Crushing It

I have recently undergone a fairly radical mindset shift about dating. It started with a friend sharing this great article. I strongly recommend reading the whole article, but it can be summed up with what the author dubs The Law of "Fuck Yes or No":

The Law of “Fuck Yes or No” states that when you want to get involved with someone new, in whatever capacity, they must inspire you to say “Fuck Yes” in order for you to proceed with them.

The Law of “Fuck Yes or No” also states that when you want to get involved with someone new, in whatever capacity, THEY must respond with a “Fuck Yes” in order for you to proceed with them.

The article led me to a revelation that I do a pretty good job of applying "Fuck Yes or No" to most aspects of my life, but not so much with dating. I've been taking it far too seriously for my intended end goal. I needed to consider what I really do and don't want, what makes me say "Fuck Yes!" and what makes me say "Fuck No!" I am relearning to have fun with no expectations of anything beyond the moment. Guess what? It works. Before I continue, I would like to, as always, offer apologies to my mother for the remainder of this post. Love you, Mom! 

Here's the deal: I've spent the past year and a half not looking for a relationship, but essentially vetting potential suitors as though I were. If I'm not looking to have a boyfriend hanging around and don't plan to introduce the dude to my friends and family, it's just inefficient to invest a bunch of time trying to learn if we're compatible. Right? Frankly, I really won't care how many siblings you have or what your middle name is until I know that there's a reason for me to remember those things. Short of meeting your family (which means that I have agreed to be in a relationship), I can almost guarantee that I'll forget anyway. If I'm probably not going to see you more than a couple times, is it worth wasting my energy with useless trivia? Fuck no! Sure, a gal has to protect herself and try to learn something about a guy, but girlfriends, text messages, Google, and GPS offer a nice level of security for stepping out of your comfort zone.

So where does this revelation leave me? Frankly, closer to the one night stand than I care to admit. Only I just did. Publicly. On the internet. You know what? Fuck it. Am I having fun? Fuck Yes! The universe agrees with me, as it chose to wake me with this today:

Too early to get anything on, but a nice thought to start the day.

Totally not trying to brag here, but MathMercy has been crushing this single lady thing recently. The short list:

1. A guy tells me that he's had a crush on me for years and offers to get a hotel room real quick. I am super flattered but refuse because he has a lovely family life and I don't think he really wants to jeopardize that. Later that night, I start to regret my decision (What do I have to lose? Nothing!) and think I should call him, but my cell phone battery is dead. Thank goodness. At least I won't have that on my soul if there is ever a day of reckoning. 
2. In a one-time departure from our normal friendly routine, a former crush of mine told me that I "kiss like a porn star." Best compliment ever! If only there were some sot of dating resume' - you can bet I would include that comment under "References."
3. Can't believe it took this long, but I received my first ever "DTF?" message the other day. I really wish I could say that I instantly shut it down. Alas, the flesh is weak, so I entertained the thought. I thought to myself, "I don't know. Maybe I am DTF." That actually happened in my own brain! The horror! So instead of shaming the guy or ignoring the message, I commend him on his frankness and tell him I would probably need to meet over a drink or something first so I could at least pretend that it was spontaneous. He has not responded yet. Perhaps it was the first time he's actually received a reply to that message and he just doesn't know what to do with it.
4. Apparently, I am DTF. This guy and I had been talking about meeting somewhere for a first date in a couple days, but then he dared me to just come over to his condo that night instead. I thought about it for a few minutes, said "Fuck Yes" to myself, sent the plan and address to my girlfriend (who promptly started internet stalking the location), and went on my way. During my short time in the dude's gorgeous condo, I officially became a cougar. I think. What's the age difference criteria on that, anyway?

Witch Update
I believe I have discovered the almost completely useless purpose for my apparent witch powers. You know how MathMercy's witchy self channeled Heidi Klum to sing her "Happy Birthday" last week? Well, I don't think it was for me. The next morning, I was texting with a friend who is not on Facebook and wasn't able to make it to Rob's memorial. It got me thinking about another old friend who is not on Facebook and I really don't want to lose touch with, so I sent a "thinking of you" message to him. A minute later, this friend called me to chat and thank me for calling him on his birthday. I probably spent about five minutes accusing him of being a liar before I became (mostly) satisfied that he was not just fucking with me. Later that day, I asked a mutual friend to confirm if it was really the first friend's birthday. The response was something along the lines of a hearty thanks for reminding her that it was indeed first friend's birthday.

