-Birthdays are a lot like New Year’s Eve in that you make a lot of promises to yourself about turning over a new leaf, only to abandon your attempts at change a few weeks later.  Of course, I have no ordinary birthday coming up.  In 52 days, I’m turning thirty.  Yeah, it’s a big one.  So while my time as a twentysomething is quickly running out, I’ve been considering several birthday resolutions, one of which is to be less grumpy.  As I wrote in Ruminations #107, I tend to sweat the small stuff.  Since that time, though, I’ve gotten a lot grumpier, and begun sweating even smaller stuff.  The first step, as they say, is to admit you have a problem.  But sometimes I wish “they” would just shut the fuck up.

-When customer service reps ask for my name, phone number, and address, why don’t they tell me what they need it for?  If you need to enter it into the system, I’ll speak slowly so you can spell everything correctly.  But if it’s just for verification purposes, please let me know so I can tear through this bullshit and get on with my life.

-Incense: noun; a substance burned to produce an aromatic odor.  Incensed: adjective; the feeling I get when someone near me is burning incense.

-Hey guy sitting next to me on the plane, I noticed you constantly peering over at the romantic comedy I purchased and am now watching on the seatback in front of me.  Guess what?  It just got twice as funny.

-Blisters are nature’s way of reminding me about my inconsistent workout schedule.

-I hate being the lead in a line of cars all looking for a spot in a huge parking structure.  There’s so much pressure.  I’ve got a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel because I know I can’t hesitate if I happen to see an open spot that isn’t “reserved for carpools only” or doesn’t have a fucking Vespa in it.  Slowly, I lead my charges higher and higher, even though we all know we’re parking on the roof.

-Riding in a convertible is usually about 75-80% as much fun as I thought it would be.

-I’ve begun to see teenagers with cell phones that double as speakers, just walking down the street blasting their music out loud.  It’s only a matter of time before the first cell-phone-that-doubles-as-speakers-related homicide.

-I believe that sweating the small stuff is a natural reaction to an uncertain world.  At least that’s what helps me sleep at night.  In these trying times, though, some people use more unconventional means to dispel frustration and focus on what’s important.  Like my friend Deb, who regularly sees a psychic, despite my repeated jeers.  Most recently, Deb told me her psychic could sense she was feeling anxious and suggested she concentrate more on her job.  “Deb,” I said, “I could have told you that.  What the fuck do you need some phony psychic for?”  But Deb contended there was no way the psychic could have known what she was feeling.  “God damn it, Deb,” I grumbled, “She’s just giving you obvious advice!  That’s not a fucking prediction!  Now ask to her to tell you who’s gonna win the World Series!”  She hung up on me.  I didn’t see that one coming.

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-Sometimes I’ll be in the midst of writing and will Google a word to find out how to spell it, only the first search result is a Wikipedia page, and next thing I know it’s 45 minutes later.

-“Encore presentation?”  Oh, you mean a repeat.

-My biceps burn more from attempting to carry all of my laundry from the car to my apartment without making two trips than they do from the most punishing workout I’ve ever done at the gym.

-I would not want to be trapped in a dangerous situation with Bon Jovi.  “It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not?  Right… listen Jon, why don’t you stay here then and I’ll go get some help.”

-Fact: baby powder is the most underrated toiletry.

-“Do not machine wash or tumble dry” means I will never wash this ever.

-I do not own a power drill, so whenever I assemble a shelf or something that requires one, I just vigorously hammer the screws into the wall and hope for the best.

-In honor of Mother’s Day next week, I’d like to admit that I’ve recently come to an earth-shattering conclusion: my mom has never been wrong about anything, ever, in her entire life.  I tried to think of an example where I took my mom’s advice and then afterwards said, “I knew I shouldn’t have listened you!”  But I can’t.  She’s batting a thousand.  It’s pretty incredible that it took me almost thirty years to realize I should always listen to her.  I will do so going forward, but only begrudgingly, because I need to at least save face.

-When I travel, I take two types of pictures.  One set is of ancient ruins, cultural landmarks, and trees.  These are the ones I show my mom and never look at again after I’ve downloaded them from my camera.  The other set is of me drunk, my friends drunk, and strangers drunk.  These are the ones I never show my mom but cherish forever.

-And, finally, whenever I visit my parents and complain about something physically wrong with me, my mom will analyze the symptoms and then always come to the same diagnosis: “Is it gas?”  “Mom, my stomach is killing me.”  “What did you eat?   Do you have gas?”  “Mom, I have a pounding headache.”  “Sounds like gas, honey.”  “Mom, I fell and broke my ankle.”  “It’s all that gas, Aaron, it’s blowing you off balance.”  And you know she’s getting all serious about the gas when she starts to whisper, “Did you try to go to the bathroom?”  Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can say but, “Yes Mom, I did.  You were right.  It was gas.  Do you have any incense I can burn in there?”  Fuck me.

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