That's not to say that there aren't people who genuinely enjoy a little kick in their food. Entire countries aren't making traditional dishes as dares, after all. But there's a special subset of people who will use any opportunity to demonstrate their tolerance for pain, even something as benign as a meal. Consequently, there's no chance they will eat it quietly, either. They will let everyone else at the table know between each bite, each labored swallow, that "This is nothing" and "I'm from [insert culture], now they know spicy!"

Worst of all, if you happen to live with one of these people, each meal is a harbinger of domestic terrorism. Regardless of anyone's ability to choke down hot food through sheer will, that will has no say on the final product which fires back out of the body a couple hours later. Taste bud sensitivity may vary from person to person, but butts are pretty much all the same, and they don't like habaneros.

So if you're the type of person who eats extremely spicy food just to prove a point, you should know that you're not commanding the hushed respect of everyone around. They are silent because they are listening for the screams of your lower intestine so they know how much time is left before they have to flee.

In addition, they will tell you for as long as you will listen about some city or town they lived in that isn't here and how, because the winters there are so wet/dry/northerly/high in elevation that they experienced a type of cold you couldn't possibly conceive of with your tiny, wool-clad mind. As a result, this person is immune to temperatures that would kill someone as fragile as you.

I know this type because I used to be one. I grew up in the mountains of Colorado, then moved to Los Angeles, where people use an overcast day as an excuse to climb into "winter wear." But I'm willing to admit that even LA gets legitimately cold sometimes, and no one was falling over in admiration when I'd wear shorts in January and call everyone else cowards.

Incidentally, the people who wrap themselves in confidence instead of polypropylene each winter are the same people who refuse to admit when they're sick. Instead, they will chalk up their impacted sinuses and four-month cough to allergies.

Sleep anorexics' self-esteem is not proportional to how little sleep they get. It's directly proportional to how little sleep they get compared to you. They are all participating in a secret competition of who can stay up the longest, so when you say you slept well last night, they will only nod smugly and think about how they left another feeble loser in the dust.

But like a child who tries to stay up all night in a desperate attempt to feel powerful, eventually these people crash, falling into deep, slack-jawed sleep in movies, meetings, bars, and pretty much anywhere that requires sitting still for more than two minutes at a time.

That's because celebrity spotters aren't accruing their autographs at junkets or conventions. No, they prefer to catch celebrities in the wild. They see Alex Trebek going the opposite direction on the freeway at 60 miles an hour and give chase. They'll glimpse Howie Mandel having dinner in a restaurant and pound on the window until he acknowledges them. Worst of all, they'll recount every exchange without any hint of humiliation. In fact, they're proud of their accomplishments. As far as they're concerned, celebrities are all complicit goals in a massive scavenger hunt -- a hunt they happen to be winning. Naturally, they want you to know about the talent that leads them to success, because a conversation with you is the closest thing they will ever have to a postgame interview.

"But Soren," you might say with your unnaturally deep voice and pronounced Adam's apple, "I'm not bragging about my facial hair, I'm commiserating with other people who have to deal with it." To which I say:

"Fuck you."

This might be a good time to mention that I'm not jealous. Granted, the seeds of puberty could gain no purchase on my face, but I can see it in each of your eyes that you are boasting on the inside about all your facial hair potential. Well, I've got news for you: That's not a power. It's not going to save babies from house fires or something. Come talk to me when you can jump into the back of a truck with both feet at the same time. Facial hair looks stupid anyway. I don't want this to sound resentful, but I hope your beard someday grows so long that your face gets sucked into a wind turbine.

Flaunt how much you LOVE to sleep with the cutest Pusheen Plush Sleep Mask in the world. Eat that, you crazy non-sleepers!

For more from Soren, check out Why 'Psychics' Need to Stop Pretending They Can Solve Crimes and 4 Steps to Staying Relevant as a Bully In the Modern World.

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