Dinner of the Dead

Sometimes when I'm at home by myself eating dinner I will suddenly start out of my deep thoughts (yes, I have them. Mostly about The Office) and realize, wow, I must have drifted off because it's so quiet in this house by myself.

I had a similar experience today. Only it was much, much more startling. I was sitting at the table lost in thought and silence when I suddenly started back to reality and gave a double start to see myself surrounded by giant, silent men.

Men that Wallace referred to as "a Redwood forest" upon first meeting. As in, "I feel like I"m surrounded by the Redwood Forest." I wouldn't be surprised if that was when they decided to shut down. I mean, nobody wants to be thought of as a Redwood tree. Do they?

Wallace thought we should have dressed up in our mime outfits to see if that would have helped facilitate the conversation. Maybe I'll try that next Thanksgiving.

I did attempt to make sweet potato pie at their request, and I am here to tell you...I failed. Well, mostly I failed on the crust. I saw players scraping the insides out of the crust and eating that. Here were some of the comments, "It's ok - it was your first try." and "You should just get the already made crust" and "Wow, this DRINK is really good." A drink I made by pouring cranberry juice and 7UP in to a pitcher. Now I know that the best food for this group is already made, processed or bottled or packaged food. I wish I had known that up front it would have saved a lot of time and effort.

A couple of the guys were very sweet and did thank me for a great dinner, but there were a handful of not so nice, not so grateful guys too. Travis said we should think of them as really pretty girls. The girls who don't have to develop personalities because they are so pretty. You can't talk if you ain't got nothin' to say.

Anyway, it was definitely a trip. I have never, never had trouble pulling people out and messing with them until they loosen up and talk....until yesterday. Wallace and I did have a good conversation with the guys who sat at our table finally about jail and polygamists which they were REALLY interested in, and we also learned that women in Croatia are really hot. Wallace made this comment to the Croatian player and he agreed wholeheartedly. She then asked what he thought about women in America, and I said, "careful you have 2 at the table" this didn't really phase him as he replied, "Ohhhh...they are alright I guess."

It was a quiet, quiet holiday, so I guess it was, in retrospect, very like a Hallmark Card as I suggested in my previous blog. Both are after all silent.

Cooking Turkey is Gross

Two nights ago I had a flash of either complete insanity, or overwhelming generosity. Since I know I'm not that generous, I think we can go with insanity. Which, by the way, was one of the pleas I could make in court for my ticket of running a stop sign. You have no idea how tempting it was when the judge asked, "what do you plead to this charge?" not to say, "Judge, I was clearly insane." It was really funny in my head, but this time the gatekeeper was strong, and I resisted. Judges don't tend to have good senses of humor I've noticed. I guess I learned from my "Did you see my dad's picture on the porn site?" comment when the gatekeeper was not active this time last year. See - I grow.

Sorry for the tangent. Back to this moment of insanity. After many puppy dog eyes and comments about nowhere to be on Thanksgiving, I offered to feed the entire Flash basketball team. I thought maybe other staff would split them up with me, but no one else seemed bothered by the fact that they were not having a turkey dinner. I think I have overactive guilt complex. Once again, I have to give thanks to Delsa for that one. (It just means you're nice mom. At least that's what I'm telling myself.)

Anyway, I have no idea how much ten 7' ball players eat, but I'm guessing it's a lot. I'm a little nervous about guessing on portions - but mom told me if I guess too little to just send them to McDonalds. I asked her if that's what she would do, and she said, "No. But I wouldn't guess wrong." Very helpful.

I'm also a little nervous because half of the food I'm making I've never made before, so I have no idea if it turned out or not. For example, sweet potato pie. Never done it. But these boys seem to think it's a Thanksgiving staple, so I made some for them. I have no idea if the pies are right. I also am making mom's caramel yams for the first time and Kristin and I both struggled with directions like "wait until it turns a tan color" There are so many shades of tan! And whether it should be runny or not. I mean, please, just a bit more specific for the Thanksgiving rookies. Here's the worst part though - THE TURKEY. I'm not even going there. After reading online how to do it, with instructions that included "Break the neck and pull out the giblets and tie back the wings" ugh - no way. Seriously the grossest idea ever. I'm buying a pre-cooked turkey -ready to go. I have no time for making that anyway. I've been cooking for 24 hours straight and still going.

