The Update... at last

I'm so behind, and I'm so sorry. I have a feeling a lot of lives were put on hold as anxious fingers kept refreshing the screen of this blog hoping, and waiting and wishing for resolution on the "hockey dad" story. My apologies, but I had to go get crazy in NYC with my sisters and blogging was forced to pay the price.

So here's the quick and dirty.

1. I got a response the same day as my email.
2. Apparently he had started to freak out about the whole "being ready to date" thing and entering the singles world. Understandable. I never left it and I still wonder each day if I'm ready for it.
3. He still wanted to see me.

I wrote back and told him that I had a bunch of unanswered questions myself about the situation and that the best approach was probably friends for now. Take it slow and just get to know each other. He agreed, we're going to get together soon, and frankly, I think it's the best possible solution and it makes me a lot more comfortable.

So I guess the lesson here is two-fold:

1. Don't listen to advice from anyone else (unless it's you Wallace.. asking me. Clearly you need to listen to my advice.)

2. Act authentically and honestly. (As long as you can handle truth - ie. a reason you didn't want to hear. Like the guy I heard on the radio today who had the station call a girl to find out why she wasn't returning his calls after a really good date - so good they slept together - and she told him it was because after they "hooked up" it freaked her out when he pulled out his asthma thingy and had to catch his breath. This is not a lie.)

And for sure, don't listen to everyone else.

A good book

One more quickie today.

We've got Keeley and Ben staying with us this weekend while their parents are off living the high life with no kids in Chicago. Keeley was having a major meltdown about losing them and I even heard her sobbingly tell her mom, "I will miss you every minute you are gone and never forget you. I will remember you more and more each minute you are gone."

To help her get over the pain, I took her to her favorite place - the mall. When we arrived, I told her I needed to go to the bookstore to get Uncle Abram a book. Here's the conversation:

Shauri: I need to get Abram a book.
Keeley: That's a good idea.
Shauri: Why?
Keeley: I think it will help him. He really needs to calm down - he's CRAZY!

Kids say the darndest things.

Stankonia

I've played softball my entire life. Started when I was about 7 or 8 and kept playing until about 2 or 3 years ago when I moved away from my city league team in DC.

I just came back to Ann Arbor and my sister Kristin invited me to play on a team she and some of her High School friends were on. I was excited to get back on the field...but there was a warning from Kristin. "Um...we're not so good."

Our team name is Stankonia, but I think we might want to just cut off the "onia."

Until I showed up to the field last night, I had no idea what that not so good really meant. 25-0. For example. Everyone on the team is athletic--most played basketball or track in high school or college. I thought if you're an athlete, you're an athlete. You can pick up anything--especially something as simple as softball. Didn't every kid play with a bat and a ball growing up? Not so.

I watched people completely mis-judge fly balls, even at times getting to the ball, (Jimar) but then swatting it over the fence instead of catching it to give the other team a home run. I watched people flying through the air (Rodney) as if to make a stunning catch, and even passing the ball in mid-air while shouting at the last minute, "It's your ball!"

The bad play isn't even the best part of this team though. I think the best part is our "fans" and the pitcher who showed up last night.

Pitcher first. She apparently had been recruited from a championship city league team. She was angry and wasn't messing around. She glared at everyone, even her own team and weighed in roughly at about 300 lbs. She got mad every time someone missed a play and finally made some comment like, "I'm leaving." She said it to the first baseman, John, expecting some sympathy but instead he replied, "OK, go." I'm sure as a star she is used to much more preferential treatment, so this comment maddened her and like an enraged stuck bull, mid inning, and maybe even mid-batter, she stormed off the mound and to the bench where she collected her things made a scene and left. Everyone who didn't hear the interaction was stunned on our team, and asking each other, "Did she get ejected? What happened?" Play resumed....without Ms. Anger Management. I haven't seen such high drama since the last episode of Flavor of Love or maybe the spin off, I love New York.
Now the Fans. I use the term loosely. One of the girls on our team - Ayesha - has a pretty large family, including extended family, who all want to come out and watch our games for some reason. They have a slightly different approach to being a fan though. They yell at everyone on our team and tell us what we're doing wrong.

For example, "Hey Pitcher...aim for the catcher's glove!" Or "Hey catcher, give the pitcher a target." or "Hey outfield...don't move in so close. The girls on the other team aren't inexperienced like your girls!"

