Did y’all know I used to play basketball?

I’m not talking about the ‘I played when I was really little at my church then watched a lot of games’ basketball players. I’m talking about ‘I started playing at a young age and ended up on the varsity team in high school.’

I don’t mean to brag because it’s really not impressive, especially since I was the third string and quit during my junior year because the coach wouldn’t play me at all. (There was a lot more to it than that, but we won’t go there today.)

But there are stories from my time on the varsity squad, and I’m going to share one with y’all today.

The boy and I were watching a game this past week, and I noticed one of the players went to high school with me. Granted, he was a LOT younger than me, but we were there at the same time, and my sister knew him relatively well.

He drew an incredible foul.

The player he was guarding drove hard to the basket, smacking J.P. in the face with his elbow. J.P. hit the ground.

It was ridiculous.

No, really. Look at the photo here. (And excuse the magenta-ness. It makes my eyes hurt a little.)

…

We were kind of specialists at drawing offensive fouls at my high school.

You see, the varsity teams were run by coaches with similar views on this, and we practiced drawing fouls on a weekly basis to capitalize on them during games.

The assistant coach, a tall woman who played basketball at a major SEC school, would run at you holding a HUGE football pad, smack into you and you had to hit the ground rigid, drawing the foul.

It was terrifying, to say the least.

I’m not a big girl, to begin with, and I was at least six inches shorter than our coach. (I was also about six inches shorter than the other post players, and I was frequently used as a rag doll beneath the basket during practice.)

And, needless to say, I hit the ground hard every time. Probably due more to the force of the hit than that of my own doing. But I was able to draw the foul.

The guys did the same thing in their practice. And both teams would draw at least ten offensive fouls every game.

Because we were good like that.

…

I hadn’t thought about this in years until I saw J.P. take that hit on national television. And then I was transported back, explaining the way we practiced to my boy and reminiscing about being a member of that team.

All in all, I had a good time, and I miss certain aspects of being a member of that team.

One thing I don’t miss, though? Taking offensive fouls, in practice or the game.

                          

This post is a part of 20SB’s Looking Back Blog Carnival, and Ben & Jerry’s is awarding free ice cream to lucky bloggers and readers! More information can be found here.

Senior year of high school, I started blogging with a Deadjournal. After I graduated, I quit that blog and then started a Livejournal freshman year. I did the same again sophomore year (though I kept the LJ.) And then my (second) senior year, I started writing at Stylish Handwriting.

While I realize it’s probably not kosher to post from every one of these blogs, I had a fantastic time reading all my old blogs and thought I’d share. If nothing else, I promise you’ll get a laugh about some of the things I wrote.

Let’s look back, folks, and see what a long way I have come.

First off, from my very first online journal. This was written a few weeks after my parents separated. (Note: Most of this journal was dealing with the separation and my tumultuous senior year of high school.)

“life, or something like it…”
november 22, 2002

today. wow. even though today was a friday, it dragged by. painfully. that’s the way to describe it. it’s like, every minute that passed was just kinda moving by. no, time did not fly today. perhaps it was because i wasn’t having fun? (even though the in-school wrestling match was… well, interesting.)

i hate tests, i must admit in total honesty. especially ones with 5 paragraph essays AND a question part. we don’t even have enough time to make the essay sound nice and we’re wanted to take a 50 question multiple choice thingy along with it. i mean, that’s just cruel. doncha think so?

so i’m talking to a friend right now and we’re talking about our days. and about how he’s always happy because life is too short not to be. i’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. i mean, life is full of pain, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t smile and just enjoy our time here. we never know when it’s gonna end. and to tell you the truth, i don’t want to know when it’s gonna end. he made a good point and it reminds me of something another friend said last year, “life’s too short to be nervous” and leads me to my conclusion of, “life’s too short to have any regrets.” i haven’t been very good about any of these lately and i’m thankful they’ve been brought to my attention. yeah… carpe diem, my friends.

tonight is the first basketball game and i’m probably going to it (who knows?). i used to play for the girls’ varsity team and i am exhilarated because i am at home right now while they’re driving out to the boonies (yes, the game is about 45 miles away from here). i don’t miss the coach or not playing, but i miss my friends on the team. but its all good. every girl who has quit the wshs girls’ team in the past 4 years is playing on a rec team together and we’re gonna have so much fun. two of our guys are “coaching” us and at our first practice on wednesday, we beat a guy’s team. oh yeah. and for the first time in about two years as i walked into the gym, a sense of dread didn’t overcome me. and i had fun. real fun on the basketball court with my friends, not worrying about the next thing coach was going to make us do or bothering to do the 20 minute run or even running a few 16′s. yes, it was a good day and it will be a good season. we’re out to have fun and we are no longer playing basketball in hell.

and, on a closing note, today is the first day of the rest of my life. peace out.