Guests today will include 10 players, Travis, Me, and Wallace. I can't imagine a more perfect, traditional, Hallmark Card Thanksgiving. At least I know I will walk away from it with plenty of blog material.

Happy Turkey Day to All!

Ed Has Gout

And I'm also furious about the Bachelor. On many levels. But I'll come back to that.

Ok, let's talk about Ed and the Gout. For those of you who don't know, Ed is a co-worker. Apparently it's a big problem for him and he's been having a hard time getting it out there, and speaking publicly about it no matter how valuable it would be for him to educate the public. To help him with that first step, I told him that I would happily publish it for him on my blog and break the ice. I don't really understand the worry. He always tries to keep people away by putting on his Britney Spears headset--and it doesn't always work. With this blessing of a disease he simply has to put a sign over his desk that reads, "I have gout" and he'll get all the space he needs and wants. See image below:


The one thing I thought was a little strange was the fact that one of our clients and friends, Hannah of Holiday Inn Express fame, also has a strange and rare disease that few have heard of (sorry Hannah- had to be done) and the way that Ed finally figured out what they both were suffering from was his reading of the book Little Women. Yes, the little girl's classic. Can't you just imagine our 6'4" societally challenged (Elizabeth's words, not mine) friend curled up with a blanket, some candles (gardenia-scented) and his well-worn copy of Little Women? Oh - and his gout. It's cute.

So back to The Bachelor. I'm angry. The first step in any self-help program - admit you have a problem. And how you feel...angry. I admit that I shouldn't even watch such a stupid, trashy show. Yes, I am at fault, yes I am dumb. But please, please tell me that he did not represent the very man that is any spinster's worst nightmare.

I mean he has two great choices, he says he loves them and that he just can't make a decision. That when he is with one, he thinks of the other. What is that?? I think Chris said it best, "Any guy who can't choose one woman out of 25 beautiful women has a problem." Although, to the bachelor's credit, some of those 25 women tried to impress him with intriguing tricks like wrapping their legs behind their heads and doing break dance moves on the floor. Talk about societally challenged. Anyway I don't want to get distracted defending my nemesis.

So, not only can't he make a choice because neither one is "perfect" or "offers everything", but the most painful part for me is the fact that he actually had her dad fly out because he had every intention of proposing, and that he said he loved her and there was no reason he could identify why he couldn't go for it. WHY???? Please, please hand out some therapy as a take away gift for this fool. I don't know, there's a side of me that feels for him, but there is also a murderous rage boiling beneath the surface. I guess the big question is...why do I care about the bachelor? I would like to say I am quitting it, but I know it's a lie. I can't resist a good train wreck any more than the next gal.

One last thing before I let this go and focus on something important and real, like Ed's gout...I think the bachelor's punishment for breaking not one, but two girl's hearts should be that he is now forced to marry the pretzel twisted-wierdo bachelorette. Can I get an amen sisters?

While I'm on the subject of dating, let me just put it out there that I have officially been asked out on my first player-date. Not playa, but player. Well, I don't know, might be both.

Tonight as I was wrapping up filming the Flash meet and greet, one of the players approached me, sat down and rendered me (and this doesn't happen often) speechless with a casual, "So when are we going out?" As if we had discussed it before and were both planning on it. Being a silver tongued dating wizard, I said, "uh, ummm. uh...what?" Smooth as butter. He repeated the question, I sort of recovered and reminded myself that I could be his mother, and told him that I didn't think it was a good idea to mix business and pleasure....no matter how pleasurable going out might be. I also mentioned we wouldn't want it to cloud the bias of the documentary. I then gave him some great advice- I encouraged him to get some groupies like any good NBA bound fella. He said no thanks, he would bide his time. I imagine the invitation was more about him needing transportation, since he asked me last week if I would take him to Western Union. I haven't done that yet, and this could have been another clever way to get me there.

One last time, for Ed's benefit. He has the Gout.

You Can't Run from the Law - Part Deux

Speaking of running from the law, I've been doing a little bit of that myself. I spent the day in court yesterday in a plea bargain session.

