Bird Poop

So, for those of you that don’t know, this summer I am working at a camp for people with disabilities. Everyday, my fellow counselors and I wake up around 6:30 AM and work until 10 PM – without breaks – doing everything you can imagine a person might need done … feeding them, changing them, brushing their teeth, etc. I’ve nearly thrown my back out several times trying to lift a 200 lb camper into bed. The words “diaper” and “bowel movement” have become a regular part of my vocabulary. I’ve seen half a dozen seizures in the past month and also fed a camper through a tube in her stomach. During this past week, I had an unusually violent camper that tried to kill me on more than one occasion. But it’s basically gotten to the point where these things don’t even startle me anymore. I could go on and on about all of the crazy things I have had to do, but I feel like that would be kind of boring.

Needless to say, this job is absolutely exhausting. Once I get off work at night, I can only think about two things – ice cream and sleep. I get internet only once or twice a week and it’s extremely difficult for me to maintain contact with people from home, so I figured I better write at least one blog post to prove I am alive and well. I hope you all are doing well too.

Then I started thinking, what the heck am I going to write about? Should I write about the time a camper started cackling with laughter and speaking gibberish at 1 AM, scaring my co-counselor and I half to death? Or about the time I was sitting with my campers outside when a young boy came up, whipped off his pants, and started peeing everywhere?

Then, like most do, my idea came to me (literally). As I lay in my bed at 10:30 pm, trying to decide what to write, I heard the window behind me start to shake. Before I even had time to react, a bird came flying through the window, inches from my head, and started frantically flying around my room. Of course, three of my roommates were not home and one was in the shower, so I was left alone to scream, cry, and well, panic. (Some background information … I live in an unrenovated house built in 1899 (It’s a national landmark!) with about 20 other girls, only 3 showers, and no air conditioning. Our house has about 15 creepy closets and secret doors and the rumor is that it is haunted. Five girls live in my room; only one is a psycho who leaves her stuff everywhere, likes to walk around naked, and complain about her “boyfriend”. Basically, our living conditions are comically bad.)

I eventually found one girl in my house who was significantly less afraid of birds than I. While I cowered in fear in the corner (I took pictures, coming soon!), she employed various techniques to coax the bird back out the window. We tried whistling, chasing, clapping our hands, turning off the lights … we even tried to use the fan in our room to create a wind tunnel that led directly to the open window. Nothing worked. My other roommate, who was in the shower when this all happened, eventually returned to the room in her towel – but she was also useless because she (like me) was afraid of catching Avian Bird Flu. It took approximately 35 minutes to capture the wild bird. We eventually used the blanket of our psycho roommate (LOL) as a net to smother the little birdie. While the event was extremely traumatizing, it was equally hilarious. Once we got the creature out of the room and things finally settled down, I crawled up to my bed on the top bunk to return to writing my blog post and hopefully fall asleep. That’s when I saw it. Right smack in the middle of my rainbow-striped pillow, inches from my iPod. Bird poop.

According to my roommate, I calmly said “is that s#*%?!” before screaming “OH MY GOD. THAT’S $#!T ON MY PILLOW!” I then proceeded to throw all my bedding on the floor of our room and started pacing back and forth. The bird had been in our room for over half an hour. He/she/it had landed on every single one of our beds. And the ONE place it chose to poop is on MY bed? Awesome. Eventually I ended up sleeping on my towels, with no pillow, because I was too traumatized and tired to do anything else. I had a nightmare about birds.

The bird fiasco basically sums up my experience at my new summer job thus far. Right when you think things are starting to calm down, you find that a bird $#!T on your pillow (It’s a metaphor, get it?). I cannot tell you the number of times I have thought I had everything under control this summer, only to find out that I did something totally wrong and have to re-do it. This summer has definitely been a “you have to be here to understand it” kind of experience. It’s grueling, but it’s also amazing. And it’s made for one heck of a story so far.

Taking A Break

As the school year winds down, I am going to take a brief break from blogging to focus on not-failing my classes, moving out of the dorm (for the last time!), and getting ready to take on a totally-new summer job. The next few weeks are going to be pretty hectic (see below), but I should be back sometime in mid-June.

Until then, click HERE to read a HILARIOUS blog that my friend LD recently discovered. Seriously, it has literally made me laugh out loud in the library... in class... and alone in my room. It should hold your cravings for wittiness until I return.

Blind Date

Have you ever been on a blind date? I only ask because I thought the practice was slowly phased out with the advent of modern technology. Now it’s practically impossible to be set up with someone who hasn’t already peeked at your mutual friends, liked your profile picture and “poked” you on Facebook, or trended you on #Twitter. And when we expose practically everything about ourselves on the Internet, from our activities and interests to our favorite quotes… then there’s really no such thing as a “blind date” anymore, is there? I once had an English teacher who met her husband on Match.com. Before their first actual date, she had a friend at the local police force run a background check on him. Parking tickets. Former jobs. Places of residence. I’d say if anything, she went into that first date knowing more about her date (and future spouse) than most people do by their six-month anniversary. Poor guy.