Kristin warned me about this phenomenon, but I wasn't prepared when at shortstop, I let a ball get under my glove and I suddenly heard from the bench, "Hey...you gotta put your glove on the GROUND!" Great feedback.

All in all it was an interesting experience. I don't think I've ever played on a team so bad - and that includes my 7 year old team. The only good thing is it provides plenty of entertainment and lots to blog about. I'll try to get photos next time - including one of Ayesha's team jersey that was so tight she tried to stretch it out...then played all game with a hole in her shirt.

Ghetto? Yeah, we got your ghetto right here.

Updates

Looks like the "no's" were the strong winner in the email debate today, so I decided to wait until tonight to email. Thanks for the comments, and understand that I think the right side did win that vote. I just didn't want to follow good advice.

Truthfully, since I don't consider myself highly emotionally invested, and I don't care about the "result I create" and I need closure for the story on my blog, I sent the following email tonight:



"Hey you....are you OK? I never heard back from you so I was afraid you'd fallen and can't get up. If you have, put up some smoke signals and I'll send help immediately.

Seriously, I hope everything is fine.

If you've decided the tennis or baseball offer is off the table, please put my caramels under the slide by the pond on Lohr Rd. and let me know when to retrieve them."

At least I followed your (all's) advice on keeping it light, yes?

It may or may not have been the "right" move, and I guess we'll find out soon enough. I will say, that I do hope we have the chance to meet up again, but if not, I did sit next to a lovely English bloke on my flight home from Chicago today who practically trailed me home - I barely broke him off at the car. Maybe broke him off isn't the right way to say that... Who knows, he may have just been lost though - you know how backwards those Brits can be. I mean look at Maria.

True Love

Sometimes I realize that my approach to "finding love" is all wrong. You don't have to find it with a man or woman -- why limit yourself?

Just go buy yourself a lion cub and create a relationship that will span time and space.

Really - this is crazy--and touching. Two men bought a lion cub at Harrod's, back when you still could pick up exotic animals at the mall, and raised him until he got too big to care for and feed. Then they brought him back to Kenya and released him to the wild where he got his own pride and adapted. Years later the men wanted to go back and see if the lion would remember them. All advisors told them - BAD IDEA - a lion will not remember you once it is back in the wild and you will become not so much dearly beloved parent as much as thoroughly enjoyed lunch. Take a gander for yourself at what happened:

Kids having kids

Yeah. So I came home last night and rifled through my mail only to discover an envelope that was clearly a wedding invitation. My curiosity was piqued to see which of my friends was getting married... for the second time.

Imagine my shock and surprise to discover it was my cousin's daughter. MY COUSIN'S DAUGHTER. My cousin who is maybe 5 or 6 years older than me. Should that person have a child old enough to get married? I mean, I'm not even old enough to have children. When did babies start having babies?

It's time I faced the facts - my cousin got married way to young.

The Vote

By way of a quick count on where the vote stands:

4 don't email (yet)
3 do email
3 no decision

The polls stay open until midnight, and then I will do exactly what I want anyway.
(Isn't that how it usually works with dating and advice?)

Destiny?

Talk about irony. I post a blog last night about someone (with a fictional name) that I wanted to get an email from... and the very next morning in my email box what do you imagine is waiting for me? (Please note this new guy's screen name in the Grey box.)



A person with almost that exact fictional screen name. Who says God, or at least the God of Match.com doesn't have a clever sense of humor? Could this be my destiny - am I really supposed to be with a "hockey dad?" I'm going to assume not...since there is no picture included.

You think you're as confused as possible...

And then you realize you're still single and the confusion will only deepen with each passing year.

A couple posts back I mentioned a date with a guy we'll call hockeydad. Not his handle, but it suits. I thought things went really well, (surprisingly so) and right after the date he went home and sent me the following message:

"I had a good time tonight and enjoyed our conversation.
I would assume you got home safely as I didn't see any fireballs on the way home.
I feel like we only scratched the surface and would like to continue the banter....are you up for a baseball game or some tennis?
Plus, I think I owe you a caramel or hot chocolate."

He obviously completely disregarded "The Rules" and didn't wait the obligatory time frame to make the next move, and even appeared to ask me out for another date.

