bball diaries.

Watching George and Stella pounce around the kitchen, eating flies and beetles, and attacking one another reminded me that it's time I update the ol' B-L to the O-G. We've had a lot of adventures since my last post including two trips to the great Centennial State (ohhh CO how I love you) and a wild little weekend of snazzing here at home. Although I haven't mentioned our trip to the Gorge (WASHINGTONNN) for the Dave Matthews Caravan, it's a lovely little story that deserves a pst all to itself . . . soooo I'll stick to more current events. <-- Yuckerzzz, how's that sentence for bad grammar?

I recently accepted a job as one of the high school girls' basketball coaches at the wild and crazy Clovis High. I've been going to off-season practices only to find out that my girls are a little less than uncoordinated, to put it lightly. I guess my job is to get them out on the court in some sort of organized fashion, then hope they can sink at least 4 points in the 32 minutes of play action. I know I'm amused now, but I have a feeling I'll be humming a different tune mid-season. The good news is, the coaching staff is rad and the girls are all cool. High school kids are hilarious to me--their only concerns are what they wear, how good they look in what they wear, and what people think of what they wear. More or less. Needless to say, I'm jazzed to be living vicariously through the Lady Wildcats for the next 4-6 months. Plus, I rrrreally want to get asked to prom . . . meaning, I want to be one of the prom chaperones. OMGZZZZZ.

Apparently my last name has been a huge issue with the little ladies because it's the same name as their biggest rival. Well shit. So for the past week the ladies have been trying to come up with a nickname for me. So far we've got: Coach Mel and Coach Meezy. Come ON, let's be a little more creative here! Although . . . I do secretly like Coach Meezy. It has a nice ring to it. Makes me sound all gangsta and stuff. And anyone who knows me knows how gangsta I am . . . speaking of, I'd better get back to my reaction paper on Freudian Psychology. I can't help telling my professor (in so many words) that Freud was a lunatic and we shouldn't be studying his crazy ass. But alas, back to work I go. More adventures to come . . . get it riiiiight.