But, to my surprise, blind dates still happen. Which leads to my next question: Have you ever been on a successful blind date? When my friend from the basketball team and WNBA draft pick (#kindofabigdeal) and I decided to go to trivia night at a local bar last week, we accidentally crashed her sister’s train wreck of a blind date with a nice, quiet boy from the suburbs named Spencer. While we answered trivia questions about the world’s largest sapphire and Madonna’s book collection, the unmistakable “disaster date” dragged on at a small table in the corner. Spencer was hardly remarkable. He likes to run (for charity, presumably). He works in logistics (what does that even mean?), and he loves his dogs (one of which happens to be both blind and deaf). Unfortunately, the excitement of Spencer started and ended with a riveting conversation about the relationship between the handicapped dog and the normal dog. There was no chemistry between him and the basketball player’s sister. And the date finally ended with her saying she was “too afraid to take public transportation after 10 PM” and they scurried off without an exchange of phone numbers.

So this whole experience got me thinking... How many people have found themselves in a terribly uncomfortable situation such as this one? Practically everyone has been on a horrible date at some point in his or her life. Somebody that just makes you want to run out of the bar as fast as humanly possible. (For me, it was a guitar-playing, exotic-beer-drinking, philosophy major who kept mentioning that “music was his true passion.” Gag me.) Of course there are two right ways to end an awful date: be honest about the lack of attraction and end the date early or grit your teeth and tough it out. But where’s the fun in that? I think it’s much more exciting to run the lifeless date further into the ground. That’s why I bring you this:

Ten creative ways to get out of that way-too-long date with that way-too-wrong person that are guaranteed to make you laugh when you tell your friends about it the next morning.

1. Start talking about current events and let it slip that you don't see the big deal about this whole "oil spill thing"

2. Wipe your nose on your date's sleeve. Twice.

3. Mention your quest to be on reality television. When your date asks what show you’d like to be on, say “Either ‘Teen Mom’ or ‘The Biggest Loser’ … depending on how this date goes” And then wink.

4. Discuss the dietary trends, bowel movements, and activity patterns of your cats. All 12 of them.

5. Talk about how prison really changed your life. And not for the better.

6. Bring up your list of most-inspirational people: Elle Woods (from Legally Blonde), Regina George (from Mean Girls), and Snookie (from Jersey Shore). (This one works especially well if you are a guy)

7. Stand up every five minutes and circle the restaurant with your arms outstretched, making airplane noises.

8. Debate any hot-button issue: politics, healthcare, religion. Take both sides.

9. Mention that you also actively maintain a profile on the dating site Meet-Christian-Singles.net … even though you are agnostic.

10. Undress your date. Verbally. Preferably loudly, and in public.

In case you were wondering, we got last place in trivia. Who would’ve thought that the Petrified Forest was in Arizona, not Wyoming. Next time we’re going to make the Director of Basketball Operations come with us.

P.S. Hope you enjoy the new layout. I think I finally found a picture that captures my point of view. Ha. Ha. Ha?

Oh No They Didn't

I have always said that my life is one big joke of failures strung together by my ability to smoothly brush off awkward situations. It all started when I was 5 years old. My brothers ripped their shirts, covered themselves in ketchup, and convinced everyone at my kindergarten birthday party that there was a lion in the woods behind my house. Panic ensued. One girl had an asthma attack. Parents had to be called. The party ended before we could even play pin the tail on the donkey. But I didn’t let that traumatizing afternoon deter me (For the record, I didn’t really even like the kids in my kindergarten class). Starting the following year, I recovered with 4 successful parties in a row at Skateland, the local rollerblading rink (to which neither of my brothers was invited) – and to this day, I pride myself on the ability to throw fantastic parties. Recent themes have included “It Used To Be Cool – the 90s fad party” and “Celebrity Rehab: Amy Winehouse vs. Lindsay Lohan” … My friend once attended a “Daddy/Daughter dance” themed party. (But things took a turn for the worst as it ended up being called the “Pedophiles and Ponytails” party) I consider that a hilarious success in its own way and I plan on throwing one soon.