So there you have it. Apparently, I am a witch with the particular skill of sensing birthdays that are not posted on Facebook. Hopefully, there will be a day soon when all of my Luddite friends join the Facebook crowd so everyone will know their birthday and there is no longer a need for my powers. Until then, MathMercy, Agnostic Mathematician will be polishing her crystal ball.

Catching Up

I've been out of the blogosphere for months. There has been lots to write but I was just too busy and then there was more to write but then I was busier...and then I was reminded that there is nothing worse than missing the chance to say the things that need to be said. For more on that, please check out the new Remembering Rob page I have added to the blog. I will just be adding new entries to the bottom of that page and may not announce updates, so just check back if you're missing Rob. (It might notify you of updates if you "follow" the blog, but I really have no idea.)

This post shall serve as my MercyDates catch up post. It was originally going to include a whole potpourri of holidays and friends and family and football and philosophy, but I think it's easier to just go back to the basics. In other words: can MathMercy get a date? 

I was about to say that I haven't been dating so there's not much to report, but since I haven't written anything about dating for about half a year, I do have some things to tell. I guess the best way to catch up is to give a little run-down of the methods I have employed since we last met.

Tinder

I believe the last dating method I mentioned here was Tinder. Here's the thing about Tinder. Plain and simple, it's a hook-up app. I was enchanted by the mutual consent to communicate aspect, but when you get right down to it, it's a hook-up app. That's fine if you're looking for that, and I'll admit at the time, I kinda was. (Don't you dare judge me. MathMercy has needs that hadn't been met for a while.) However, the only guy I saw more than once turned out to be, in a word, creepy. 

Tinder Guy was super cute, had a really cool job (verified by Google!), was smart, artistic, a great conversationalist, and a good kisser. The only drawback after our first date was that his divorce wasn't final yet, so he was technically still a married man. He was separated, though, so I decided to let that be his problem, not mine. A few days after our third or fourth date, he sent me a text and asked if I would be willing to lock him in chastity. I had no idea what that meant, so he explained that it meant he wanted to give me the key to a lock around, um, his junk. I'm not sure if the lock is to prevent the guy from starting or finishing, but he said it would allow him to devote himself to my pleasure and be my slave. Let me stop right here and tell you that the most I had done with Tinder Guy up to this point was give him a massage. I do give a damn fine back rub but I'm not sure that it's good enough to merit someone becoming my own personal slave. Maybe, though. I probably need lots of hunky men with sore backs to test out just how magic these hands are. ;)

I wish I could say that I ran screaming from that conversation right away. I really, really do, but I have to be completely honest in my blog confessional. In my defense, I've been out of the game for so long...for all I know, this might be considered a semi-normal part of the courtship ritual these days. I mean, 50 Shades of Grey put S&M and soft-core porn in the hands of millions of bored housewives and PTA moms for heaven's sake. I decided I needed to bring this to committee. I presented the proposal to my Vegas traveling companions and asked what they thought. On the one hand, oh my gosh holy shit SO WEIRD, right? How many keys was Tinder Guy handing out to Tinder dates that he barely knows anyway? On the other hand, it had been a long time since I'd had a man offer to do anything I wanted him to do. Maybe he just meant he would come over and change light bulbs, take the trash out to the curb, cook, clean my house naked (except for the junk lock of course), and then go home. If I'm being completely honest, that wouldn't be so bad. (I'm laughing right now, remembering how Rob always talked about finding a "houseboy" to come live in our apartment and do exactly that for us. He would have been so proud.) I decided such an arrangement would require some sort of contract stating that I held the only key, and such a contract was way more commitment than I wanted with anyone. Done with Tinder Guy. Done with Tinder.

OK Cupid

After leaving Tinder, I decided to give OK Cupid a try. I know four happy OK Cupid couples, including two weddings I've attended in the past year, so why not give it a shot? The basic account is free like Plenty of Fish and Tinder, but what sets it apart from those sites is that you answer roughly a zillion questions to try to get a perfect match using some fancy algorithm. Trying to find the end of the questions became like a game to me during the first week or two, which meant I was on the app a lot. I got lots of hits, went on dates with a few different guys who turned out to be as good at blowing people off as I am.