I responded the following afternoon (Friday). And he hasn't contacted me since.

The way I see it there are 3 options why:

1. My email was so appalling or scary that it totally changed his mind.

2. My email never got to him.

3. He died, or switched teams.

My gut tells me it's one or two. For the sake of learning and progress I am going to share the email I sent to him and get your thoughts:

"You didn't see any fireballs because you entered Stonebridge on the wrong side. Major explosion off Lohr. I'm OK now though, thanks.

Ditto - it was a good AND enlightening conversation. It was especially interesting to learn why your ideal match makes 50K and why you hate Matt Damon. :) (I'm putting the smiley face because I don't know if we know each other well enough yet for you to get that I'm teasing. Try to count on the fact that 80% of the time I am so we can conserve smileys for those who need them.)

You definitely owe me caramels, the hot chocolate is a little more sketchy. Not sure which way a court of law would rule on that. Maybe check with your sister and I'll accept whatever verdict she passes. Baseball or tennis would be fun. I'm not sure tennis would be so fun for you though... I think you're probably a bit too good for me Mr. Monday night league. But if you have patience we can do it. I failed to mention my brother and sister-in-law also live in Stonebridge--maybe we can do some doubles. Then I won't have to cover as much court, I can be on your team and you can just be upset with them. :)

Have a good night."

Now I'd like you to weigh in on a couple things people(I'm especially curious to hear from any men on here so don't be shy.)

1. Should I reach out to contact him again. Is there even a slim chance he didn't get it?
2. Is my email scary?
3. What the *&*&%^#& happened?

This is your time America - your opinion matters and this is a vote where you'll truly be heard.
Go.

Random musings

I'm home. Or, at least back in Michigan. Hard to really know where home is these days. I always have a suitcase in hand, and I'm always packing and unpacking, and truth be told---I never have that feeling like "I'm going home" anywhere I go. Is this good? bad? I don't know- the jury's still out.

Speaking of which, I have my first every jury duty tomorrow. Obviously I'm thrilled. So thrilled that I am trying to come up with creative ways to NOT be selected. Like answering all their questions with questions...or crazy answers. Example:

Lawyer: Have you ever been asked to be a juror?
Me: Have you?

Lawyer: How do you feel about the death sentence.
Me: I hear hot sauce is great on watermelon.

I'll let you know how it goes. And if this brilliant tactic works---or if I end up getting carted off to the loony bin. Either way, I figure it will make good blogging material. Do they let you have a computer to blog in a loony bin?

The most interesting thing that happened today (speaking of loony) was walking back towards my sister's bedroom and discovering Keely (niece-4.5 yrs) and Max (nephew - 3 yrs) creating art out of my sister's, maxi-pads.

Well, they were actually the mini-pads. When I stumbled upon them and said, "OHHHHH you two are busted." Keely jumped up and in complete self-preservation mode said, "It was Max's idea." Kind of makes sense that it would be, since there could be a potential name-link (Max-i pad) and thus a draw for him. Anyway, they had peeled off hundreds of backings and made sculptures out of them as well as (and this is truly clever) shoes for Max. It was really so brilliant and clever I had to applaud them, and send them to give their creations as gifts to Kristin. I mean, technically she owned them already, but possesion is 9/10 of ownership or something like that. Which I will remember in court tomorrow if necessary.

I believe Kristin is planning to blog about this with pictures, so you can see her blog for more details. It did remind me of one reason why I am thrilled to be back. No one in Utah ever made stuff out of sanitary napkins. Let the good times roll.

Little cracks...and light...

After spending 23 hours over the weekend editing the film and re-writing the script (thank you Wallace for your great feedback!) I met with my editor today to hand-off all the changes and suddenly I felt a glimmer of light.

I think I'm starting to leave the murky waters of hopelessness of looking at my 150 hours of film and wondering how in the heck I'm supposed to pull an actual story out of this uneventful season and seeing...possibility.

It was a depressing decision, but I decided to cut my boy Fred from the film and make it just about the players. I can't explain how attached I was to his story, but once I made the decision to cut it I suddenly felt lighter and I knew it was the right decision. I will make Fred in to his own little story rather than force fit it in to the Flash story.

So there you have it...T-5 days until I head home, and I may actually be able to leave confidently, knowing that the film will at least be in a final rough cut state. There are many more hours to go, but friends...I see the light.

