All dawgs go to Heaven...or Paris.

 

I made it back. For those of you who have been anxiously waiting by your computers for my latest post (Mom), I am happy to oblige. But be warned—this will be LONG. I know it couldn’t have been easy to go without your weekly dose of my scintillating prose for so long, but this post should make up for that. I’d like to start with my trip to France and work backward to my game and other happenings, if you don’t mind? Thanks.

It all began with a simple conversation and an unlikely proposal. Kindra and I had been discussing (via Skype) our European experiences, comparing it to our days together at UW. Kindra played Volleyball at Washington and was a stud. We graduated together in 2010, and while we were never particularly close, we always got along well and I considered her a friend. After mentioning my desire to travel during my Christmas break, but lack of actual plans, Kindra casually suggested I visit her in France, perhaps without truly considering that I’d take advantage of such an auspicious invitation.  I wanted an adventure before I become too old and adventure somehow becomes synonymous with mid-life crisis.

Everyone says they’ll travel and visit these places, but then life interjects and sharply reminds us that plans fall through, life isn’t fair and often times what we want doesn’t coincide with what we need. And so, traveling takes a discouraging and often permanent backseat to…well, everything else. So, I saw Kindra’s offer as my opportunity for adventure. Fortunately, she was just crazy enough to accept. Before I knew it, we had planned a trip to Paris, booked a hotel at Disneyland and I was catching a flight to the South of France to stay with Kindra.

I’d rather not bore you or myself with the details of my travel experiences at the airport, but know this: I hate the Paris airport. De Gaulle is not user friendly, especially if you have never been there before. The place is huge so I can justify having trouble navigating it, but shouldn’t the people working there be able to, or do they just give them their ugly highlighter vests and let em have at it? “Try that way”, “Go over there”, “Go right”. Wrong sir…and lady… and seriously lady? Go right? And then what, click my heels three times? Next time could you be more vague? That’d be great. I literally had to stalk this girl that was also flying to Montpellier. Turns out we had to take this 50-minute bus to catch our connecting flight out of the Orly airport, but no one could tell us where this bus was. We barely made our flight, but we did and she had no clue I was following her like a tour guide…so I hope.

Beziers was lovely. It is a smaller city a little outside Montpellier. Seeing Kindra was awesome, too. When I got there, she was still in season, which actually worked out nicely. I got to workout in her gym when they practiced and I got to see her play again, too. After spending 5 days there, it was time for our Paris trip!

Like kids on Christmas eve, we couldn’t sleep the night before our train ride. We got to Paris around 11 after a 4 ½ hour bus ride and wasted little time. We saw the Basilique Sacré-Coeur, the Louvre, Notre Dame, and the Tower, as well as the Seine River. This city is breathtaking. Every building, every view is picturesque. I know everyone loves the tower, but my favorite was the Louvre. Being surrounded by so much history was spectacular. I have seen some incredible pictures of the places we visited, but nothing compares to the real thing. After a long and rather exhausting day, we went and checked into our hotel at Disney. We had a big day ahead of us after all…

Our first day at Disneyland began with our “characters breakfast”. Yeah, that’s right. We had breakfast with some Disney characters. I didn’t realize how inappropriate and ridiculous it was for us to be at this breakfast until we were surrounded by 50 eight year olds and 10 crying babies. Though, I will say that Goofy seemed to appreciate the change in scenery—he couldn’t get enough of Kindra. More than a little creepy. But we embraced being the biggest little kids and had a great time. After eating like a woman pregnant with triplets, we headed into the park with our early entrance passes! Boom.

                                             

For those of you who know me well, you know I have a love-hate relationship with roller coasters and rides in general. While I do love them, my love is vastly overshadowed by my paralyzing fear of dying on them. People think I am scared of heights—incorrect. I’m scared of the whole falling to my death factor. Kindra did not know me that well, yet. She learned quickly. Tower of Terror was by far the worst ride for me. I think I enjoyed it, although our picture on it suggests I needed my mommy. We spent two days, including Christmas, at Disneyland, bouncing back in forth between the parks, enjoying the rides, the characters and the shows. Kindra dragged me to the Buffalo Bill's Wild West show, featuring Disney characters, but I ended up really liking it too! I really enjoyed feeling like a kid again—a kid without adult supervision or a curfew. Winning.