The most recent disappearing paramour was really cool. We had a pretty hot text flirtation going for a couple weeks, and when we finally had our first date, we hit it off right away. We had a great time each time we met and things were progressing pretty rapidly. After our 4th or 5th date, he started texting less frequently. He said something about a family emergency taking him back to Texas for a week...and then another...and then he stopped initiating text messages...and then I figured that either he was honestly way too busy for me or I was getting the world's longest and most passive aggressive blow-off. Either way, I'm out.

After that experience, I just wasn't inspired to invest any more energy in trying to meet or get to know someone through the site anymore. I still log on every now and then to read messages that have been sent to me, but none have caught my attention and I'm no longer browsing for a date. In summary, I'm so glad that I know so many happy couples who met through the site, but for me, OK Cupid was just OK. Turns out that just OK is just not enough to combat my short attention span and lazy tendencies.

The Pick-Up and The Set-Up
Outside of online dating, I have tried some more traditional methods of meeting a date: the Pick-Up and the Set-Up. The Pick-Up happens when a middle-aged divorcee unexpectedly finds herself out with a crazy friend on a Saturday night and decides to see if she can do the Pick-Up. She can. I don't know why I feel the need to defend the last shred of my questionable honor here, but I do: It only happened once.

The Set-Up is actually very sweet, but impractical. The Set-Up is a date arranged and chaperoned by a concerned mother playing matchmaker. My first matchmaker was my friend's Jewish Russian mother (it doesn't get more perfect than that!), who dated me and her sweet Russian friend. The second matchmaker is my mother's friend, who dinner party dated me and her cute psychiatrist neighbor. I like the idea of having someone else vet a potential date for me and be there to keep the conversation flowing, but then the matchmaker mom becomes a middle-man mom and it's probably awkward if the dude isn't actually that into me...or needs the mom as a translator. Anyway, the Set-Up hasn't resulted in any second dates for me.

Lowered Expectations
Remember this from Mad TV?

Sigh. I joined a professional matchmaking service, a service that happens to include filming a video profile. I'm not proud of it, but you have to admit that it is the logical next step in my journey. I have actually paid money for someone else to find me potential dates for the next three years. That is the epitome of laziness.

Here are all my ridiculous rationalizations: I may not be looking for a husband, but nor do I want to be a crazy cat lady spinster in my forties. They plan activities for me. All the members are pre-screened with credit and criminal background checks as a condition for membership, so dudes are (theoretically) the same as represented by their profile and photos, and all the photos are taken in-house by a professional photographer. Even if I don't get a single date out of the membership, I could justify it by saying that I just paid a butt-load of money for my first ever Glamour Shots, which could possibly be a business expense if instead of dying of embarrassment I decide to run off and become an actress in the next year. The photographer did a great job and my friend had transformed me with a curling iron and makeup brushes, so I'm willing to say the photos alone are worth it.

Ok, are you ready for the real punchline? It turns out the company was formerly known as Great Expectations, the same one spoofed by Mad TV. I have truly Lowered Expectations. Hilarious!

  

Online Dating Advice

According to this article I just read, men on dating sites apparently feel exactly the same way about women on dating sites that I feel about men on dating sites. You should totally read it if you are dating: http://www.xojane.com/sex/online-dating-advice. In addition to advice on setting up an effective profile, there are also good tips for initial contact and first dates.

Mostly, though, I like the article because it shows that my refusal to "swipe right" for anyone whose pictures are too professional or filtered or Photoshopped or full of other people or blurry does not necessarily mean that I am a horrible person. Like the article says, "Life is short so stop wasting time." Here's the deal: my time is way too precious to be wasted clicking through multiple photos to decide if you're cute. I may be a tad bit shallow and narcissistic, but I am not a horrible person - I'm just busy. Right? Right? Hello? Is this thing on?

Online Dating, Take 2.

Labor Day weekend has been lovely in an "I'm not doing anything" sort of way. However, as much as I relish early bedtimes and sleeping in for up to two hours past my alarm time, it occurs to me that I'm slipping back into my hermit shell a bit. With a new school year starting this week, I'm about to be super busy with work and the tendency to hide from the world will only get stronger as the days get shorter. I need to shake things up and force myself to (ugh) meet people. So this morning I woke up and said, "Hey, MathMercy, things are pretty mellow right now. Why not try to complicate your life? Shouldn't you be dating?" 