When I was 13, life threw another curve ball at me… this time attempting to crush my dreams of becoming a superstar. I had convinced my drama teacher that I should be allowed to perform a scene from “The Incredibles” in our spring show because of my striking resemblance to Edna “E” Mode, the fashion designer for superheroes. You can see the scene here. (I know, I was a weird looking kid). Everything was working out perfectly for my acting debut until my superhero costar ate too many Hot Cheetos at lunch and puked all over his costume. He had to borrow my clothes. My mind went completely blank the first time I saw him on stage, wearing my tight-fitting shirt. And there were a few moments of dead silence before I finally remembered my lines; but once again, in the face of adversity, I recovered. The sketch was a hit thanks to my ability to imitate Edna’s unique voice, which was apparently the voice of actor (yes, a man) Brad Bird, as the middle school paper so kindly pointed out the following week in a review of the show.

So here I am. At 19 and 11/12^th years old: a wide-eyed college student and amateur blogger who is fairly confident in her abilities to overcome any awkward situation. As a basketball manager, I often think "well, there is nothing more humiliating than this." But this past weekend I was proven wrong yet again. The world threw a unique set of circumstances at me that even I would struggle to overcome.

You see. There was an Ultimate Frisbee tournament in my hometown last weekend and my college club team was competing in it. As a member of the club ultimate team, I naturally offered up my house for the team (about 20 girls, ages 18-22) to stay at. A home-cooked meal and a real bed is way more luxurious and cheaper than when we pack 8 girls/room at the Super 8 Motel and eat breakfast at Walmart. When I asked my parents for approval, they said that they would be out of town that weekend, but it would be “totally fine” if the team stayed at our house. From that conversation onward, I sparsely spoke with my parents about the weekend … just about menial things like groceries and air mattresses. So you can imagine my surprise when I pulled into my driveway last weekend, with three other vans of girls close behind, to see a strange car parked in my driveway. “Who is this?” I said to my teammates, as we unpacked our bags from the trunk. “Maybe it’s a burglar!” my friend joked. Little did she know, the joke was only beginning.

I opened the back door and then I saw them, the familiar pair of shoes that rested by our back door every single Monday. They were the shoes of our cleaning lady, Barbara, a 60-year old Polish woman who had been cleaning our house for nearly 20 years. I dropped my stuff and ran through the house yelling “Hello? Hello?!” My first thought was that Barbara had been sneaking into our house for years whenever we were out of town, taking bubble baths and throwing parties, and I was excited to catch her in the act. But this idea was quickly shot to hell when I found Barbara sitting on the couch watching coverage of the Royal Wedding in pajamas, eating a takeout pizza. While I was completely surprised to see her in my house on a Friday night, she was completely unsurprised to see me. Barbara barely speaks a word of English, but she was able to fumble out some sentence about being excited to see me, meet my friends, and “babysit.”

That’s right. My parents had secretly hired their almost 20-year-old daughter a babysitter. Barbara awkwardly watched us unpack our bags and get ready for bed, occasionally asking questions as she tried to figure out exactly what sport we played and if she was expected to make us breakfast in the morning. Eventually I convinced her to go upstairs to her room, and the rest of my night was spent explaining to my teammates exactly how crazy my parents are. How doing things like this was normal behavior for my mother, who still gets upset when my 24-year-old brother drinks alcohol. How, while I may have been mischievous in high school, that nothing I did was worthy of this sort of constant supervision.

By the end of the weekend, we had turned the unfortunate “babysitter” situation into a catch phrase. Anytime someone on our team did something stupid, on or off the field, someone else followed up with “… and THAT’s why we need a babysitter!” Girl gets hit in the face with a frisbee? That’s why we need a babysitter. Somebody loses the car keys? That’s why we need a babysitter. Can’t decide what to order for lunch? That’s why we need a babysitter. What began as an extremely unfortunate and embarrassing situation for me ended up being a highlight of the weekend. I took this as a humbling experience. A friendly reminder that every time I find one reason to laugh at another person, I can easily find ten reasons to laugh at myself. As if being a women's basketball manager ever lets me forget that.

Social Hour

Countdown to the end-of-season banquet: 7 days.

Just one week until I get to sit through hours of small talk, long speeches about winning, and awkward encounters like this.









I. Can't. Wait.

Culture-ized

The holy trinity of distractions for any college student. F.Y.R.: Facebook, Youtube, Reality television

People frequently ask me what I do with the free time that is commonly associated with being unemployed. Rekindling old friendships? Focusing on my studies? Am I at least doing something productive? Not quite. Actually, I've been facebook stalking, sifting through thousands of pointless youtube videos, and watching way too much of The Real World. You see. I want all of you, my loyal blog followers, to be on the same page. So I put together a "Best Of The Best" of Pop Culture if you will... Filled with things I love and why I love them. Hopefully you'll enjoy this as much as I enjoyed "researching" for it.