The Little People

****Warning****Very long, albeit interesting story

I spent the last few days in lovely Orlando. If you're looking for a spot to vacation this summer...keep lookin'. I'm sure it's beautiful in the winter, but the only way it can be described in July is suffocating and sweaty.

I was in Orlando to film at their NBA summer league camp. 6 NBA teams were there and two of the main characters from my film had been invited. Kevin with the Magic, and Brian with the Nets. Would be great for my film if they could actually get a contract... Anyway, it was pretty cool - no public allowed, just media, players and staff. There were a lot of famous faces wandering around the gym as most head coaches were there as well as some of the NBA players from these teams. The day before I arrived Brian told me they got to go to Vince Carter's house in Orlando to have their practice there. He was trying to play down how cool it was, but he did show me the picture of Vince's house that he had covertly snapped on his phone. Would have been great to capture that on film!

Another famous face was the guy coaching Kevin's team---Patrick Ewing. I actually bumped in to him in the hallway outside the gym on his way in, but I didn't even recognize him. Maybe because his knees were eye level with me, and who really recognizes knees? Once he sat on the bench I started to put the pieces together and I asked someone sitting nearby if the coach was Ewing. Yes.

Awesome! I thought it would be great to capture a household name on camera telling me about Kevin and what he thought his chances were, how the d-league helps players, etc.. I figured it was a small enough crowd and a friendly enough environment that he might be willing to hook a sister up.

Meanwhile, I had made friends with this security guard when I came in . He was probably in his mid 50's by the look of it, but he was pretty nice and I joked around with him a little...you know, like I would with my dad, and we became buddies.

He would periodically come check up on me and chat so after I recognized Ewing, and Mr. Security stopped by, I asked him if he thought Ewing would let me do an interview. (This guard is the Orlando Magic's personal security--he sits on the bench with them at games, which frankly is a pretty sweet gig.)

Mr. Security told me he thought Patrick was pretty nice, and he didn't see why not. Just make sure to ask after the game and not during. Duh. So I was feeling pretty confident.

After the game, I walked up behind Ewing, waited for him to finish a conversation and said:

ME: Umm, hi there. (Big smile)

Ewing: (Looking way down and slightly confused at where the voice is coming from. Picture a confused, irritated expression like when you hear a mosquito buzzing in your ear. Finally looking down...) Uh, yeah?

Me: Right, hi. Um, I'm Shauri and I am doing a documentary on the Utah Flash. One of my guys is on your team...(plowing ahead and pushing words out quick-like cause I can tell he's losing interest)..Kevin Kruger? Yeah- I was hoping I could do a short interview with you?

Ewing (still annoyed): What? Who are you? Look I got interviews to do with the news right now.

Me looking up at him with sad eyes and now speechless. (yes, a miracle- i had no words.)

Ewing: (exasperated) No, no. I can't. Look- I'm late for a plane I gotta catch. Sorry.



And he walks over to the interview with the TV peeps. I was feeling very publicly rejected and embarrassed, but as I slunk away in my shame to the bleachers I heard him turn to someone and say with consternation and disdain, "Who are the Utah Flash?"

Rather than add to my shame this actually made me pause and think--what an idiot. I mean either he is completely dense or the NBA is doing the worst marketing job ever on the D-league that a guy who has played and coached in the NBA, and who even has a player he's been starting on his team..that came from the Utah Flash has no clue.

Thank goodness for my documentary. I'll be sure to send him a copy with my compliments so he can learn all about this awesome new league. I was mad at myself for being so wimpy and scared, I'm sure he could smell it just like a dog can smell fear, which is probably why he bit me. I'm pretty sure he could have fit me in to one ginormous mouthful too. I mean he is a BIG and scary looking man. In his defense, it was the last game of the week and he was rushing out, but still. Rejected.

On the other hand, Mr. Security had no intention of rejecting me at all. I saw him on my way out and I froze as I saw the torrential downpour outside. I was parked on the other side of the building and would have to run in the rain with all my equipment.

I asked Mr. Security if there was any other way out of the building. He said there was but he wasn't supposed to take me cause it was all the private offices. Then he shrugged and said, "Aw, come on."

