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.