Facebook Groups I've Strongly Considered Joining:

1. "Yup. I'm a Women's Basketball Manager" The category it falls under is "Just for Fun - Inside Jokes" and the description reads: "A support group for all of the women's basketball managers of the NCAA. Share your stories about life on the road, and anything else related to being a manager. Manager Convention- is currently in process!" I've considered requesting to join, but the group currently has a measly 11 members, half of which probably work for the same school. And I'm a bit bitter that I didn't think of the idea of making a facebook group first.

2. "Getting Nervous At Airport Security Even Though You're Not A Terrorist" After being spoiled with the basketball team's charter flights, I find it very difficult to fly commercial anymore. Last time I flew solo, I tried to bring a water bottle through security. Big mistake. Probably because I'm so used to carrying that 24-pack of water and gatorade onto the plane for the basketball players. (You know, in case they get thirsty on our 45 minute flight to the state-next-door.) The only thing that kept me from joining this group is the fact that the FBI probably monitors every single member because this is exactly the type of group a terrorist would join.

3. "I Love It When Bus Drivers Wave At Each Other" Something about bus driver camaraderie really makes me jealous. I've spent a lot of time with the bus drivers on the road with the basketball team. They always have great stories about the bus driver "brotherhood" that exists out there. Among basketball managers, no such brotherhood exists. There are so many times I want to give an opposing team's manager an "I hate my job" look, but they always avoid eye contact. Starting next season, I'm going to wave obnoxiously at all managers until they acknowledge my presence.

My Favorite Youtube Videos:

1. Ellen Degeneres Scares Taylor Swift I would give anything for a hidden camera and free-reign to hide in the Women's Basketball Office and repeatedly scare the coaches without consequences.

2. You Forgot The Blueberries - For every funny video on youtube, there are 100,000 stupid videos. When I first started watching this one, I really thought it was going to be just like all the other videos that parents post of their kids being "cute." But take my word for it, watch this ALL the way through and you will find yourself laughing (or crying) hysterically.

3. Marcel The Shell With Shoes On - I normally find "cute" youtube videos - like the sneezing panda and the giggling babies - nauseating, but this video is equally cute and hilarious.

Reality Shows I Secretly Love(d):

1. More To Love - If you didn't see this reality show that aired in the summer of 2009, boy, you missed out. More to Love was like the Bachelor, but for fat people. When they weren't busy crying and dealing with their self-esteem issues, the contestants tried and convince 23 yr old, 330 lb bachelor Luke that they had the right junk in their trunk. The best moment of this show came in episode 1 (better known as the fake prom episode that made all the contestants cry about their tormented high school days): when Dani, a contestant, dove into the pool in her black evening gown and other contestants likened the scene to a Shamu exhibit.

2. When I Was 17 - Besides being great for seeing shockingly embarrassing pictures of Jersey Shore's The Situation, this show is perfect for distinguishing which celebrities are interesting and which are not. I firmly believe that most celebrities are no more interesting than say, a basketball manager. And by following them, we are only encouraging more boring, not-funny people to go into showbiz. For example, Snooki was a cheerleader when she was 17 - unremarkable. Khloe Kardashian stole her mom's Range Rover and accidentally caught it on fire when she was 17 - pretty darn interesting. Nick Cannon got fired from his job at Wienerschnitzel Hot Dogs because he would use the drive-thru intercom to tell jokes - interesting AND inspiring.

3. Real Housewives of __________ - New Jersey. Atlanta. New York. Orange County. This series is kind of like semi-sophisticated reality television for grown ups. Critics complain about the lack of morals that the ladies on this show possess, but I've come out of all-day Real Housewives marathons with several life lessons imprinted on my mind. Don't be tardy for the party. Money can't buy you class. And don't get hair extensions if you aren't prepared to have them ripped out in a cat fight. If we all watched this show around Mother's Day, we'd all appreciate our actual moms a little bit more. (For not being psychopaths, that is)

(Thanks to Viktor H at Designers Couch for the logos used in this entry.)

Swagger

(The following post is more of a social commentary than anything else. Now that we are fully immersed in the post-postseason, I have time to write about other things. But don't worry, I still use my experiences as a manager as the basis for everything. And even though my hours have been reduced, my job still sucks. I actually spent last Wednesday faxing transcript requests. For 4 hours straight. With no chair. (anyone that knows me, knows how much I hate standing))

There are two types of people in this world.

Person Type A: (Also known as a P.A.L. - Perfect-at-Lifer) The P.A.L. is the one that everyone wants to be like. They are usually described with one or more of the following adjectives: funny, smart, pretty, talented, awesome. If you have been in the newspaper more times than you can remember, have your own "highlight" video, and/or have your own fan club on facebook - congratulations, you've definitely made it. If people ask you for your autograph, are eager to spend time with you, or write nice things about you on the bathroom walls, that's a pretty good indication that you are in this category.