We spent our last day in Paris at the Palace of Versailles. It was frustratingly foggy, but still, what an experience. This place is surreal. I still can’t believe how elaborate and garish it is. It is truly outside my scope of narrative: the endless gardens, the lavish rooms, the illustrious ceiling paintings and statues—this place is unbelievable even when you are there seeing it all. We only had 4 hours there till our train back, unfortunately, and one of them was wasted standing in the ludicrous line that snaked all over the front courtyard. The wait was well worth it though, and I will always be relieved we waited and took the time to visit the Palace.

 It was hard to leave Paris. It was so good to us. People were kind and helpful, mostly, the weather was superb considering it is December, and the Metro system there is pretty great once you are familiar with it. Still, after running around all day for 4 days, Kindra and I were ready for a little break, mostly cause I was pretty sure I acquired lung cancer from second-hand smoke. I figure that is why everyone who lives there smokes, cause they know even if they don’t, there’s no running from that second-hand smoke, so they may as well bite the bullet.

Okay I need a break. I think I am going to have to make this a two-part entry and write about our game and other things in a different one. My life is simply too awesome to squeeze it into one post, I’m afraid. Sorry I’m not sorry. For now though, this should do…

Paris or bust.

I like being right. And I usually am, but it really never gets old. Before our game Saturday, I told one of my teammates that I’d be both upset and surprised if we didn’t win by at least 15. We won by 18. I was misinformed about one thing though that I posted in my last entry: we got our new post for this game, not our new PG. Sooooo, I was back at point. Greaaaaaaaaat. I don’t even mind anymore, I have come to terms with the fact that I just have to play whatever position they need, game to game. We were solid as a team and had a lot of players contribute: I had 18 points, 8 assists and 5 boards—suck on that Daniel Finan. If you are wondering what that means and your name is 

NOT Daniel Finan, then stop, and mind your 

business. Rotenburg was 5^th in our league entering our game, but mostly cause they’re unpredictable. Undersized, they are scrappy and rely heavily on their outside shooting—they live and die by the 3 as they say, and at any point, any one of their guards could get hot. They also predominantly run a 3-2 zone, which has given some teams problems. Still, I don’t think they are very good and it baffles me that they were in 5^th place… baffles me. We went out and celebrated that night what was only our 3^rd win of the season (I know, I know, dismal). But I do love this team, mostly. C’mon, it’s a group of women, no chance we ALL get along.

I moved into Sam’s old apartment so that our new post (Serbian) could live with our other post (also Serbian). Did I mention the new post does not speak English? Just Serbian. Yup. Kelly is my new roommate and she has a cat. You might remember that I have a hamster living with me these days… so far, they seem to be getting along. Staring contests are typical.

There is something special about old friends and reconnecting with them after a lengthy absence from each other’s lives. Course, at my youthful age, 2-3 years seems rather long—consequential still, since I only actually remember like 15 of my 23 years so far. I suppose the older you get though, the length of “significant” time extends, proportionally, making a lengthy absence like…a decade. Memory lane becomes memory marathon and that’s just exhausting for everyone trying to recall when you last spoke and how much of each other’s lives you have missed. I’d also imagine that catching up with old friends, friends of your former self, becomes less enticing and, perhaps, even disheartening the older you get. At my age, reminiscing over the brazen things we tried, the idiotic dares we accepted back then—things that we could still get away with doing now—is entertaining. But, there’s just something about a 40 year old taking a dare, even for the sake of “old times”, that seems…I don’t want to say irresponsible, but I will say ill-advised. When you are 23 it is both comical and rewarding revisiting old shenanigans while acknowledging our impressive maturation. On the other hand, by 43, maturing simply becomes a euphemism for stretching, sagging and generally having more of everything…everywhere. Something about remembering smaller waistlines and faster metabolisms that loses it’s allure.  Am I right? (Yes, yes I am). Fortunately, I have yet to reach that threshold, so I still enjoy reconnecting with old friends, and recently I did—maybe you picked up on that. Shout out to Bryce Currie, my first college boyfriend and good friend. Always a treat that guy.

