Even if all my bones are broken, I will drag myself back from the edge....
So yesterday I suffered the worst injury of my life, yet again. Texas is beating the CRAP out of me.
We're at UTSA for disc- well, basically to hang out with a couple of our friends in the area, teach people things that'll improve their game, and to recruit any likely athletes for our team- and I bust deep on my guy, a 6'4" behemoth with great field sense who would have been a sweet pickup if he didn't go to school in another part of the state. The throw comes short, and I have to stop my cut and run back, barely getting position on my guy as the disc comes in. I jump up and get a hand on it, but this guy, obviously a former basketball player, takes a vicious swing at it and incidentally imbeds my pinkie into my hand as well as gets the D. It was clean insofar as he didn't foul me, but it's just an unwise/newb mistake to swat those down instead of just grabbing it. So that sucks. Hopefully my hand isn't broken- there was some wicked swelling and some internal bleeding, but I don't feel the grinding of any bones or anything. Iced it down at Ferg's place afterwards, and set it between chopsticks when I got home to keep it steady, but it looks like I'm not going to be able to have any sort of hands-on fun for the next month, at least.
Of course this happens as I get my plans straight for New Year's: Justin and I are heading to a Mormon church dance for whatever reason. Why can't I just find a nice agnostic girl who likes to party?
For what it's worth, at least I repaired the Misty situation. I'm laying on the side of the field after the pain becomes so intolerable I can't even play right-handed, staring at the sky and wishing death upon myself when Misty trots over on her way out, asking after my general health and the state of the apartment after the fire. She gets adorably awkward as she fights some inner struggle to bring something up, loses, gives me a scared-deer goodbye and walks over to the bleachers to change shoes, etc while I cock my head backwards and watch bemusedly. Deciding to be nice, I rescue her by getting on her case about some promises she made me (or rather, I made for her while she was present), and when she was going to fulfill them (cookies, gingerbread house, Bat Cavern trip, etc)- she mentions how she's leaving to her dad's place on Sunday, and she didn't know how long I was willing to wait. That maybe I had better find another cute girl to take her spot, when I expressed my impatient nature. Damn you, Mormon girls, for setting up such an amazing spot for rote delivery, and completely taking it away by your very religious nature!! Justin later suggested that this was the place for "uh, well, okay, is your sister going with you, too? What's HER number?" but I had to settle for the more PC eyeroll/"NO ONE could ever replace YOU, Misty" at the time. What's amazing to me is how the simplest things seem so ballsy when you're with someone who lives by such a, well I guess modest code. "So, ah, Misty- about that dance tomorrow night? Are we still allowed to kiss at midnight or is that frowned upon?" Evidently "it depends on the kissing" and that was good enough for me to score directions. Mormons, man. How do I get into this kind of stuff? This is going to be so much different than last year.
Of course to end the night, Sveta calls and cheers me up, regaling me with a story of how she thought plunging super-heated glass under cold water was a great idea, how she thought scorpions looked "just like lobsters. Except black. With wings," and reminded me about this crazy book babyroo told me about when I was in GA for my birthday, on Joseph Smith and the overall psychoness of the Mormon religion. I flipped through it at B&N today before stocking up at Costco for our big juice fast.. essentially, they're Jews For Jesus, except they like bacon and don't swear and wear special underwear and tithe 10% of their income to the church and can't watch R-rated movies and don't put out. And they're usually delusional and murder people. It's a good book.
So hopefully this goes well when we show up drunk tonight, and me gimped. We've been meaning to start more fights, anyway. It ends at 12:30, so we're still going to have to find something to do afterwards. Hopefully just Justin will- I'm going to pack away a little picnic and try to spirit Misty away for a sunrise if I can. If that fails, maybe we'll just go barhopping. It IS Nat'l Drunk Driving Day, after all.
We're at UTSA for disc- well, basically to hang out with a couple of our friends in the area, teach people things that'll improve their game, and to recruit any likely athletes for our team- and I bust deep on my guy, a 6'4" behemoth with great field sense who would have been a sweet pickup if he didn't go to school in another part of the state. The throw comes short, and I have to stop my cut and run back, barely getting position on my guy as the disc comes in. I jump up and get a hand on it, but this guy, obviously a former basketball player, takes a vicious swing at it and incidentally imbeds my pinkie into my hand as well as gets the D. It was clean insofar as he didn't foul me, but it's just an unwise/newb mistake to swat those down instead of just grabbing it. So that sucks. Hopefully my hand isn't broken- there was some wicked swelling and some internal bleeding, but I don't feel the grinding of any bones or anything. Iced it down at Ferg's place afterwards, and set it between chopsticks when I got home to keep it steady, but it looks like I'm not going to be able to have any sort of hands-on fun for the next month, at least.
Of course this happens as I get my plans straight for New Year's: Justin and I are heading to a Mormon church dance for whatever reason. Why can't I just find a nice agnostic girl who likes to party?
For what it's worth, at least I repaired the Misty situation. I'm laying on the side of the field after the pain becomes so intolerable I can't even play right-handed, staring at the sky and wishing death upon myself when Misty trots over on her way out, asking after my general health and the state of the apartment after the fire. She gets adorably awkward as she fights some inner struggle to bring something up, loses, gives me a scared-deer goodbye and walks over to the bleachers to change shoes, etc while I cock my head backwards and watch bemusedly. Deciding to be nice, I rescue her by getting on her case about some promises she made me (or rather, I made for her while she was present), and when she was going to fulfill them (cookies, gingerbread house, Bat Cavern trip, etc)- she mentions how she's leaving to her dad's place on Sunday, and she didn't know how long I was willing to wait. That maybe I had better find another cute girl to take her spot, when I expressed my impatient nature. Damn you, Mormon girls, for setting up such an amazing spot for rote delivery, and completely taking it away by your very religious nature!! Justin later suggested that this was the place for "uh, well, okay, is your sister going with you, too? What's HER number?" but I had to settle for the more PC eyeroll/"NO ONE could ever replace YOU, Misty" at the time. What's amazing to me is how the simplest things seem so ballsy when you're with someone who lives by such a, well I guess modest code. "So, ah, Misty- about that dance tomorrow night? Are we still allowed to kiss at midnight or is that frowned upon?" Evidently "it depends on the kissing" and that was good enough for me to score directions. Mormons, man. How do I get into this kind of stuff? This is going to be so much different than last year.
Of course to end the night, Sveta calls and cheers me up, regaling me with a story of how she thought plunging super-heated glass under cold water was a great idea, how she thought scorpions looked "just like lobsters. Except black. With wings," and reminded me about this crazy book babyroo told me about when I was in GA for my birthday, on Joseph Smith and the overall psychoness of the Mormon religion. I flipped through it at B&N today before stocking up at Costco for our big juice fast.. essentially, they're Jews For Jesus, except they like bacon and don't swear and wear special underwear and tithe 10% of their income to the church and can't watch R-rated movies and don't put out. And they're usually delusional and murder people. It's a good book.
So hopefully this goes well when we show up drunk tonight, and me gimped. We've been meaning to start more fights, anyway. It ends at 12:30, so we're still going to have to find something to do afterwards. Hopefully just Justin will- I'm going to pack away a little picnic and try to spirit Misty away for a sunrise if I can. If that fails, maybe we'll just go barhopping. It IS Nat'l Drunk Driving Day, after all.