Person Type B: These are the type of people that spend their whole lives trying to achieve that level of notoriety associated with Person Type A. They may dream big, but they attempt little and achieve even less. They are generally described by the following adjectives: nice, average, boring. I won't go into much detail here, because Person Type B generally knows that they are Person Type B. My pet peeve is people who lack self-esteem. My pet peeve is Person Type B. (DISCLAIMER: There is a subgroup not being discussed here. Person Type B-S: These are the individuals that act like they are "the S#&^" but in fact, they are not.)

Now, I know what you're thinking. How could I simplify the complexity of humankind into just two categories? And furthermore, divide people based on looks and talent? That's just horrible! But I think you're missing the point. I'm not saying you have to be a superstar athlete, a genius, or a movie star to be Person Type A. Sure, it helps. But there is a loophole. The only difference between Person Type A and Person Type B is how they carry themselves. All it takes is the proper amount of confidence. Or, as the kids are calling it these days, "swagger."

To demonstrate my point, I will finally get to the event that inspired this whole post. I recently witnessed a basketball player (under age 21) get into a bar by saying "I'm on the women's basketball team!" Those six short words, delivered with the proper swagger, were enough to get her past the bouncer and onto the dance floor. And to think, the rest of the world has spent time, money, and effort on acquiring fake ID's. Ha! Now, do I actually think she got into the bar because she was on the women's basketball team? No. (Studies have shown that the only people that actually care about women's basketball are ... well, women's basketball players, their immediate family members, and several nursing homes in Indiana.) Do I think she got in for her dance moves? Maybe. The bouncer didn't let this underclassman into the bar because she could make a lay-up or teach him how to dougie, he let her in cause she had enough confidence to demand entrance. And that's exactly the type of person you want in your bar!

So I suggest you follow my lead. I intend to carry myself with the utmost coolness. My autographs will only be on receipts and consent forms. My "highlight" videos are the embarrassing homemade music videos I produce with my friends. Next time I head out on the town, I think I'm going to try "No. I don't have an ID. I'm the women's basketball team manager!" just because I can. And because anything is socially acceptable with enough confidence, right? As perhaps the most famous P.A.L., Beyonce, once sang, "if you got it, flaunt it, boy I know you want it." I firmly believe that we've all got "it", and it's just a matter of how we flaunt it that determines how our life will turn out. And trust me, this is coming from someone whose Mom still cuts clippings out of the newspaper when I place in the Turkey Trot 5K every fall.

Job Hunting

Well, ladies and gentlemen, the season is officially over. We have entered what I like to call the post-postseason. Obviously, it's an abrupt change for anyone involved in the basketball organization when the season ends. It requires a shifting of gears for the players, the coaches, and of course, the managers. As I watched the seconds tick off the clock in the final game of the season, I also watched my job disappear. There is no demand for a manager in the post-postseason (Except for the office work I'm going to be dragged into every few weeks between now and summer vacation). I am sad to see the season come to an end because this also means I have to leave the luxurious and disillusioned world of college basketball (where the only important thing is getting the W) and return to the real world (where people expect me to be productive with my time: volunteer, study, work, etc) ... And let me tell you, adjusting can be very difficult. No matter what job I find, they probably won't let me wear sweatpants and t-shirts all the time. Very few employers will feed me as well as the basketball department. Not to mention, I have to apply for these jobs. The application process for becoming a manager was very simple and took place via email:

Me: Hi there. I would like to be a manager.
Boss: Sure! Come on in and we'll set up your work schedule!

In hindsight, I should've been slightly more skeptical of a job that was so easy to obtain. I now know for future reference that a job that does not require an application, a letter of recommendation, or even an interview is probably a job that nobody wants.

But that is beside the point. I've taken some time in these past few weeks to apply for a few summer internships/jobs/etc. and I've had the same problem on all of them... It is nearly impossible to make "college basketball manager" sound legitimate. No matter how I sugarcoat it, my job is just a slew of menial tasks that require little/no brainpower. Most of the job applications have a section titled "Previous Work Experience" and as I fill it out, I wrestle with wording and exaggerations to try and cover up the truth about my joke of a "job." I'll show you some examples.

Job Title
What I Wrote: ______ University Women's Basketball Team Manager
What I Should Write: ______ University Women's Basketball Indentured Servant

Dates of Employment
What I Wrote: September 2009 - Present
What I Should Write: September 2009-March 2010 [6 month break] September 2010 - March 2011

Major Responsibilities
What I Wrote: Assisting with practice: setting up, rebounding, running the clock. Capturing and editing film. Assisting with office work.
What I Should Write: Assisting with practice: standing around with a basketball in my hands, fetching basketballs out of the bleachers, googling random things for Coach (like the time he wanted me to find out what type of monkey lives in the Mayan Riviera valley of Mexico). Addressing envelopes and folding camp brochures. In general, avoiding all film and office work and hope that the other managers pick up the slack. And of course, my most important responsibility: Making sure all the players are hydrated at all times.