What could be better than Christmas in Paris? Christmas in Paris AT Disneyland. Boom. Yup, your mind is blown. I just one up-ed myself. I didn’t even know that was possible. And I am not talking about the Paris in Texas that few people know exist and even fewer would ever visit. I mean that one in France. Yeah. No bigs. I head out Monday, so this will be my last post until I come back at the end of the month. Sorry bout it. It is going to be magical and I can’t wait to share my adventure with you all when I return.

Freiburg is this weekend, so we are on the road again for a 6-hour bus ride. Freiburg was the team we played at season opener. I have been waiting for this game since the moment that game ended the first time we played them. Some of you might recollect (certainly Ryan Bolland will) that I had 8 horrendous turnovers that game, 4 of which were at the hands of their PG. She is averaging 6 steals a game this season, so she has been pickin girls pockets all season, and I look forward to facing her again and redeeming myself.

I’d like to wish everyone a splendid holiday! Take care, and talk to you next year. J

I hate surprises when they suck.

So I changed my blog. Probably didn’t need to tell you that. Not sure when it occurred to me, but earlier this week it struck me: my blog is ugly. Like, remarkably hideous. Bookshelves in the background? Really? Who am I, some scholar that reads lots of books? Well, yes actually, but I have a kindle so I never actually buy real books anymore, therefore, I don’t realllllly need a bookshelf. So it felt phony, misleading somehow. Maybe you were thinking, “Man, Sami owns a lot of books,” when I don’t. I’m sorry for that, but now you know. Kindle.

We won our cup game…by 76 points. We drove a total of 16 hours (on a bus designed for children or small people or Santa’s little helpers) for a game that, honestly, I was embarrassed to be a part of. Though, let’s be real, I was once on the other side of those 76 points and I gotsta tell ya, it is much better on the winning side. The final score was 106-30. I think we held them, or maybe they held themselves—no one is too sure—to 5 points in the 2^nd half. A win is a win, I suppose, so we will take it and move forward to our game this Saturday. Which will likely be a far more interesting game for reasons I will now disclose.

Sigh…here we go.               

I hate surprises…especially the kind that suck. Then they aren’t even surprises, they are just betrayals. Surprise, I want to breakup; surprise, you’re outta toilet paper; surprise, your flight is delayed 5 hours; surprise, we just fired your two best friends from the team. Surprise? How about stupid. Yeah, I like that better. Sam and Sid were fired Monday night. Don’t ask me why, cause I won’t be able to give you a real answer, just the crap that we were force-fed. I know most of you haven’t seen us play, but Sam was good—a starter and our 3^rd most consistent scorer. And Sid was a solid PG and a leader for the team. We picked up a new PG I am told who gets here Thursday. Hope she’s been running…like a lot. We are supposed to be getting this post player as well, though that remains to be seen. They are both Serbian (like our new coach). Subtle. Oh, and did I mention Monday was also Sid's birthday? Nice touch. 

Last night we got together for one last team gathering, and to say bye. This morning, Sam and Sid left, taking with them my future amusement. My social life hinged on my friendships with those two. Oh sure, I am a riot and I like to have fun, but I am not really the party planner.  If no one said anything, I would sit in our apartment all day hanging out. They planned. They got me out. Like only true friends can, they peer pressured me into things I didn’t wanna do. That was a joke. A tease, a gag, a kid, a leg-pull, a laugh out loud. I literally did everything with at least one of them, though usually with both, with exceptions, naturally. We shopped together. We ate together. We lifted together. They dyed my hair for me after the salon botched it, then told me everyday for a week straight I looked good brunette, when we all know I don’t. They got me through 8 turnovers, ice-less drinks, and excruciating bus rides. They understood my need to randomly sing out loud; they never once judged my reprehensible, slightly pathetic and certainly limited cooking propensity. Oktoberfest…nuff said. They shared in my binge candy consumption and immediately ensuing self-loathing; they embraced my unique table manners and eating methods. They got my jokes and caught my quiet, sarcastic utterances. And now, they’re gone. So, I’d like to welcome you to the inauguration of my imminent depression. 

Life goes on, as they say, but what do they know. “They” also say, “distance makes the heart grow fonder” while also asserting “out of sight, out of mind”. Well, which is it? “They” should just put a cork in it. I need a vacation. Fortunately I have Paris to look forward to. It is right around the corner now, but not without a couple stops before. First is our game this weekend. We are home which will be nice and we face a very beatable team--a team we beat in pre-season--though I suppose that means quite little for the team that we are now. All things aside off the court, I still want to compete and win on the court and I am very much looking forward to this game.  

