But ahhh, today. Today, I wait at the d rive-thru window for five minutes before being asked to park alongside the building. Ten minutes later, a time which is coincident with the first pitch of the baseball game I was trying to make, the Taco Bell droid comes out with my pizza, apologizes for the wait, and tells me they're giving me a Choco-Taco free to make up for it. Now, I'd never heard of a Choco-Taco before, and the only inkling I had as to what it was before reading the page linked above (it actually sounds okay, except that I don't like peanuts mixed in with my ice cream or chocolate) was that I'd seen a Good Humor freezer inside the drive-thru window, and the top item in the plastic carry-out bag was sealed in a foil wrapper.
As if ice cream will still be solid enough to eat by the time I've finished consuming a pizza and breadsticks (I don't care to eat dessert first) it's sure as hell going to be a lot less solid when the second item in that ba g, just beneath the ice cream, is a fresh-out-of-the-oven Personal Pan Pizza.
This would be obvious to anybody except the kind of retards that Taco Bell hires.
After fifteen minutes, I was expecting some kind of apologetic gratis item. More breadsticks, perhaps, or a coupon of some kind. A coupon for a free Choco-Taco would even have been acceptable. But most of all, I would have preferred to be informed that no pizzas were ready, and it would take fifteen minutes to make me one, at the time I placed my order. Because of my tight schedule, I would've chosen instead to go to McDonald's, who would've provided a pair of cheeseburgers sans onions right quick, allowing me to get to my game on time.
I was dumb today too, but not that dumb.
I'm not in this class at Palomar to compete with anyone. I'm not trying to make the team there. I'm not trying to play college or pro ball anywhere. I'm just there to work on my game for its own sake. So why the hell did I insist on trying to hit the second baseman on the fly during outfield drills today? A coach compliments me on sprinting after a hit way over my head, and all of a sudden I have to instinctively try to impress him again by trying someth ing I know my arm isn't capable of? Repeatedly?!
See, this is trouble because I have this bad habit of throwing for long distance by leaning to my left and throwing nearly sidearm. I always feel it in the throwing elbow, if I really overdo it, the elbow pops.
I didn't let it pop today, but because of the bad technique and overthrowing, my arm is sore just above the right elbow. I seem to do this every year during the league draft, and it takes a week or two to heal if I leave it alone. This time I'm taking proper care of it... icing and taking ibuprofen as an anti-inflammatory. The ice was obvious, but the Advil was a tip from one of the Poway moms--two of her sons catch, so they've done stuff like this plenty of times, and sh e's a nurse.
In the future, I need to just take the compliments for what they are, and focus on doing things right. 'Cause there's no way that
One of the other moms correctly labeled this behavior a guy thing. She's right... her son Stuart pulled a muscle in his back yesterday taking too much batting practice. A coach comes in on Sundays to throw BP to kids, but nobody besides Stu shows up. Since the coach is there, he figures, don't waste his time, take advantage of it and get in some more swrings! Brilliant. Now he's in pain and couldn't play today. (Ironically, the last time I remember him getting hurt, we had a game at Oceanside.) We're guys, we don't know when to say 'enough!', we're dumb that way.d