A quick peek at Plenty of Fish showed me what I've been missing in my absence: I already saw all the lonely fish in the Seattle sea months ago, and I'm still not trying to catch any of them. Time for something new, right? So, partly to challenge myself to be more social, but mostly to provide entertainment for this blog, I joined a new dating site. A little online research led me to - wait for it - Tinder.

I have been reluctant to try Tinder because the name is so close to Grindr and I have no use for a hookup app for gay men. However, one of my girlfriends has been using the app fairly successfully for a while and I was intrigued by the model. Basically, no one can contact you unless you both "swipe right" to indicate interest in the other party. No creepy stalkers and no hurt feelings is pretty appealing. The other thing that's different is that you don't really build a profile with Tinder. Instead, it accesses your Facebook profile photos and "likes" to build your profile.

That last bit took me a while to accept. The app tells you it won't ever post to Facebook, but how do I know that some creepy guy can't start contacting my friends? Luckily, I ran across a real life friend on Tinder (and made sure to mark the little swipe right heart instead of the x so we could joke about the dating experience together - as long as he swipes right too...) and saw that the only things I see from his Facebook profile are our mutual friends and mutual likes. Okay. So far so good. None of my friends needs to know that I'm on Tinder...Unless, of course, I blog about it.

My first observation of note is that somehow this feels more organic than scrolling through carefully crafted (or not so much) dating profiles. As superficial as it seems, judging somebody purely by the photos and common interests that they share with their friends feels a bit more like seeing somebody across a crowded room and venturing over to find out more about them.

My second observation is that when I know that the other person will never know that I clicked "Nope", I am much more judgmental than I might be otherwise. Of course, there is a lot less to judge, so maybe I'm not a terrible person. If I can't run through my typical checklist (car, job, height, sentence construction, etc) the only thing left to judge is the photo, right? The shirtless torso pic at the gym or in front of the bathroom mirror is suddenly elevated to super douchebag status when you realize it was either a Facebook profile photo (can you imagine?) or deliberately added to the Tinder app. Either way, eww.

I have actually marked a few "likes" and been rewarded with "matches" today, which is a boost to my confidence. In fact, I am about an hour and a half away from my first date in months.

The fun game-like aspect of swiping left or right has made way for reality. Suddenly, I am wracked with jitters. I don't know anything about this guy except that he has a couple cute pictures and he's in the Coast Guard. What if he hates kittens? Or cheese? Or sunshine? Worst of all, what if he's as short as I am? I'll just take a deep breath and remind myself I'm doing it for the blog. It's all about attitude, right? Right. I can do this! Maybe it will even be fun. I'm not shaving my legs though; that's more like second or third date territory. Wish me luck!

All the Good Ones...and the Bad Ones Too

You know that saying that all the good guys are gay or married? Well, a recent string of poor judgement calls has me declaring that all the good ones are gay or married, and all the bad ones are unavailable and finding (or being found by) me.

Ladies: Do you have a boyfriend? He might not be cheating on you, but there is an extremely high probability that he is at least thinking about it and/or trying to. Sorry to be so blunt, but you deserve to know. We should stick together. Sisters before misters. Chicks before...you get the point. Ba-dum-bump.

Fellas: When a clueless lady finally realizes that you are coming on to her but she doesn't want to get in yet another awkward situation so she asks you if you have a girlfriend before the petting gets any heavier...um, a fiancee definitely qualifies. This might be your opportunity to save your future marriage, if not your immortal soul. Take it.

I can't claim credit for this, but I totally own it: I am not a Jew. I am Jew-ISH. In a nutshell, I love animal print and shiny things, and I find that the language of my father's people (eastern European Jews) can be particularly descriptive sometimes. Here's your Yiddish lesson. What the fuck, schmuck?!? If you want to commit to being in a relationship with another person, make that commitment. Mazel tov! May you both live happily ever after. If you want to shtup other people, though...just be single. It's not that hard. Nothing pisses me off more than cheating - be it in school, life, or a relationship. And involving me in it?! Feh. The chutzpah! MathMercy's moral compass doesn't swing that way, putz. Oy vey. 