 

Everyone should own a onesie.

New coach, new systems, same frustratingly predictable outcome. We went down fighting, though who knows for what anymore. There seems to be a growing laundry list of incompatible motives for playing these days: some play to honor our last coach, some play for the team and, still, others just play for themselves. What ever happened to simply playing because you love it? Yes, losing sucks and of course, coaching changes aren't always easy, but at the end of the day, we are still getting paid to play basketball--a fact that still amazes me. Admittedly, we aren't making what most professional athletes spend on alcohol in a year, but that gross discrepancy doesn't eradicate the fact that, somehow, we are also pros. Shouldn't we be relishing this experience and opportunity, not pouting over things outside our control. We think things aren't fair now, heaven help us when our nikes and sweats are no longer suitable work attire. Won't we be utterly distraught. 

Incidentally my new coach sounds shockingly like Massimo from the Wedding Planner, Jennifer Lopez's only watchable movie after Selena. No, not Matthew McConaughey, the one on the left... I wish my coach looked sounded like Matt. That's right--Matt. No grown man should be called Matthew. My coaches first language is Serbian, making English his third behind German. Perfect, so now I can not know what's going on in two languages. Aside from rocking the bald look like our former coach, everything else is different. Practices are more like a track meet, and I hated those when I ran track (and by ran NATURALLY I mean shot-put, the one event that had zero running). It is hard to speculate or criticize after just a week. So I won't, for now. Our next two games are not only games that we need to win, but games that we SHOULD win. Perhaps then I will have a better idea. 

I bit off the rest of my nails this week. 

Turns out, Thanksgiving is a lot less about the people you are with and almost entirely about the quality of food. I really thought I wouldn't enjoy myself this year so far from friends and family and American football. But one bite of my teammates homemade stuffing and I couldn't have told you my mom's name.  Joke. Seriously though, the food was delicious. We decided we would all make something and eat together at our apartment. This was the tricky part--we ALL had to bring something, and for whatever reason, the team was sorta set on it being homemade. AND it couldn't be a beverage. Drat. That meant I would have to do some sort of real cooking. They'd regret that. Fortunately, I remembered one of my favorite holiday treats that nearly eludes cooking: deviled eggs. Boiling eggs isn't easy, but it is doable for me at least. I am not one to brag, but my eggs were devilishly good! Get it? Of course you do, it's stupid. Most of the German girls had never had them before and asked for my recipe. That about had me on the floor laughing.

                                                                                 
It is nearly December (holy cow, I've been here for 4 months now). Christmas is 

favorably, if not excessively celebrated in Chemnitz. Our Christmas market is quite remarkable, actually. Rides, lights, food, warm wine and lots of gift-huts (huts selling gifts). And of course, music. Now, it is one month straight of mommy's kissing Santa Claus, reindeer's trampling grandma's and jingling bells. I'm no Grinch, I just think a month is a liiiiiiiiiiiittle long. Just sayin. 

I always find it interesting which American cultural traits or customs find favor in Germany. I still don't understand why the ice thing hasn't caught on, but I know I need to let that go. After playing in a handful of road games now though, I have discovered one thing transcends any language or societal barrier here: crude, woman-hating rap. I guess "bitches be crazy" worldwide. Seems to be an epidemic of sorts. The "wife-beating" doesn't seem to be as effective as originally thought. Who knew, right? Anyways, every road game the home team's warmup playlist is a splendid assortment of these racial slurs, veiled death threats and not so veiled sexual vulgarities passed off as music as only Americans can; our 1st amendment at it's finest. I love road games... I just drink in that  rich culture that I so have been missing. 

We have our next cup game (finally) this week, on the road again against a last place division 2 team. I am pretty sure this game, like our last road cup game, will not be online. If we win this game, we are in the final four I guess for the Pokal (the cup series). 

