It's....ALIVE!

Yes, I'm still on the right side of the grass.  Haven't posted much lately.
I've been dealing with the minutia of life.  (mellifluous enough Big Guy?) 
New car purchase, dispensing with the dead Jeep Cherokee in the driveway, fixing the leak(s) in the one and only son's Jeep moonroof, fretting about the leak above the windshield in the Astro beater van, helping second oldest daughter with IRS problems (money grubbing assholes) she's all of 22, IRS problems? Nastygram from the IRS? Really?
Fortunately, my older Sister is a CPA that eats IRS agents as horse doovers. ( that's Hors D'oeuvres for those that don't speak George W.)
Dealing with the Homeowner's Association over annual dues, whose acronym is "C.I.A.", buncha busybodies with nuthin better to do.
Pissed actually inspired this post.
 I've made it this far without any broken bones, but thought I'd post up a list of the stupidity and random happenstance I survived as a child (adolescent, legal adult)
And all this with not one iota of help from the federal government no less. Amazing, I know.
Chronologically, more or less:
1)  Age 3 (or perhaps4):  I dragged a chair over to the counter, climbed up and retrieved the bottle of iron fortified Chocks Vitamins from the upper kitchen cabinet. Ate the whole bottle. Hey, they were chewable and tasted like candy. I don't recall my mother being home at time, but she appeared out of nowhere, dragged my ass into the bathrom and stuck her finger down my throat. I requested that she stop doing that, because it was making me throw up. Response was negative.  As I was told much later, she called the doctor and was instructed to do so. Iron poisoning was abated. The only side affect was that my little butt broke out in a rash.
2) Age 5 or so, I got interested in my mother's Singer sewing machine. It was not plugged in, but I thought it was interesting how when I turned the wheel, the needle thing went up and down. In slow motion no less, I managed to nail my left thumb to the base with the needle. In a brief moment of panic, I tried to pull my hand away to no success. I credit myself with the presence of mind to turn the wheel the other way and free my thumb. I've never spoken of this before, not even to the Lovely Belle. I share this in the deepest of confidence.
3) Age 6, 7, 8: Mom was a smoker. She used to send me down to the 7 Eleven with 50 cents to get her a pack of Menthol Salems. The clerk got used to this.  Being 1966 to 1968 in the confines of the Elm Lawn Pen with no video games, internet and only 5 TV channels to watch, my buddy Mark and I hatched a plan. We scraped together 5 dimes by collecting returnable bottles and I bought a pack of cigs. We high tailed it down to the "ditch" and smoked the whole pack. I didn't know you were supposed to inhale, so I just got a nasty taste in my mouth, but boy did we feel all badass and cool.
4)  Age 10:  Genie Smoke. We used to peel firecrackers to get to the gunpowder. We'd collect it in a bottle cap and once full, we'd light it up for a big flash and a lot of smoke. I made the mistake of picking up one of the bottle caps right after ignition.  Rather hot, n'est pas? Blister on my index finger and thumb.
5)  Age 12, 13, 14...lost track:  Firecrackers.  Blew up my fingers a few times trying to throw black cats with short fuses. ( I come by it honestly, my Dad blew off his fingernail handling a ladyfinger firecracker)
6) Age 15 to 18: In spite of the myths about white men, I could jump.  What I could not do well, was land.  I've lost track of which was which, but I sprained my ankles 5 times. On three of the occasions, I turned it so hard, I abraded my ankle bone. On the fifth and final event which ended my pickup basketball career, I heard something pop. Went for x-rays on that one. I was 6'-2", 180 pounds with the ankles of a Ballerina. (Well, a 180 lb. Ballerina)
7) Age 16 to...:  Car wrecks. First with no seat belt. Yes, I'm that old. This post is long enough.
8) Age 48, or was it 49? I forget, at least I'm trying to:  I saved the best for last, so far.  Replacing the rear leaf springs on the the beloved Jeep Cherokee. Leaf springs arrive with no rubber bushings in the eyes, so I order the bushings and do some interwebz research on how to wedge those tootsie rolls in there.
Beware the interwebz.  One process I find involves wedging a screwdriver in the gap at the end of the leaf spring eye to open it up so the round rubber bushing will "slide right in".  This was working fabulously for about three quarters of the bushing. Then it came to a grinding halt. So, standing over the leaf spring, screwdriver wedged, with a rubber mallet, I commence to drive the bushing in. So far, so good. What I did not realize was the screwdriver was starting to back out. The screwdriver found the "critical mass" point and shot out of the leaf spring.
Had it rotated 180 degrees, I'd not be making this post.  The handle of the screwdriver shattered the right lense of my glasses, cracked the bridge of my nose, and bruised my right eyeball. I had a gray spot in the vision of my right eye for about two months hence. There were cuts and profligate bleeding. I could not see out of my right eye, and...I was home alone.  This was one of the very few, "oh my God, oh my God" moments in my life.
Two days later I went for an eye exam for new glasses. My eye doc had a confused look on her face. Still had the gray spot in my right eye field of vision, but I'd made my appointment some weeks prior, and needed to get this done and done. I have to work after all. No rest for the weary.
I left out all the oyster shell cuts, fish hook impalements, the scar on the back of my right hand a sixteenth of an inch from a bulbous vane, knife cuts, abrasions to the bone, etc etc etc.
Still on the right side of the grass.
All you occupiers with your iphones are a bunch of pussies. Pick your self up and get on with it.