I feel like the poor schnook that is engaged to the putz deserves to know what she's getting into before she says her vows. On the other hand, MathMercy's basic m.o. is to avoid drama in all forms, and it seems like major drama would ensue if I were to track this poor creature down and tell her. What would you do? Would you find a way to warn someone that they are about to marry an unfaithful shmendrik, or would you just let it go and assume that she'll find out on her own?

There are other dating options if I care to pursue them. It seems that when I go out lately, I attract the attention of bouncers. I have a couple calling me for dates but I'm just not interested. So why give them my number at all? Good question, smarty pants. I guess because I'm always flattered when anyone asks, I don't really believe they'll call, and mostly because with cell phones instead of matchbooks it's a lot harder to get away with transposing a couple digits and I'm a terrible liar. So I just put them off for a while, then schedule totally harmless lunch dates, put in a couple hours, and scurry on home.

Another option is to take my dog to a street carnival and have my pick of the ladies. Here is a picture that represents only a fraction of the love that my girl got from random women at last weekend's Georgetown Carnival.

People were actually tracking me down: "Is this Lola? My friend/daughter/sister was telling me about her!" The men who stopped to pet her were from two camps: gay or Schipperke owner (probably married). All the ladies, though, were all over her. Total chick magnet. Lesbian friends: let me know if you need to borrow her for an afternoon. In the meantime, I'm just going to stay home and work on perfecting my meshuggeneh cat lady shtick. Shalom.

My Time

Are you freakin' kidding me? I've only been 40 for a day. Give a gal a minute to settle in.

Real-World Problems

One of my jobs, the one for which I am certified and the one that is my calling, is Math Teacher. When I was offered a full-time position as a professional Data Jockey, I accepted for the salary (after doing the math, it was virtually impossible to say "no'), but I kept a part-time position as an online math teacher so I could still feel like I was performing my math mitzvah. Teacher discounts at office supply stores, craft stores (Michaels!), and J. Crew are just an added perk. Teachers: Here's a list of all the other teacher discounts that you didn't know existed: http://www.giftcardgranny.com/blog/the-complete-list-of-66-teacher-discounts/.

This year, I switched my Algebra 2 and Geometry classes to a Common Core curriculum. Much of the CC content is the same as our previous curriculum, but one major improvement is the quality of the written assignments. Our old curriculum had a single written assignment at the end of each unit, consisting of 20 five-point problems that were basically just straight computation tasks. The new CC problems, though, are far more interesting and teach valuable life lessons. Here are a few of my favorites: How to locate keys accidentally dropped off leaning towers in Pisa, Montreal, or Abu Dhabi; securing a sponsor and entering a sailboat race in San Francisco or Australia; how to make a 3-D printer profitable; calculating the largest TV that you can buy based on your car's trunk size; and being a crime scene investigator. Regarding that last one: No worries. The cow wasn't injured and the driver who swerved to miss her on Highway 2 passed a field sobriety test. Even if you aren't a math geek, you have to admit that these Real-World Problems are kind of fun, right? Right? At the very least, you must agree that they are more interesting and teach more relevant skills than "calculate the volume of a sphere with a circumference of 50π."

Written tasks can be a great way for students to demonstrate a plethora of skills and conceptual understanding...provided that the problems are well-written, engaging, and complex enough to justify a student's written explanation. I know my math teacher friends can attest to how difficult it is to actually create a good problem, so here are a couple of my own to help you out. Feel free to adapt and use them in your own classrooms/lives. Have fun!


1) MathMercy's firewood guy called her out of the blue to ask her out on a date. (Perhaps he felt guilty for delivering the firewood that she was carrying when she tripped and landed on her face back in December.) MathMercy remembered that he was a nice guy and she didn't have anything else going on that afternoon, so she agreed to coffee and a chat in the park. During their conversation, Firewood Guy mentioned that he came from a very tall family, and that at 6 feet 8 inches tall, he wasn't even the tallest. MathMercy comes from considerably shorter stock, and just happens to be the shortest in her short family, at only 5 feet 2 inches tall. Although she is used to being the shortest person in a group, she is pretty sure she has never met anyone quite that tall. She wonders what it would be like to always be looking down at people instead of looking up at them. a) How does MathMercy's height compare to Firewood Guy's height? b) How tall is someone who is proportionally shorter than MathMercy? c) MathMercy's neck is getting sore from looking up all the time, and she realizes that if she places a mirror in just the right spot between herself and Firewood Guy, they can hold a conversation by looking down at each other's reflection in the mirror. If the mirror is 5 feet 2 inches away from Firewood Guy, what must be the distance from the mirror to MathMercy? 