It is starting to get really cold here now. We have been fortunate so far in that snow has not fallen and sometimes the sun says hello. However, I think those days are gone. Fear not, for I am prepared. I have equipped myself with the proper tools to stay warm. Yup. That is a jailbird onesie for adults. Everyone should own a onesie. It is totally in this season though and that baby keeps me borderline uncomfortably warm. Concerns me that babies are probably this warm like year round in these things. Probably why they are crying like someone is burning them. This was the best 30 euros I've spent since I moved here. The best thing about it is it's versatility--I can wear this puppy anywhere. Slumber party? No problem. Fancy date? Suuure, throw on some boots, a belt and an elegant vest and I am money. I'm so money, baby.

Old Habits Die Hard...ly

So I've just turned into a walking cliche. I know traditionally the impulse for dramatic hair-style changes comes as a swift result to a devastating break-up of sorts for women (I am sooo not that cliche); but mine instead comes from the sad and misguided notion that my immaterial exterior revision, if you will, is somehow a profound manifestation of a mirrored internal change. I think a therapist would simply tell me I feel a lack of control over things in my life--new coach, losing record, frustratingly unpredictable neck "injuries" and a migraine. Maybe that is why I started biting my nails again... but just my thumbs. They aren't real fingers anyways. Old habits die hard. Stupid saying. My habit might be old as hell but it refuses to die, just look at my crooked bleeding thumbs. This isn't hard, it's just hardly gonna happen. Back to the hair, I know blondes have more fun or whatever, but I think that only applies to the natural ones. I think if you are a chemically altered blonde the only thing you have more of are visible roots. I was going for Kristen Stewart brown (at least two people will think that is funny).

I love my cousin. But more than love her, I am incredibly jealous of her. Yep, jealousy trumps love--every time. She is beautiful. She is smart. She is tough as crap, and it's charming as hell. And she is real, no drama, no BS. Best of all, she totally gets me so I always feel relief when I am around her. She was here this week with her boyfriend Mitch. Mitch and I actually graduated high school together... we didn't so much as hold hands while accepting our diplomas or anything, but same school same year sorta thing. I have never had so much fun being a third wheel. Juuuuuust kiddin. No one puts Sami in a corner. I managed to make their visit mostly about me. I envy them though, just packing a bag and taking off to Germany for two weeks. Has to be an incredible experience. They helped put some things in perspective for me though, like how lucky I am to be over here. That, and how amazingly large my bed really is--it comfortably held the three of us as we laughed ourselves into comas. Seriously, drunk babies don't sleep better.

I know you all laugh at me when I suggest that I am getting old, but seriously, it is sorta becoming ridiculous. I was at weights Wednesday night just working on my traps (hope that leaves you with an awkward image) when I pull something in my neck. To be honest, I literally do not know what I did, I just know I couldn't turn my head... at all. After a series of inexplicable, but rather suitably obnoxious groans, I decided my biceps could wait and I called my trainer. "Pulling muscles is common during heavy lifting", he assured me. What about during average lifting, I wondered? I'm no sissy, but I don't know if the amount I was lifting at that moment qualifies as heavy. Just sayin. Anyways, with some physical therapy I could sorta turn my head enough to practice the rest of the week. And then, just as quickly as Kim K divorced that random athlete she married, a migraine hit me like a ton of bricks. It had been over a year since I had my last and I can still remember how awful that one was, too. I am told they are stress induced. Good thing I nipped that in the bud by taking control and dying my hair.

Our new coach starts tomorrow night. He is 25 and was most recently the coach of a Division 2 team here in Germany. I literally have no idea what to expect. We still have more than half of season left to turn things around, and I am praying that he is the catalyst for our comeback.

Thanksgiving is this week, and while they don't celebrate it here (before asking why, think about it for a sec) we are still going to have a Thanksgiving dinner Wednesday night since we have it off. Should be fun and a nice way to reconnect as a team. Speaking of holidays, I just got my flight confirmation for my Christmas break. The club pays for our travel during Christmas, so I thought I would take advantage of that. As much as I would love to spend those two weeks in Ventura, I decided a free trip to Paris might be more fun, no offense. You can imagine how I must have struggled with that decision; a real doozey that one. Look, if you expect me to keep this blog entertaining and fresh, I gotta do cool crap.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving this week. I am grateful for all my amazing friends and family (you people). Try to take some time in between 2nds and 3rds, and heaven forbid 4ths, to remind the people you love how important they are. You know my email ;)

The Need for Speed.

