A Moron at Crossroads

This post is for those of you who have ever gotten miserably lost driving in San Francisco.  If you've ever pulled out a clump of your own hair in frustration because you can't find the on ramp to the 280, you'll relate to this.

Last week, I drove from my office in the Peninsula to the eastern waterfront area of San Francisco (aka the Embarcadero) for a big, morale-building lunch with co-workers.  I came away feeling great, but that soon soured.  Despite the fact that I got myself there and despite the fact I had a GPS enabled navigating device in my hand, I got terribly lost heading back.

Consider the aggravating circumstances I was facing at that time:

1. Three highways (the 80, 101, and 280) converging in the same area.  
2. A maze of one way streets and general ban on left turns
   
3. The beginning of rush hour.
4. Ambiguously placed street signs indicating that perhaps one should turn left immediately in front of the sign or perhaps several blocks down the street.
   
5. A full bladder
6. The misguided belief that I am not a moron at all times.

The outcome?  I spent 10 minutes hunting for the southbound entrance of either the 101 or the 280.  I  made two U-turns,  one highly questionable left turn, and nearly ran down a pedestrian.  I soundly banged my head against the steering wheel.  But, the lowest moment came when I inadvertently ramped onto the 80 east heading to Oakland.  Because I ramped at the last exit point, I locked myself into crossing the full length of the Bay Bridge.  I spent the next 4.5 miles in gridlock wondering if my mounting frustration could provoke an early-age stroke.

The First Christmas Casualty

Last night I brought home a Christmas tree.  I bounced around the house, giddily crashing through storage boxes and ransacking my garage, to find and gather all the seasonal goodies that make my Christmas tree shiny, blinking, and beautiful.  Each time I unearthed yet another Christmas treasure buried in a closet, I squealed with pure, un-ironic delight.

I admit that, in these moments, I am completely and utterly annoying.  Did I mention that I also sing aloud with every tune that plays on the "Sleigh Ride" Pandora station that I preset on my ipod?

Perhaps, then, the Fates were justified in punishing me.  As I was rushing to grab a roll of tape from my hallway closet, I closed the closet door on my head.  The plan, of course, was to pull my head out of the closet in time for the door to safely pass by, but apparently I didn't plan well enough.   Worse yet, in such a state of unbottled enthusiasm, I am incapable of finer motor skills and instead do everything with exaggerated gusto.  So I did not just swing the door, I slammed it.

I hit myself with the door very very hard on the right side of my head.  If I were living in a Tom and Jerry cartoon, surely, a gong would have sounded and animated vibrations would appear beside my head.  The impact disoriented me momentarily, and I stumbled backwards wondering what hit me.  It is hard to accept, in the initial moments, that one could deliver a blow like that to one's own head.

I now have a red, garbonzo bean-sized bump on my right brow bone.  One small consolation: if I do say so myself, my Christmas tree looks great.