Since I've been in this lovely state I've been pulled over twice. TWICE. In one week. I mean, doesn't law enforcement have anything better to do than pull over innocent, and hurried drivers? Clearly Utah needs to get a higher crime rate.

In the first "incident" I was pulled over by a woman. Clearly the WORST case scenario. I haven't had a ticket in over 10 years and that's not because I haven't been pulled over. Women are TOUGH. This one was no exception. She pulled me over because I ran a stop sign and didn't even care when I told her it was a genetic problem passed down from my mother. I never even noticed that sign. Then I told her I was lost and talking on my phone which is why I missed it. Bam! She threw the book at me for careless driving because apparently in Utah if you are talking on the phone when pulled over it's a problem. You can talk on the phone while driving, you just can't get pulled over while doing it. Basically, I got punished for telling the truth.

In court yesterday (I wasn't going down easy) they give you a chance for a plea bargain before your case is heard. I told the venerable prosecuter that I was not from Utah, didn't know of that law (which was a ridiculous law anyway) and shouldn't be punished. He said, "ignorance of the law is not an excuse for not abiding by it." Hello? Ignorance of the law is the best excuse for not abiding by it. We argued back and forth for a while about whether or not it was stupid and then finally we agreed to disagree. Turns out he is from Livonia, MI and a fan of the wolverines. We talked a lot about something we could agree on - how much we hated Ohio State - and then he agreed to cut the offense from a $300 dollar reckless driving offense to a $100 running a stop sign offense. I told him I still wasn't happy, but I would accept his offer. I'm sure the other plea-bargainers in the room were all suddenly Michigan fans too, but I didn't stick around to find out.

The moral of this story: Even when you feel like someone is letting you down all the time (the Wolverines) they can still come through for you in the clutch and in an unexpected way. Never give up the love. Think about it.

You Can't Run from the Law

I'm pretty sure we invented planes so we could stop riding buses.
Yesterday was the teams' pre-season game in Burley, ID. Apparently there is no way to fly to this location so we had to rent a Greyhound and pile on the bus. I assure you that while this is not particularly comfortable for me, it is even less comfortable for guys who are 7 feet tall. We left at around 2 pm and returned at 2 am. It was a long, long trip for a 2 hr game of basketball.

There are some things I like about the bus.
1. You can't fall 50,000 feet to your death. (Although the guy I sat next to at the game told me his college football bus caught fire once and exploded. But still, they got off right? Not depending on a seat cushion to save them or break their fall.)

2. You don't have to wait 20 min. before you can move about the cabin. Ok, I don't use this perk much, but hey, it's freedom.

3. You can watch movies. And the ones you select. Northwest is so cheap these days that you don't even get a movie on a cross-country flight.

4. Your seat reclines 3 inches instead of 2.

5. You don't have seat assignments and there is a wonderful sense of camaraderie. When everyone is awake.

6. When does a whole plane ever break out in gospel music? Answer: It doesn't. (See Gospel Bus blog.)

That's it folks. But I call that looking on the sunny side of life. Glass half full, that's the kind of girl I am.

I interviewed a couple players on the bus and asked them what they do in their off time. They said they go to IHOP and Walmart (both within walking distance of their apartments. They have no cars.) and when they really want to get crazy they go to McGraths fish restaurant. I asked if they went clubbing, and they said, "Have YOU found clubs in Provo??" They asked what I did for fun here (with a sad little hopeful expression in their eyes) and I said, "Pretty much IHOP and Walmart."

The other entertaining thing they told me were some of their misadventures as tall, black, men in the largely white Provo area. They said at night when they are WALKING to one of their hot spots, probably McGrath's, there have been a couple of times when cops have driven by and seen 6 huge black men walking together and literally broken their necks staring as they drive by. You can imagine the scene. Not just one black man (which would be huge in Provo) but six together walking at night by the freeway. James Lang (one of the players) told me the big debate between him and Lamar was whether to lay low or run if the cop stopped. I assured him his best bet was NOT running, but he would not be convinced. We were all laughing about it, but I'm not sure that type of event will retain it's charm for long. Good old Provo.