Every so often you have a moment/day/week that forces you to pause and take stock of things; acknowledge how undeservedly blessed we are despite whatever challenges we may also be assuming, and that each moment, bad or good, is an exceptional gift. My week was brimming with moments like this, reminders of how strikingly fleeting everything is. Heidi was my first indication.

Heidi is one of those rare and kind individuals that no one can speak ill of simply because they are wholly good. We hadn’t seen each other for at least a year, though I surmise it was probably closer to two. What a treat it was, catching up on the new and nostalgically musing over our old college days. This was when I had my moment, my brief pause—remembering our UW experience together, it seemed like just yesterday we were there, losing coaching staffs, losing games, losing our minds at times. And now… now we are playing professionally in Europe. How incredibly fortunate we are, I thought. Even more incredible was our trip to Berlin we had planned. But I had a game to play first, so hold your horses.

You know that saying, “you can’t make em all”? Well I hate it. Why can’t you? Is there some rule, some stupid rule that says this? “You can’t miss em all”, now that should be the saying. Far more encouraging, and when you think about it, how impressive would that be to miss every shot? That cannot be easy. At some point, you figure you would just accidentally make one. Anyways, I think you get where I am going with this—I could not buy a basket in my game Saturday against Osnabruck. And for some reason, everyone kept saying this to me—“oh don’t worry, you can’t make em all.” No, maybe not, but ONE? You think that is expecting too much? Don’t say free throws, cause those don’t count. They’re free, after all, if you can’t make those you should probs hang it up, pal. Despite me, the game was close and winnable up to the point we lost. Just like that, I was faced with my second “reminder” and our win streak was over. Fleeting. 

Admittedly, after the game, Berlin seemed like an awful idea. All I wanted to do was hide under my blankets with a two pound bag of candy and my Ipod, while easing into a sugar coma. Hard to imagine anything better, but after Sunday, I can assure you there is. Speed. It’s a shame how quickly you all assume the worst. Fine, I will clarify. The autobahn. Germany really got it right with this, I tell you what. No speed limit? I literally may never leave. I was able to use a team car to drive Heidi and I to Berlin, and fortunately, George, my beloved Isuzu back in Cali, is stick, so I knew what I was doing, so to speak. I know what you are thinking—there should always be a speed limit for women drivers, but I was made for this. If I were better at left turns, I’d be the next Danica Patrick, except successful. I topped out at 180 kph, which is like 112 mph. Don’t be too impressed though cause really, at that speed, the car is driving itself. Turned out to be very cathartic and by the time we reached Berlin I was rejuvenated.

Berlin is transcendent. It’s rather like a time machine. Every building, every memorial is a portal back to some year. It is difficult to not be moved by the history of the city, it’s resiliency. We walked around all day, literally, and surely didn’t even see half the city. We did see quite a bit though: Brandenburg tor, Reichstag, Berliner Dom, Checkpoint Charlie, the Wall, Holocaust memorial, Potsdamer Platz and Alexander Platz. Another one of my friends from home was auspiciously visiting Berlin that weekend as well, so we were able to meet, too. Daniel is of the Olivier family. Nuff said. That family pees genius. Needless to say, it was great getting to see him.

Speaking of pee, my coach was fired Monday. Sorry, there is no clever segue for that I’m afraid. I know I didn't talk about him much, but I really liked my coach, so I am pretty bummed about it. This makes me 4-4 now with coaches being fired after coaching me—two college coaches, two professional coaches (the Chicago Sky coach was fired the season I was cut; normally I wouldn’t count it since I was barely on the team, but it helps my argument). You’ve heard of the Midas touch, well, I got the opposite of that. It’s a good thing my High School coach was a legend before I got to him, cause any less and I bet I woulda taken him down, too. Our new coach is the guy that coached the U-17 team here…and did I mention he is dating one of my teammates? My life just turned into a soap opera, but one of the good ones like General Hospital. Not like that stupid one Passions that had ventriloquist dummies running around killing people. Gimme a break NBC daytime.

We play Saturday at Oberhausen, some 6 hours away. I am choosing to be optimistic about the situation. I have the benefit of previous experience with this, if you want to call it a benefit, so I know that while it seems like it can’t get any worse, it really can if we don’t get our minds right. Time to embrace change and get some perspective: least I still have my job.
Fleeting.