2) MathMercy has observed that the more of something she wants, the less she gets, and the less she wants, the more she gets. Identify the type of variation and sketch a graph demonstrating the relation.

I have created a different sort of problem for myself that I am, unfortunately, unable to convert to an equation and solve. Probably shouldn't say anything, but if I don't it will feel like I am harboring some sneaky activity that I shouldn't be messing with. I agreed to let my ex take my dog and me out to the park a couple of times. I thought it would be harmless if I stood my ground and gently but firmly kept it at a purely platonic, non-romantic level. Maybe we can just be friends, right? Wrong. He isn't ready and I'm not equipped to keep shutting him down. It's too much...I don't know...feeling about something I simply don't feel.

Just to complicate (or perhaps simplify?) things: I have been quite honestly telling the ex that I really just like first dates and that I have no desire to date anyone consistently. Then, I end up meeting someone that I am really looking forward to seeing again. Stupid universe! And that's enough about that. 

Playoff Dates

I could not be more excited that the Seahawks are going to the playoffs with home field advantage. Scratch that. I could be more excited if I were going to a playoff game. Tickets went on sale at 10am this morning. I set my alarm, pointed two laptops and my phone to the Ticketmaster site, grabbed my debit card, and started refreshing the page at 9:50am. No dice.

Once I accepted the fact that I was not going to be able to obtain tickets, I consoled myself by purchasing one of these limited edition Super Seahawks t-shirts. Here's the link so you can get one of your very own: teespring.com/superseattleseahawks.

Back to the tickets. Plan A was a bust. Plan B would be to spend all afternoon at the stupid mall on Monday in the hopes of purchasing a $10 lottery ticket for the chance to win a playoff game prize package. I'm not really the waiting in line type and I've already scheduled a daytime date with my friend T to see Anchorman 2, so Plan B probably won't happen.

...Which brings me to Plan C. Would it be totally unacceptable to change my POF profile to read: "I will date you for a playoff ticket. No ticket = No date"? Before you pipe up, you have to at least hear me out. I literally couldn't be more honest. I would have no ulterior motive, unlike the majority of online dating profiles, which are basically thinly veiled requests to get in someone's pants. Why make someone wade through a whole long description of myself and my criteria for a date when, really, the only thing that matters to me is the football game? They don't even have to like me, and I don't have to like them! What's three hours sitting next to a stranger in the loudest place on earth, right? I suppose I would have to bring something to the table other than my sparkling conversation to make the deal happen, though. Maybe a super sweet Super Seahawks shirt would sweeten the pot? Yeah, probably not.

P.S. I hate to ask, but if you enjoy my blog, would you consider sharing it or becoming a follower by email? I hate to keep posting on Facebook because it feels like I am forcing it on ALL of my friends. Thanks, and Happy New Year!

Finding Joy, Lonely Boys, Being Coy (with Koi)

My family has told me a few times over the past few months that they feel like they finally have the real ME back. Somehow it feels important to try putting words to what has been missing, now that I am beginning to truly understand what they mean. Please forgive me if I ramble for a while. 

A big part of the ME that has been missing for the past 13 years (one third of my life. Wow.) is the feeling, passionate ME. I think my ex was embarrassed by me and any displays of intense emotion (good or bad). I wasn't aware that I was actively hiding anything during the course of my marriage, but I was definitely cautious about spilling too much emotion. It isn't healthy to stifle so much, especially for a Gemini who is supposed to be moody! In my quest to rediscover myself, I have been trying to focus a lot on what makes me happy. One of those things is Christmas.

I love Christmas. I'm not like a snowman-displaying, tacky-sweater-wearing Christmas lady, but I love the traditions, baking, feelings of joy and goodwill and giving, lights...I especially love Christmas lights. I am super sappy in the glow of multi-colored Christmas lights. I have seriously spent time trying to imagine how I could live surrounded by Christmas lights year-round without moving to a trailer park. I haven't found the solution yet, but I am working on it. One possibility is moving to Las Vegas. According to this New York Times quiz, I speak most like people from Las Vegas, so I should fit right in. 