I followed him through a maze that saw me safely to a door just a mere 3 feet from my car. He could see the "Bless you" look in my eyes and as I said goodbye he stuttered a bit and then reached in to his shirt pocket and slowly pulled out his card with a look of panic on his face. Reminiscent of the way I looked and spoke to Ewing.

"Ummm..if you're ever down in Orlando again..welll...uh..here's my card."

I looked at him in slight shock because I was thinking thanks dad, and he was obviously thinking you're welcome lover. He continued.

"I could, you know, take you to an amusement park."

Again: Speechless.

You win some, you lose some. And my big win was a 55 year old man who wanted to take me to an amusement park.

Regardless, my important lesson here is: Don't disregard the "little people." And I'm not talking about midgets. My connection got me out of the rain and in to my car. And one day it might get me access to a front row seat or some locker room access. Make friends with everyone--just don't always date them.

Hope: Shetsy Style

Hope: To wish for something with expectation of its fulfillment. Confident desire. A feeling that something desirable is about to happen.

After a rather surprising conversation last night I felt the need to look up the definition of hope and make sure I understood it's meaning. Let me back up.

Last night I had a girl's night with some of my lady friends in SLC - Shetsy Shennion and Shamy Shoulson. (You know how I try to roll with aliases so I don't incriminate the so clearly guilty.)

We were just passing time with the usual girl night activities, face masks, chocolate (I only had one tiny square I swear) and chatting about our singleton plight. I swear that conversation just never gets old people.

The discussion turned to the kind of male options available to us at this late age, and how truly depressing it was. Shetsy, being a bright-eyed hopeful kind of gal, remained adamant that there was still a lot of hope for us in the dating world. A regular PollyAnna that one. After a few contradictions to her hopeful comments I turned to her and asked her why she still had hope. "Shetsy, why do you still have hope?"

I waited, trying to imagine where she was possibly pulling this optimistic stance from. Certainly not from experience. She looked at me, smiled, and in a cheery voice said, "Shauri, in the next year a LOT of people are going to get divorced."

I have never been more simultaneously shocked and amused. I couldn't believe this a.) came from Shetsy, b.)was a reason for hope or c.)was the best she could do.

I did immediately jump on the bandwagon though and added, "That's right, and people are dying all the time too!" I figured if she took hope from divorce, death couldn't be far behind. Much like the Seinfeld characters who tracked obituaries to get apartments in the rough real estate market, we could track them for dates.

I repeat - Hope: To wish for something with expectation of its fulfillment. Confident desire. A feeling that something desirable is about to happen.

And I add - Shocking. On so many levels.

Editor's note: Shetsy will be appalled and strongly deny this event, as well as what she meant by it, but I am only reporting the facts as I heard them and Ms. Shoulson will concur that this conversation did happen as reported.

A Truth I hold to be self-evident

If someone asked me what my favorite holiday was, I would have a hard time answering. Halloween - check. Christmas - check. Thanksgiving - check. St. Patty's day, Memorial Day, April Fools Day and even May Day - check, check, check, delightful, yes - check. But the 4th of July? No. Uh-Uh.

It's such a sham. The concept is great - Independence. I mean I love America, and I'm even a huge fan of the Revolutionary War. It's my favorite war, if it's OK to choose wars you like. But here's what I hate:

1. Parades. Seriously? I cannot think of anything more boring than going out in 5 million degree heat to stand on the side of the road with the sweating, pulsing throngs of humanity bumpin' up against me to watch...what?? People carrying flags, high school band, a girl with a baton, the local elk club. Please. The only kind of parade you could drag me out to would be a parade of all the single, emotionally available, hetero men over the age of 30 living out here, and let's be serious - 5 people does not a parade make.

2. Barbecues. Great. Love these--but it ain't special to the 4th. You can do this any day.

3. Fireworks. Dumb. I'm sorry, because I know this will offend a lot of you, but what is all the HYPE about? I get why boys like them, because they like anything that makes loud noises, and that they can set fire to, but where is the thrill? I have lived in lots of places and seen a bajillion firework displays (including many in our nation's capital) and you know what, I'm going to call out the pink elephant in the room, they ain't all that great.