The Art of Dating addendum

I feel the need to clarify after KA's comment on my blog. I don't want any of you to mistakenly think that I believe the cookie ding dong ditcher isn't sweet. He is. I definitely think it's high time the tables were turned and guys started, I don't know, pursuing the girls and cooking for them, or whatever. I mean, It's the 21st century and all. Just saying, it's oddball for Provo. Really, really odd. And the really odd part was more the dodging a face to face and picturing a 32 year old man dropping off cookies and running for his life from my door. I'm sure it made quite an interesting sight for the neighbors!

The Art of Dating

Dating lately has felt a bit like I'm in a wierd-o parallel universe. I'm back in Provo where I dated as just a girl, fresh and new to whole experience. Since I've been here things have turned upside down. I recently had a guy ding-dong ditch cookies on my doorstep. First of all, that's the girl's domain in Provo. I remember guys with plates of goodies on their kitchen tables, all lovingly hand-delivered by hopeful young ladies. I've been informed that the guy who did this for me, "must be gay." Stands to reason. (Second of all - does it strike anyone else as odd that a 30-something year old man has to ding-dong ditch???)

I have been mistaken several times for a divorcee. Men cannot grasp that I can be at this ripe old age and not have children and papers. A couple have just assumed this fact upon meeting, and asked how many children I have. Dating at this age is all about show me pics of your kids and I'll show you mine. I've started carrying pictures of Travis and Garrett just to have something to show. It's odd to me that the normal assumption these days on the dating market is that you are divorced. It's a strange, new Provo.

After a couple of particularly unfortunate dates, I was telling my co-workers, Brian and Micah, that I had forgotten (while living in the dating desert of Michigan) how much I actually disliked the ritual.

Here's the thing. You have about a 1 in 10 chance of actually liking your date and wanting to see them again. That's 10% people!!! If someone told me that 1 out of every ten times I participated in water ballet that I would be glad I was doing it, but 9 of those times I would hate it, I would say, you know what? no thanks. I guess I'll try basketball or knitting - an activity where the odds of enjoyment are greater. I'm not a betting woman, but I understand playing the odds.

Brian and Micah helped me come up with a solution. After this many years of dating (I mean, you put in some serious investigative time before you reach the title of spinster) I have a pretty good idea of who I am and what I like. I know the kind of person I click with and I know who makes me crazy. I'm also a great question-asker. I learn a lot about people in a short amount of time.

So here's the plan. (Thank you Brian and Micah.) I really only need 15-20 minutes on a date. At dinner, I simply ask my usually hard-hitting reporter-woman questions and decide if we connect. If we don't, I save us both some time and trouble, by informing the waitress that my meal will actually be to-go, leave enough to cover my meal and thank my date for their time and trouble. It's a win-win. Look, I'm not a mercenary. I'm helping men to save their time and money too.

Lest you think I am an evil man-hater, I'm not. This was after all, not my idea, but the idea of two MEN. It's really just one on one speed dating, with the option of dinner thrown in if things go well. I'm also not a "trophy-husband hunter" as I was recently dubbed by someone I met one time and don't think highly of. I have given guys that normally would never be my type a chance, and tried to make it work. I've even been dumped by a couple of them. Which really kills you by the way... to be dumped by someone you were just trying to convince yourself to like. Anyway,whatever. I'm open. I'm just trying to make dating better for everyone.

My next flash of dating brilliance will involve kissing when you open the door and meet for the first time. It gives new meaning to "you had me at hello" and you figure out if the attraction is there before the date, potentially saving even more time and trouble. I got this idea from Travis and it seems to be working out really well for him.

Ghetto Slang

Being from the hood of Ann Arbor (Stonebridge specifically, or as my brothers dubbed it, "The BRIDGE" - Bomb-Riding-Illiterate-Dope-Gangstas - no "E" they're illiterate.)

I will freely admit that because of my upbringing, I am known to easily toss around the occasional dope, straight, or tiggity-tight bit of ebonic sweetness. It wasn't until yesterday though that I realized I am so much a part of my background, that the hood is indeed such an integral part of me, that I often do so without even realizing it.