Back to Christmas. This year had the potential to be a really shitty one, as it was my first Christmas ever without family, husband/boyfriend, or roommate. I had just visited my parents for a big family Thanksgiving (another favorite holiday, but I will save that for another day), so going back a month later didn't seem feasible. Instead of staying home and opening presents from my family alone, I renewed my love of Christmas by establishing new traditions with my first, best Seattle friends and their families. We spent the holiday in the most Christmas-y town south of the North Pole, Leavenworth, Washington. It's a quaint mountain town that was remade as a Bavarian village in the 1960s, and the perfect place to get Christmas spirit.

Leavenworth with my Seattle family was restorative, magical, joyful. We saw a live nativity on Christmas Eve that had real goats, a real donkey, and even a real baby Jesus. We all laughed - and I'm still giggling as I write this - about how one of the shepherds slipped on the icy grass and muttered "Jesus!" as he went down. We went sledding, played games, sang, danced, relaxed, and opened gifts together. There were no schedules, no stress, no getting to any in-laws' houses by a certain time...just good, quality family/friend time. The lights were incredible. I took some pictures, but there is no way to really capture how gorgeous it was. You just have to experience it for yourself, and you should. 

Panorama of Front Street, Leavenworth

I hope that you felt nothing but joy this holiday season. There were at least seven lonely boys looking for love on Christmas night. That's how many "so-and-so wants to meet you" messages I received from POF. I'm figuring out that Friday nights and holidays are hot cruising times in the online dating world. I haven't spent any time on the site for a couple weeks, but my phone starts blowing up with "meet me" messages on Friday nights and, apparently, Christmas. Must remember to turn the phone off on New Year's Eve. 

While talking with my mother the other day, I realized that I should clarify a tiny detail about this blog in regards to dating. For the most part, I am only writing specifics about the Plenty of Fish fishies that I would never date. So, to my mother and anyone else who may be concerned: I will not be dating any headless torsos wearing nothing but their underwear, nor will I be dating any car-less, unemployed gangsters. 

Having explained that, I can tell you that the dating is going fine, thank you very much. In fact, it might be going a little too well. I have had a few dates that I am not blogging about because I would prefer to keep them private for now. Until these dudes do something stupid to piss me off or creep me out, I will only refer to them in the broadest terms.

There is one Gemini fishy who has been sending me little "good morning" messages and flirty "how's your day?" texts every day since our date two weeks ago. I have to admit, I don't hate the attention. He is definitely second date-worthy, but I've been putting him off while I check out a situation with a different Gemini. The only thing I'll say about Gemini #2 is that he is the only fishy I've seen more than once, and I'm meeting with him again tonight. Oh, and another little fishy called me last night (on the telephone! Isn't that cute?) to ask for a second date. Crazy, right?

When I started dating, I sort of imagined every date would be a one-time deal where both of us knew right away if there was chemistry worth pursuing; but probably it would be a train wreck and it would be obvious to both parties that we would not be going out again. It honestly didn't occur to me that any of the fishies would ask me out a second time. I was fine going on first dates with more than one guy because first dates are more like interviews than dates. However, I feel a bit guilty seeing more than one dude in second date territory. Ack! Pressure! Christmas week gave me a nice break to avoid dealing with it, but I'm probably going to need to learn how to juggle in the next week or so. Since I am a total klutz (refer to the early December posts), I can't wait to see how this turns out.

I'm No Gangster

Oh my gosh. To the Crip throwing gang signs whose dating profile reveals that he uses drugs "often", has no job or car, is looking for a lady with a car, her own apartment, and her own party supplies, especially a jacuzzi...I am SO not interested. In response to your first question, Yes, I do like to party, but I don't think we like the same kind of parties. Oh, and I am NOT your baby. I tried to be polite in my first message, but I'm about ready to send the "Dude. It is NEVER going to happen" email. If I knew of the OG dating site, I would totally refer you, but for now, just know that you are way too G for me.

The Flirtation Mix

When was the last time you actually flirted? Not like a giggle-at-the-cute-guy-at-the-coffee-shop type of flirt, but a deliberate flirt-at-someone-in-particular kind of flirt. It's probably been a while, right?

The text flirtation is a pretty key element in online dating. It has been so long since I've been flirty that it feels like I'm learning a new skill. I'm probably over-analyzing something that should come naturally to me, but flirting is hard! You want to let the guy know that you are fun (but not easy), a lady (but no prude), smart (but not too smart)...