You again go fight millions of sweaty, nasty people, fight for a spot on the lawn and wait for hours for the big moment. And that's what it literally is - about one moment. They last a very short time, there are terrifying gun-crack noises every few seconds that send me face down on the ground covering my head every time, AND, they ALL LOOK THE SAME. Big bursts in the sky that are roundish, some with interesting shapes, that then fall to the ground in a spray. C'mon..are they really that thrilling or is everyone just afraid to speak out?

I'll tell you what, if they could shoot up in the sky, and then draw things like a giant forest, and then monkeys started swinging from the firework trees...now that'd be something Maude. And I'd be intrigued.

Anyway, that's it, that's the 4th- hot sweaty masses of people who go to parades and watch fireworks. It's OK, but it's definitely no May Day. I rather dance around a May Pole any day.

FAA - Food Addicts Annonymous

You know what sucks?

You can't lose weight unless you cut down the food you eat and you exercise. This is not a joke. And yes, it sucks, but what really, really, really sucks is the fact that I am just now - in my third decade of life mind you - just barely coming to terms with this fact. Maybe even accepting it.


I have spent many a year searching for the way that I could be thin and fit without doing those dirty words mentioned above. In vain. I've jumped on every new diet bandwagon (well, mostly - or at least studied them with reckless abandon) that came along. I'll be the first to read up on any new miracle drug or treatment. The billboard that promises to remove all your cellulite in one visit to the dr. - heck yeah - looked up that site online. That dove lotion that gets rid of cellulite? In my medicine chest. The miracle ab-roller - check. I mean put the words miracle and weight loss by any product and I'll snap it up. As long as I don't have to stop eating or lift a finger to expend any energy - hey, I'm in!

Do all of you understand that food is an addiction? I mean, I can't possibly believe that giving up ice cream and chocolate and half-starving to death is one bit easier than a coke head giving up coke. I don't understand why we don't have court ordered food rehab, because it is apparent that after hundreds of tries...I can't do it on my own!!! This is a cry for help to my government. (Especially if they will include some government dollars to fund my stay.) Do drug addicts or alcoholics relapse any more than dieters? I say, nay.

Anyway - I'm done. I'm giving up the ghost. I'm too old for deception, so I have finally committed to do what it takes, and can proudly announce that I have exercised 12 of the last 14 days, in some cases twice a day. I have cut my caloric intake to no more than 1400 a day. I am not weighing myself, so I have no idea if I've lost any l-b-s, but if in one month I'm not at least one dress size smaller, I will refuse for the rest of my life to give up the delicious food I adore so much AND I will be once again searching for products that proclaim "Miracle Weight Loss" while I do eat. Which by the way, will all be bequeathed to Gary in my last will and testament as he is the one person who already has his own place to store it. Right next to his own well-preserved collection of nutri-slim meals.

To Abram & Nan

Mostly Nan, since Abram never responded to my last shout out. I forgive you Abram, but I'd like to know you're as committed as when I left.

So...it most be addressed...The Bachelorette. I have to say, I was pleased with her choices, and not surprised to see Jeremy go. It was clear that she wanted him to be right so that she could have the "perfect life", but there's no way to avoid the fact that he has zero personality, he's way too intense and she might never laugh again if she stayed with him. Adieu.

Two more items to cover. One, who does she choose? I have never watched this show and felt as torn. They always set it up so you know who you want to win in the end - or at least who will be chosen. I am naturally more drawn to Jesse - he's funny, smart, down to earth, sporty and fun. He seems like the one she has more natural dialogue with. But dear, dear Jason. He finally relaxed a little this week and turned up his fun meter, so that was good. I don't find him as charming though. I feel like she likes Jason because she will get an insta-family and she loved how that felt and she is attracted to him. And frankly, I think there's some guilt involved with letting him go after the huge investment he made and what it means to him and his kid.

So who will it be? Who would you choose?

Last thing. Was that not the most outrageous Tell All yet? I mean, maybe even more dramatic than the weekly "most dramatic rose ceremony yet!" She was HARSH to those guys and girlfriend has a temper. Yikes. Seeing her on that show reminded me why I hated her when she was on the Bachelor. She lulled me into liking her with all that honesty crap. But I see you now Deanna - Oh yes, I see you.

I thought Graham handled himself very well compared to how she behaved. Little beast. Now I'm intrigued to see who will be saddled to her in the end. And I wouldn't be surprised if it's Jason cause I think we all know who would wear the pants in that relationship --- and girlie likes her some pants.