Mary broke her hip again; she's already had two replacements and we can't afford another one on our pensions. The envy you once had for guys that could achieve an erection without drugs becomes irrelevant and your envy shifts to something much grosser that old people having sex; old people on the toilet. Bowel movements become the focus of your entire day. Everything revolves around when you'll "make"�: your diet, your schedule, when you take your meds, etc. When you do use the bathroom chances are you'll need some assistance from a laxative or enema. A natural shit is almost unheard of at this age because, well to be honest, people aren't supposed to live this long. However, you'll have at least one friend who still shits like a twenty year old. He doesn't have to ingest powdered colonic fiber every time he wants to take a dump, he just goes. What you wouldn't give to be able to take a shit without planning it two days in advance. Some guys have all the luck.

88-100 Years Old: Death. Look at you; outlived all your friends, did you? Bummer, huh? Your life now consists of watching television in your nursing home and once a year visits from your children at Christmas. The more you think about it, the more you start to see the upside to death: no more diapers, no more pureed food, no more Matlock and no more question about who' getting what in your will. You'll think about your friends that have already die and cruse them to hell for skipping this portion of life. They're dancing in heaven while you're wallowing in your own filth and trying to remember your grandkid's names. Why couldn't you have been so lucky? Well, I've got some good new for you; if it's death you want, I can guarantee you're going to get it. Just be patient like you've been your whole life and soon enough your children will be fighting over the $8,000 worth of GE stock before you're even in the ground.