Poetic, I know.

Let’s zoom to the freshman year of college. This was the first actual post after my obligatory, “I’m blogging again” entry.

“Last Night”
November 10, 2003

I had an incredibly tough night. Things in my life definitely are not what one would consider ‘good,’ by any means or standards. I am just so confused and the circumstances make my heart ache every time a fleeting thought of them crosses my befuddled mind.

All that I am going to say is thank God for friends who will do anything to see you smile, watch The Emporer’s New Groove in the middle of the night just to hear you laugh, bake you two cookies (instead of the entire batch) and offer them to you when you’re on the phone outside then running back into the apartment before you can refuse their sugary goodness, offer to cook for you really late into the night, make you listen to country music to hear you whine and to convince you that ‘it’s not all that bad,’ give you massages when they don’t want to, want to learn about your life and how they can help you, let you sleep on their couch with no questions asked, and listen to what you say, offer some advice, then empathize with you, offering their shoulder for you to cry on. And so many more things that I can’t even begin to list…

I have such amazing friends. I honestly don’t know where I would be without them right now.

Maybe the college newspaper friends were right when they called me emo? (Even though I kinda make up for it by talking about my awesome friends. And even though this was written closely after the divorce was finalized.)

And then one of the first entries from the sophomore year Xanga.

“no title”
January 15, 2005

after five and a half hours in the car, i’m finally back in baton rouge.  i’m rather excited about this upcoming semester (i am officially a dork).  my class schedule doesn’t seem to be too challenging (right now, at least) and i’m taking classes that i actually want to take, so that all helps.

i’m feeling… disoriented tonight and i can’t quite put my finger on it.  while i know what it’s vaguely about, i don’t know why those feelings have swelled up right now.  *shrugs*  perhaps it has something to do with me being deleriously tired, having driven a long distance today, and not have gotten a good rest last night?

we went and saw in good company tonight.  it was good, in a surprisingly different way.  it didn’t turn out the way i thought it would and that was kind of refreshing.  once again, though, i found myself mirrored somewhat in a screwed up movie character.  … sensing a trend here, anyone?

“what you got?”
“i have a little bit of a buzz, too.  … and i like you.  so i have that.  i guess i have that.”

why can’t most people be this honest to each other?  i hate how i’ve been under the horrible assumption that putting yourself out there gets you hurt.  but then again, if you never put yourself out there, you’ll never know.  … i can say that i’ve put myself out there, at least somewhat, and i did get hurt.

keeping in line with that, i stood up for myself tonight.  i’m not particularly happy with one boy and i don’t particularly care about being nice because he wasn’t.  chalk one up for me.  ’cause this never, ever happens.  yessssss.

back to square one.  but really, this is a good thing.  … love comes softly, though, and i have a feeling that it will surprise me whenever/if it does happen.

And the love thing? It totally did sneak into my life quietly. Good call, 20-year-old self!

Then we get back to StyHand. The following is my third post.

“Umm, excuse me?”
February 13, 2008

A few weeks ago, I photographed at a music store on assignment.

When I went to ask a kid his name for the cutline, this conversation ensued:

ME: “Hey. Could you spell your name for me?

CHILD: “H-u-c-k-a-b-y.”

ME: “OK, thanks.”

CHILD: “Yeah, in case you were wondering, I’m kinda related to the guy running for president.”

ME: “Oh.”

… More than anything, I wanted to tell the boy to try and impress someone his own age. I also didn’t have the heart to tell him I think it’s crazy how many votes his ‘relative’ has garnered in the South, let alone my home state. Another point? The boy’s name is spelled differently, so he can’t really be that related to the candidate.

I also was tempted to come back with, “Well, in case you were wondering, I’m kinda related to Sarah Jessica Parker.”

Because we have the same hair, the same eyes, and… no, wait.
We just share a name. Hrm.

Aaaand that’s it, folks.

Have you looked back at your old entries recently? Do they make you laugh? Because I know mine do!

                          

Between my junior and senior years of high school, I had the opportunity to travel to central Florida and work at as a member of its ‘work crew.’