We were wrapping up our final day of shooting (not the gun kind, lest I've confused you with all the hood-rat talk) when Noel, our project sponsor at LA Health Care came down to tell us thanks and goodbye. Let me set the scene. Brian, Micah and Nick (Root folk) are breaking down the last of the equipment on one side of the room, and I am standing at the other side of the room with Noel (the ethnically ambiguous LAHC boss), Karen Garman, (the white, 50 yr old consultant who sold LAHC this project), and Cherie (the African-American LAHC employee who was helping direct). Emily who was the project lead for LAHC found out her grandfather died that morning and was unable to be with us. I assumed with the funeral and what-not that she would be out of work for the next several days. Ok, so you've got the scene and the cast of playa's... I mean characters.

In the midst of my conversation with Noel, Karen and Cherie, I tell them that I will probably need to be in contact with them at the beginning of next week to finalize some details on a couple games, AND, "who should I contact, because I assume Emily will be OUT OF POCKET."

Noel looks at me with a baffled expression on her face and says, "What do you mean? What is this....out of pocket??" Now I'm confused. I can't figure out if she's joking or if she is speaking a foreign language or if I am on Candid Camera. (I'm hoping it's the last one, cause I'd love it if that show was back!) I then reply, "Ummm...what do YOU mean?" Karen looks a little confused too and all of a sudden Cherie jumps in and she says, "Oh, she doesn't understand you, cause that's Ghetto talk. Out of pocket is Ghetto slang." Noel looks a little less confused, because now she understands she SHOULDN'T get "out of pocket" she's not from the ghetto...like me.

At this point I am trying not to bust a gut, but at least I understand it's the phrase she is confused about and I explain that out of pocket is indeed my Ann Arbor Ghetto slang for unavailable, out of the office, or in some cases (not this one) really "tight" or "the bomb-diggity". As in, "Girl you are seriously out of pocket. Look at you in those jeans." Get it?

All was finally resolved, the project wrapped, and I am left incredibly relieved that Cherie was there to help bridge the gap between my crazy ghetto slang and Noel's ethnically ambiguous lifestyle away from the world of "street-cred."

** Editors note: I was just informed by one of my readers that this blog is confusing and that you can't tell if I was serious or not in thinking/writing that 'out of pocket' was ghetto slang. Let me clarify - NO. The thing that was so funny (and there's nothing funnier than trying to explain humor) was that it IS NOT ghetto slang, that the corporate boss lady thought it was, and that Cherie who the boss lady trusted as a ghetto slang spokesperson really thought it was too and believed she was clarifying the situation for everyone by saying it was. The whole thing was a bizarre English language fiasco. Somewhat like this post apparently.

Acting really IS a skill

Sometimes you think something is really, really funny and then you realize it's 1:00 a.m. This was not the case last night. Well, it was 1:00 am, but what we were laughing at in delirium last night, was still pretty funny today.

Yesterday, Brian, Micah and I spent 14 hours on set filming a compelling film about anthrax for LA County Health. It was a long, long day filled with a series of Twilight Zone-like mis-adventures.

It began with our arrival at the hotel Tuesday night. Brian was in his hotel room when he suddenly found himself in a crouching tiger hidden dragon stance as someone pulled a break and enter on his room. No damage done, except perhaps to the poor guy who came in like a lion and and left whimpering like a lamb, "Please, please, don't hurt me, I just want to check your room."

Micah didn't have a break in, at least not after he arrived...but he was pleasantly surprised by what can only be defined as impeccable hotel service. One of his beds was already made down and someone was even thoughtful enough to roll around in it and rumple it up a bit to make sure it was perfectly comfortable and ready for him. He was also excited to see towels in the sink and rather gently used bathroom facilities. Perhaps the best surprise though was the loose change scattered about for him so he could have a little treasure hunt. Now that's what I call a thoughtful touch!

So, that's how our journey began, but these little footnotes were not the cause of our giddy laughter last night. Oh, no, that was triggered by the lack of commitment to his craft of our second Guillermo (the father/husband) in our film. He bailed an hour before we were ready to roll and Brian was forced to step in to the role. He carried it off smashingly (He looks like a Guillermo, father of 3, que no? Si.) EXCEPT, yes except for when things got a bit steamy on screen.

The actress playing Maria (Guillermo's wife) bore a striking resemblance to Catherine Zeta-Joes. Brian spent most of the morning commenting on how attractive she was. Just as a casual, purely platonic observer of course. I mean he is a newlywed after all. This was all before he knew that soon he would hold the coveted role of her beloved.