As I wait to hear from my potential summer employers, I sit back and watch the managers that are lucky enough to still be employed (hopefully your March Madness bracket looks nothing like mine). I'll admit that I am slightly jealous of the Duke managers, even though they probably work 100x harder than I do. And I can only imagine what it would be like to be a manager for uConn - talk about job security!

My Song

Since some members of the team I work for have an (unhealthy) obsession with Taylor Swift, I thought it might be appropriate that I simultaneously pay tribute to my job and the great country star whose music consistently shows up on long road trips. Now, I'll be the first to admit that my parody song-writing skills are subpar ... but the basic idea is there. Enjoy.

(For those of you who don't know how the actual song goes... you should probably climb out from under that rock you are living under and click here)

MY SONG

I was riding shotgun, with my polo on

In an empty charter bus

It’s a shopping trip, got my list in grip,

Getting food for us

I shop around, put the junk food down

Boss says “Only granola please”

I say nothing, I am just thinking

About post-game munchies

And I think

My song is a buzzer-beating shot

Sneaking out late, trying not to get caught

When I’m at the store again, I thought

Who drank the Gatorade that I bought?

My song is a buzzing scoreboard

The first game “Man, I didn’t see it when that b&#)@ scored”

And when I got home ‘fore I said amen

Asking God if we could play them again.

I was walking to the charter bus

After shootaround one day

Went extra long, the bus smelled wrong

Like the trash I’d thrown away

Got to the Hilton, ready to run

To my hotel bed

I almost didn’t notice all the coaches

Who made me carry their luggage

My song is a buzzer-beating shot

Sneaking out late, trying not to get caught

When I’m at the store again, I thought

Who drank the Gatorade that I bought?

My song is a buzzing scoreboard

The first game “Man, I didn’t see it when that b&#)@ scored”

And when I got home ‘fore I said amen

Asking God if we could play them again.

I’ve been to every city, jumped on all the hotel beds

Waiting for something to come along

That was as good as my song.

My song is a buzzer-beating shot

Sneaking out late, trying not to get caught

When I’m at the store again, I thought

Who drank the Gatorade that I bought?

My song is a buzzing scoreboard

The first game “Man, I didn’t see it when that b&#)@ scored”

And when I got home ‘fore I said amen

Asking God if we could play them again.

I was riding shotgun, with my polo on

In an empty charter bus

I grabbed a pen and an old napkin

And I wrote down my song.

Daydreams

My apologies. It's been awhile since my last post. It was finals week. And as I have always said: Academics first, blog second. (Manager third)

When I became a manager, so did two of my friends (Shout out to LK and Scwhartzy... Misery (and miserable jobs) loves company.) And like any good group of college freshmen, we always traveled in packs. We developed a sort of buddy system so that we never worked alone and that made practices much easier to get through. We would sit behind the clock and chat about normal manager things. We would come up with elaborate plans for how we were going to make the basketball players our friends, even the intimidating ones. We would talk about what we wanted to be when we grow up. We would play lots of games. Like "Who Can Fold 50 Camp Brochures Faster?" One of my favorites was The "Question" Game. For hours, we would go back-and-forth with questions like these:

- "Which coach would you want to be your mom?" (Obviously not the crazy one)

- "If you had to be stranded on a desert island with one of the players, which one would it be?" (One that doesn't snore)

- "Which player would be the best older sister?" (Doesn't matter, Mom & Dad would love them more because they're talented)

- "How many shots do you think they have taken in their lifetime?" (We figure about 500,000)

- "Factoring in clothes, food, free trips, how much do you suppose we make per hour?" (... Then we realized we would make more in a Chinese sweat shop)

Keep in mind, it’s not that I have a lot of free time. It’s that my job requires me to sit there and do nothing but wait to be needed. I never thought being a basketball manager would require so much time and so little work... And now that my manager-friends have moved on to bigger and better things, I have to take on the task of entertaining myself during those long practices. So with one hand on the shot clock and a blank stare on my face, I delve into a dream world where anything is possible...

1. In dream world, being a basketball manager means getting a badge, a pager, and a moped.

2. In dream world, female basketball players can dunk.

3. In dream world, the other manager doesn't fall off his chair and isn't a total spaz.

4. In dream world, all the players make all their shots. I never get hit in the face with an airball and I never have to chase a long rebound into the stands.