We work-crewers were all high school students and performed odd jobs around the camp including (but not limited to): waiting tables in the dining hall, life guarding, outdoor crew (taking care of the grounds), pits (washing dishes) and ropes. Girls outnumbered boys about 4 to 1, but we still made do and had a great time.

The first night, we found out our assignments. And I was placed on the ropes team, meaning I would be belaying, strapping in and making sure kids were safe on our mini ropes course. Oh yeah, and sometimes, I would have to go up into the trees to rescue someone who was stuck/scared. *dies*

It ended up being a lot of fun, despite my fear of heights, and nearing the end of my time at camp, the boys played a lovely prank on us girls.

We came home from dinner one night to find HUNDREDS of crickets inside our cabin, and everything we owned turned upside down.

We weren’t happy about it, so we began plotting our revenge as we spent hours cleaning up and doing damage control inside our tiny living quarters.

Movie night, we arranged for them to be on duty inside the main room while a few of us (not all because they would KNOW something was amiss) would go into their cabin and wreak havoc. Thanks to the help of our bosses, we were going to pull our prank off. And it was going to be incredible.

I was one of the girls left in the main room, and my job was to make sure the boys didn’t suspect anything. Luckily, we had to make a few runs to and from the kitchen, so they didn’t realize four girls were unaccounted for.

The story of revenge was told later that evening to the entire girls cabin, and it made me smile.

All was fine and dandy until the four pranksters reached the door and found it locked. One of the girls, bless her heart, jimmied the lock, and they were in. They found their belongings easily — in their suitcases — and in a moment of genius, someone said they should take the boys’ belongings down to the lake and place them inside canoes.

Brilliant!

Arms full, they hurried to the dock, filled the canoes, and with no thought, pushed the tiny boats into the middle of the lake. A lake that had an alligator or two residing in it.

After rushing back to the main room unsuspected, they went back to our roles as work crew members, smiling and enjoying the movie like everyone else.

They boys didn’t know what hit them. And we didn’t hear anything about it until the next morning.

They figured their clothes were in the canoes when they realized the canoes were drifting around the lake aimlessly. And they had to swim out to retrieve the canoes. (No one lost a limb to the alligator.)

They weren’t too happy about the way their night ended, and they made their complaints known to any girl who would hear them. Because, obviously, the girls had been behind the attack.

We did our best to listen, but made sure to remind them about the crickets. The crickets we spent hours evacuating from our living quarters. The crickets we were still occasionally finding in our clothes, our belongings and our beds.

We didn’t feel so bad about it.

It would have been a different story if the alligator had gotten a hold of one of them or some of their clothes, though.

                          

Happy Sunday, freaders! I’m still laid up on the couch and sick as a dog, but I’ve decided to use this sickness for good. Instead of whining all day (like I did yesterday), I’m watching Harry Potter and working on my Christmas cards. Awesome, no?

A few weeks back, I posted about a certain prank my friends and I played on our boss. And, during the weekends from now on, I’d like to share a story or two about my so-called ‘wild’ days. (Because they were so scandalous, ha!)

This week’s story was suggested by my BFF Eli. Because we were totally rebels.

This shouldn’t surprise anyone, but I was a goody two-shoes in high school. I didn’t like to break the rules, so I didn’t. Ever. (I had a pretty exciting existence in high school, as I’m sure you can tell. But I was OK with it.)

When the spring of my senior year rolled around, my BFFs (Katie and Eli) and I decided we wanted to perform a senior prank. (They were every bit as good as me, if not more so.)

In years past, crickets were let loose in the school. The exterior of the building was spray-painted with obscene phrases and crude drawings. Locks were superglued shut. Handicapped signs were painted on every teacher parking spot outside of the school. (That was one of my favorites.) A cow was led up the stairs of the annex building and left to roam one , and since cows (apparently) can’t walk down stairs… yeah.

We wanted to do a prank that would better the school, and one day at lunch, we realized what would be perfect.

Students are allowed to eat outside of the cafeteria if the weather is nice, either picnic-style on the grass or at old picnic tables. We sat outside nearly every day, enjoying the spring sunshine and the feeling that we were not longer trapped inside the building. The picnic tables had seen their fair share of weather, and their old boards were worn and decorated with student doodles. How wonderful would it be to bring some color to lunchtime?

It was perfect, and we were in.