There's a scene where Maria comes home from work and Guillermo/Brian is sitting at the kitchen table with his mother in law. Maria, who is a very warm woman, comes walking in and naturally moved to greet her husband in a casual, well-acted, happily married way, but I kept noticing on camera that she would suddenly freeze just a foot or so before she got to Brian and then as Brian sat rigidly like a deer in headlights she would abruptly turn to her mother and hug her.

I finally called this strange phenomenon out and mentioned that they didn't seem very natural. Their interaction felt like a really uncomfortable first date. The only thing missing was Brian giving her a high five. Maria totally agreed - she said she kept thinking when she was in the "role" that she should go and hug her husband, but as soon as she got close and caught his eye she would stop because he looked so uncomfortable and terrified. I told them to relax and try to get in to their roles, that Maria should walk in and just kiss Brian on the forehead as she greeted her mother while Brian yelled for the kids to be quiet. Sounds simple right?

It wasn't. We had no idea the depth of Brian's teen crush or the impact it would have on his ability to act. As she walked over for take one, and bent to kiss Brian on the head, he raised his arms at a right angle to embrace her in a very stiff manner, only to recognize that in his position - seated below her - (at about eye line with her chest) positioning was a bit awkward. He just sat stiffly while she kissed him and gently, and repeatedly patted her hips with a frozen smile on his face.

All who were treated to the pleasure of this scene, completely lost it at this point, including the children. After this display we were forced to agree on two things. 1. Acting really is a skill and 2. Brian should just let Maria do all the touching and save his awkward pats for his lucky wife.

I am to be famous

I have many a story to share, but little time to write, so I thought I would share a delicious little nugget with you, my loyal readers (aka Kristin) until I can get serious and spill some SERIOUS dirt.

Tuesday was the Flash Media Day and I was set up with an interview room, ready to grab some of the players and interview them for the documentary. I was interviewing one kid (Tyree) from USC and we talked for quite a while. In the middle of it, this 7'1" player that the Utah Jazz sent down to play for the Flash, walked in the door and plunked himself down right behind where I was interviewing and just sat there stretching. I thought it was odd, since I hadn't asked him to come in to the room and there were local TV stations outside waiting to interview him. (he is the most famous player. I call him Fez because he told me I cannot pronounce his full name.)

When I finished interviewing Tyree, I turned and saw Fez still sitting there stretching his gi-normous legs. I asked, "Ummm, Did you want me to interview you?" He replied, "Yes. Of course." In other words, Doi. (I love the word doi.)

He proceeded to tell me, "You interview long time. You have much to say. I like keep short." I told him I would do my best. I started to ask him questions and was met with disdainful reply after disdainful reply.

Shauri: Are your parents staying in Russia?
Fez: Who is from Russia?
Shauri: Ummm..I mean, the Ukraine.
Fez: Yes you are correct. It is the Ukraine.
Shauri: Will your parents stay there?
Fez: Yes. I will like them there.
Shauri: How are the living conditions in the Ukraine?
Fez: unintelligle russian/ukrainian mubling
Shauri: Huh?
Fez: I said, the cheese in the moustrap never is free.
Shauri: Ahhhh...ummm... ok. (thinking)
Fez: I want one thing only. I am to be famous. I do not want fans, just I am famous. I will only win, I will be famous and I will also be actor.
Shauri: Interesting. So are you going to L.A.?
Fez: No. I will NEVER go to LA as long as there is Kobe Bryant in that place. I hate Kobe Bryant.
(so basically we agree on one thing. Well, Kobe and the mousetrap, so two.)

And so on. I was eventually told by the PR guy to wrap it up because important people (not me) were waiting to talk to Fez, but when I said, "I think we're being to told to wrap it up so you can talk to others" He said, "Let them wait. I go when I am ready. YOu will interview me." Hello.

He's a trip. And humongous. I was scared if I stopped interviewing him he might squash me like a bug. Which by the way I mentioned to a 6'11" guy at camp. As in, "You must just look down at me and think, I can squash her like a bug." Answer, "Yes."

Every day is a magical adventure.