5. In dream world, I can pull pranks without getting in trouble... I would glue all the marker caps to the markers and then watch the coaches struggle to pull them off. I would put on coach's jacket after he throws it to the ground and continue to distribute water and towels in it (see below: Throwing Things). I would write "That Wasn't Water..." on the inside of all the water cups (I'm definitely going to do this one. Dream world or not. I'm just waiting for a non-toxic, waterproof marker). And I would address all players as "Miss (insert state name here) Basketball" and bow graciously for an entire day.

Boom. My boss slams 100 purple envelopes and a silver sharpie down in front of me. "Address these, please" and I'm back in the real world.

Rudy

Ever seen the movie Rudy? It's the sports movie about the under-sized, under-skilled football player who overcomes adversity and eventually walks on the the Notre Dame football team in 1975. In the final home game of his senior season, Rudy gets a chance to get into the game and he sacks the quarterback. He is carried off the field. Everyone chants his name. He's a hero. Beautiful story, right?

It's because of over-achievers like Rudy that I can't go a week without being asked if I took my job as a manager as part of a ploy to get on to the team. Now, if you know me, just the idea of this is hysterical. To give you an idea of my skill level: I stand at 5'7'' with shoes on. In high school, I was more known for my glowing personality than my talent. As the starting point guard, I averaged more assists than points. I once ate a Snickers bar during a free throw. I often performed a choreographed dance to "Soulja Boy" during halftime of home games. Granted, I was heavily recruited by Loras College... (DIII, Dubuque, IA, Mascot: Duhawk?) But I'm also pretty sure my brother set up a fake email account, pretended to be my coach, and gave them my mailing address as a joke. Meanwhile, girls on the basketball team stand well over 6 feet tall. While I have multiple "Most Improved" awards and participation medals, they have multiple state championships and MVP trophies. They received legitimate scholarship offers from several DI schools. I think it's safe to say they take their basketball careers slightly more seriously than I do. So nowadays when people ask me if I plan to walk on to the team, I can only laugh and say "You've obviously never seen my jump shot." I am very content with sitting behind the bench rather than on it. But to be honest, I haven't completely ruled out the idea of trying out for the team...

I will join the team if all of the following conditions have been met:

1. It's the championship game.
2. The star of the team gets injured and I get to wear her jersey.
3. I take (and make) the game-winning shot.
4. Someone makes a movie about it titled "Remember the Manager".

Okay, okay. So realistically, this will probably never happen. But that doesn't stop my dad and I from joking that I will one day make the transition from manager to walk-on Division I basketball player. Usually brought up at family gatherings and dinner parties, it goes something like this:

Dad: (loudly) So, tell Grandma, when is the NCAA going to clear you to play?
Me: (loudly and proudly) Soon as I pass the drug test, Pops! *Fingers Crossed*
Mom: *shakes head, disapprovingly*

Reliable for a few laughs here and there, it's a good way to remind people that I in fact have absolutely no desire to play college basketball (not like I have a choice, I don't think college basketball wants me either). I value my sanity, my freedom to eat desserts, and my Saturday nights/Sunday mornings way too much to give them up. Sure, it would be cool to say that I played college basketball. But there are over 3,000 female college basketball players in the NCAA and only a few hundred college basketball managers. It should technically be cooler and more impressive to say I'm a manager, right? (Don't worry. I know it's not. I'm just saying it should be.) So for now, I think I'll stick with trying to find dates instead of lifting weights... At least until Warner Bros and I work out the movie rights.

Lowering Your Standards

If your eyes are old (or if your cornea ulcer is acting up...) and can't read the cartoon, click on it and it'll get a lot bigger!

Paid In Experience

I was not warned about all the heavy-lifting I would be doing when I started this job. There's something blatantly ironic about carrying things for 15 of the most fit, able-bodied students on campus, but I do it anyways. They also failed to inform me that working ~15 hours/week and traveling on weekends would really interfere with any "normal" social life I anticipated having in college. Top it all off with the janitorial work that I did not sign up for: sweeping the gym floor, cleaning out the fridge, etc. and there are a lot of reasons not to become a basketball manager. And yet, here I am.

Why on Earth would I choose to be an unpaid basketball manager (read: slave) when I could be doing keg stands and joining random student organizations like The Happiness Club? (Mom, if you're reading this, please replace "keg stands" with "study sessions" and replace "The Happiness Club" with "The Pre-Medical Honor Society")

Sure, there are the obvious perks: like the free clothes and early registration for classes. (Thankfully) I can usually count on two free meals per week to offset the dining hall's lack of appeal. And of course, getting to know the players is definitely one of the best parts of my job. But I think it was somewhere between the charter jets and the surf-and-turf dinners that I officially forgot all about the less-glamorous parts of my job. While I'm busy jumping on hotel beds all over the country, my peers back at school are showering with shoes on. When I'm freaking out about a half court buzzer beater to send the game to overtime, my friends back home are untagging subtly ugly pictures of themselves from last weekend. It's also refreshing to have a boss and to be held accountable for something. Especially in college, when hardly anyone from the real world acknowledges your worth (see: unpaid summer internships). The networking is great too. You'd be surprised how many semi-famous people are connected to women's basketball. I've also heard that having several 6-foot tall friends can come in handy when you get into a bar fight/need a light bulb changed/want to see over a large crowd... Although, I haven't personally exploited this yet.

