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.