2011- Not My Favorite Thus Far...

2011 has not been my favorite year. Having said that, I am indeed fortunate that I am still duly employed and  housed- something many people throughout the world must do without many a goddamn day of their existence. So complain as I might, and I will- I do count my blessings... 

It started with a couple of root canals, and rapidly went downhill from there. A prostate inflammation led to a trip to the ER where I had to have a tube inserted up my natural, god given plumbing simply so I could relieve myself. Sound painful? Think of every which way you can say "excruciatingly agonizing." And I'd really like to point out that ER personnel are the Special Forces of medicine, except, instead of being super deadly- they're super nice and helpful, unlike their more clinical, mundane GP brethren who two days prior told me, "It's probably just a virus." Although, it should be noted I could've really used the traditional slug of whiskey and belt to bite down on before being subjected to "the tube."

Two weeks later- a 3AM trip to the ER due to a kidney stone. It's unbelievable that something 3mm wide can cause such crippling, mind numbing pain that you can't sit, can't lie down, or barely walk! Two doses of morphine just to relieve the pain. As one doctor described it- the male version of giving birth.

A month later, I'm routinely crossing the street downtown when someone starts honking his horn at me. Most San Franciscan drivers amaze me, they actually wait for you to cross the street if they see you about to cross on the corner- very unlike my native New York where they dare you to cross the street. This guy was well beyond the latter as he continued to lean on the horn as I'm mid street (the light had now turned yellow) directly in front of his turning car. At this point I stop, face him directly and throw up my hands, not in a threatening gesture- but in a "what is the problem, you gottta be kidding me" manner? He continues to accelerate stopping abruptly when he makes direct contact with my legs. Although still standing, I sure didn't appreciate the physical contact with his car. So I start pounding on his hood repeatedly with my fist. He again steps on the pedal and I barely get out of the way as both my feet get run over by his front tire, and for a split second I'm scared I might actually get dragged underneath. I take stock of myself- still standing, not bleeding, adrenaline gushing out my ears. I proceed to kick his brand new car as hard as I can, as many times as I can with feet I hope aren't already broken. He gets out- definitely not happy.

Bad news: he's 6'1"-6'2" about 225-250; he's got a good hundred pounds on me. Good news: He's like 60-65. He yells his way outta the car coming at me in "I'm gonna kick your soon to be sorry ass" mode. He takes a swing, it grazes my head, and right there I know- I can take this guy. I return fire and back the guy up- and then the thought hits me... how sad and ludicrous is this? Two old geezers duking it out in the middle of the street- the kinda thing I'd be laughing at should I catch sight myself. I resist advancing, and fortunately, the noble citizenry of San Francisco step in and separate us. He was still yelling when I walked away.

I was wondering what I'd say to Judge Judy should I have chosen a different route and taken Mr. Road Rage to court. She definitely would get on my case for confronting him and not just getting out of the way. "Your Honor," I would say, as I unroll my sleeves to unveil my two skinny arms before the court, "Look at me. I wouldn't have gotten to 55 years if I went around starting fights all my life- and by the same token, I sure wouldn't be here before you this day if I ran away form everyone who ever wanted to pound me into submission."

Yeah, guess it wouldn't hurt thinking up a new strategy- next year's gonna be better...