Katie’s dad bought the paint for us — blue, pink and yellow. My mother laughed and immediately approved. We didn’t tell Eli’s parents. And then we were ready to go one spring night, just days before graduation.

We drove up to the school, sneaking around to the backside where the tables were located. Quickly, we each took a bucket of paint and brushes to decorate.

Within minutes, the tables were more spunky and colorful than they had been in years. We continued our artwork, adding splatter paint and some hand prints for fun.

A few minutes later, we heard sirens.

We dropped everything and ran back to the car only to realize that a cop car was blocking us in. We were covered in paint, and guilty was written across our faces.

A janitor, who was standing next to the officer, had been inside the school and  called the cops on us. He insisted he would not press charges because he saw us around school and knew we were good kids. However, it would be reported to the principal, and after the cop slapped handcuffs on Eli and shoved him into the backseat of the cop car, we were let go with a warning and a date with destiny the next morning.

I got home and broke the news to my mom. She wasn’t upset, and she held me as I wept myself to sleep that night.

The next morning came too soon, and the three of us made the walk of shame into the main office before the late bell rang. We were three of the only seniors in the school — seniors are released about a week earlier than other students — and after my volleyball coach poked his head into the office to laugh at us, we were called into the principal’s office.

We were so nervous. None of us were bad students or kids — we had NEVER been to the principal’s office, and since we were so involved in our school, the principal knew who we were. I remember my hands shaking as we walked into her office.

Dr. W, the principal, was stern, but lenient on us. She told us we would have to repaint the tables for the school and that we might not get to walk at graduation — she was saving that judgment for later, but it was very clear to the three of us that she got a laugh or two out of our prank.

For the next three days, we spent hours at the school repainting our works of art. Many times, students came up to us to ask why we were repainting them because they were so fun with the multicolored paints. We would just shrug.

Once the repainting was complete, we were told we would be able to walk at graduation. On graduation day, we learned we could all wear our National Honor Society hoods, too.

That day, we were thanked in Dr. W’s graduation speech for our “latest community service project.”

My grandmother still smiles about that to this day, and whenever we talk about high school, we still laugh because who would have thought that we would get caught completing our harmless senior prank?

If nothing else, it makes for a good story.

                          

Beeeeeeep.

I’m not here today. Instead, you can find me at Tipp’s blog writing about my high school basketball career and its tragic ending. No, seriously. I’m not kidding, but the cause of it is amusing and slightly unbelievable. I promise.

Have a lovely day! I should be back tomorrow with semi-regular posting.

E.P.

                          

Last night, we watched Freaks and Geeks. At one point, Sam said something along the lines of, “Well, I’m going to ask her to the dance because my dad said sometimes pretty girls aren’t asked because people assume they already have a date.”

I don’t know if I was one of these girls, but my experience with males in high school were slim to nil.

I had a few dates here and there, but I was never a boy magnet by ANY means.

I had one boyfriend. I’ll use the term loosely because we only went on a few dates, the relationship itself lasted a month (though we remained friends after) AND we didn’t kiss. This left me to finally experience my first kiss at age 19, but that is another story for another time.

However, senior prom was my only invite to a dance during that time period. And I’m kind of pleased that it’s the only one because the story is PERFECT.

The awkwardness that surrounds it makes me smile, even though it made me cringe back then.

One sunny afternoon, my sister (who is two years my junior) had upset me, and I stormed back to my beat-up Mercedes in the back of the school parking lot. I climbed into the mint green car, pushed my key into the ignition and let out a high-pitched scream because I was so frustrated.

I had every intention of leaving her at the school to fend for herself. So I pulled myself together, threw the car into reverse and turned to check my side mirror before backing out. Because, you know, I didn’t feel like running anyone over that day.

I was startled to see a boy my age standing right next to my window.

I rolled it down awkwardly, not knowing how long he had been standing there or what he had heard, and asked him what was up.

And he said, “What would you say if a scrawny, curly-haired guy asked you to prom?”

I about died. I was not expecting that AT ALL.

And I mustered up, “Well, I guess I’d have to say yes.”

Because, after all, he WAS a nice guy. And he was the only guy who was going to ask me.

And we ended up having a lot of fun. The group in our car sang “Black Water” while flying down the interstate on the way to the afterparty, everyone breaking into different parts, which is one of my fondest memories from high school.

I just hadn’t thought about the whole (lack of) boy situation in quite some time and was reminded of it last night.

Thanks, Sam, for reminding me just how AWKWARD high school was.