So while thought of getting paid in experience still makes me cringe, I've started to accept that there is more to this job than just handing out water (Keep in mind. It is still mostly just handing out water). If anything, I'm getting some fantastic stories.

Throwing Things

At what age is it appropriate to throw things?

According to a recent poll (of my friends), the most common answer to this question is : "when you're a toddler." Of course kids throw things at their siblings, their parents, their friends to get attention. (I distinctly remember my brother throwing his hockey gear onto the roof of our garage because he didn't want to go to practice.) But then, somewhere along the line of 'growing up,' it was decided that throwing things is no longer cute or civil and doing so should result in punishment. For example, I once had a 2nd grade teacher teacher who threw a chalkboard eraser at a student. She got fired. Then there was the Iraqi reporter who threw his shoes at George Bush (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OM3Z_Kskl_U). Also considered extremely inappropriate (and yet, still somewhat appropriate)...

The world of college basketball is completely different from this. In this world, coaches are allowed to (even encouraged to) throw tantrums. Someone out there decided that the best way to motivate players to play better was to yell and scream like a five year old; and quite frankly, I don't have a problem with that. Easily the most amusing part of my job is watching what many in the real world would consider a mental breakdown. However, just like with a toddler, someone has to clean up the mess after each tantrum...

Enter me. I've climbed rows of seats to find basketballs that had been punted into the arena during practice. (Recently one of those basketballs was inadvertently kicked directly at my face, but that deserves its own post sometime down the road) I've become somewhat of an expert at guessing exactly what row that dry erase marker landed in when coach flings it into the stands. Picking up and unfolding smashed up papers also occurs on a weekly basis. My favorite though is when coach rips off his sport coat and throws it to the ground during almost every game. (This is usually accompanied by screaming "WHAT THE F&#* ARE THEY DOING?!" at the bench and "WHO SHOWED THEM THAT?!" at the assistant coaches) Without flinching, I quickly pick the jacket up and put it on the back of his chair. But on the inside, I am grinning ear to ear. It's these hilarious and simultaneously humbling experiences that I will remember when I am in the real world. There is nothing more amusing a fully grown adult acting like a child, and there is nothing more belittling than picking up after him.

The Golden Rule

Every manager knows it's best to be invisible.

A good manager is one that goes unnoticed. And while this has never really been my style, I'd say I managed (pun intended, and one of many to come) to avoid garnering too much attention when I first started. This was fine and dandy of course, but I have to admit: the job was plain old boring. There's only so many times you can hold a door open and say "you're welcome" to everyone who passes through it before you go crazy. But over the years (two, to be exact) that I have worked for the _________ University Women's Basketball Team, I've quickly discovered the best ways to get noticed:

A great way to get yourself noticed as a manager is to let the buzzer go off during practice. This can happen accidentally ... Perhaps you were busy rebounding. Or running to the office to grab a coach's practice schedule. Or maybe you were just daydreaming about what it would be like to have a pillow fight in this huge gym and you forgot to check the clock. Either way. That loud, obnoxious buzzer is a fantastic way to say "Hey. I'm here. And I actually do stuff sometimes." So every once in awhile, I just let it go off on purpose. "Oops. Sorry Coach. Did I interrupt your 10 minute long tirade about rebounding?"

Another good way to get yourself noticed is to befriend the players. Of course, the easiest way to go about this is through their stomachs. When players aren't focusing on their game, they are focusing on their food. If there is one thing I have learned from this job, it's that basketball players are always hungry. And usually it's for things that they aren't allowed to have. So whether you have to secretly get the soft-serve machine up and running before team meals or smuggle forbidden french fries to the back of the bus, the risk (getting caught by the coaches) is definitely worth the reward of having a few players know your name.

And if all else fails, find a Nordstrom's outlet and pick yourself up a pair of snazzy shoes. Those always seem to be great conversation starters.

That's really all I am trying to do here. Be immortalized. And what better way than a tell-all blog that will make my job seem way more exciting than it actually is. Stay tuned. Because one day my (self-assigned) number of 00 will one day hang from the rafters of ______ arena, and you'll wish you had read my blog.

- Manager of the Year

The first post is always the most difficult

That's why I am skipping it.