For me, The Flirtation is basically a combination of Play, Fast-Forward, Rewind, and sometimes, Eject.

Fast-Forward - Okay, let's just make that Forward. I'm not really that fast. At anything. However, I have to be a little bit forward to be flirty. I tend to be a tad sarcastic and I grew up surrounded by plenty of dudes, so I can bust balls with the best of 'em. Good strategy when watching football with guy friends, but I'm beginning to suspect this is not really the best way to win a man's heart...especially when you realize that sarcastic tone and twinkle in eye do not come across in text. So, I'm trying to be more, I don't know, charming with a hint of sex appeal. I don't think it's working as the inevitable response is "cute". Eh, I'll take it.

Rewind - Once I type my forward (but not too forward) message, and press Send, I instantly wish for a Rewind button and start panicking. Was that too forward? Will he get it? What if he doesn't respond? Eject! Eject! Eject!

Play - He takes the bait, sends a flirty reply, and I feel just forward enough to play again.

You know, The Flirtation is kind of like making...

Mix Tapes

"Darlin Come Home" and "Valentunes" - Catchy, right?

Do you have any of these lying about in a box somewhere? Mine reside in a big ol' box of obsolescence that I stumble over when I climb into the attic to get my Christmas decorations or pack for a move. Along with all the CD's that I have been meaning to put on my computer (for, like, 15 years), the box holds all the cassettes which somehow never got thrown out when CD's came into the picture. It's not like there is an emotional attachment or some other reason that I'm holding on to them - I'm just lazy. After all this time, it's just easier to store and move the box than it would be to deal with sorting and getting rid of it.

I have no idea what is on the mix tapes in the picture. The lists of song titles have long since disappeared and I haven't owned a cassette player for at least 10 years. I think maybe I remember receiving "Valentunes" from a boyfriend once, and "Darlin Come Home" sounds like something that another boyfriend would have made...but then again, maybe it was left behind by a former roommate when she moved out. No clue. Let me know if you recognize one of them as yours!

If you have ever made a special mix tape for someone you kinda dig, you can probably appreciate how sad it is that I know nothing about these particular mix tapes. Making a mix for someone else is a painstaking process. First, you have to assemble a 90 minute set of songs that communicates whatever emotion it is that you are trying to convey (see photo). Once you have your songs gathered, you have to break them into two lists, one for each side of the cassette. Then, you need to figure out the playing time for each side and make adjustments as needed to get each side down to a perfect 44:30 and ensure that the flow is just so from one song to the next.

With all the prep work done, you are finally ready to make your mix tape! Now your job is to diligently man the controls of your dual-cassette recorder for the next two hours. Fast forward and rewind to get the song cued up with no dead air, pause, press record and play, listen to the entire song, be ready to press pause the moment it ends, swap cassettes, and repeat.

Once you've made the mix and carefully crafted a label and title for the album, all you can do is give your labor of love to that special someone and hope that they "get" it. With any luck, she will play it over and over and think of you. Most likely, though, it's going to end up at the bottom of a box that just keeps getting moved from house to house for the next 20 years.

Anyone have a cassette player? 

Filters

I spend 8-10 hours a day working with Microsoft Excel. Some people would run away in terror, but I find spreadsheets really satisfying. I am by no means an expert, but if you need any sort of look-up function, data validation with cute little drop-down lists, or conditional formatting, I'm your gal. Concatenate? Can't wait! Sometimes the data I have to validate is 5,000 rows of crap, but I get a thrill out of the problem-solving involved in figuring out how to make it work for me.


The one Excel tool that I can't live without is AutoFilter. I won't bore you cool kids with all the ways that Excel filters delight me. You should just know that my job probably wouldn't be possible without them.

Your life would be a lot more difficult without filters too. Coffee filters, oil filters, water filters, even camera filters...they all keep unwanted stuff out and let just what you want to come through. We all have that one friend who has a couple drinks and "loses her filter". Maybe you are that friend. It's not necessarily a bad thing when the filter comes off, but rarely does it make life easier. Am I wrong?

Believe it or not, I actually have a point to all this filter talk. After being on POF for over a month, I just discovered that I can apply first contact filters. No idea how I missed them before, but there they are, hiding under the Message Settings. There aren't a ton of filters, but enough that I was able to choose an age range, require a photo, and specify that users not be married (!) in order to send me a first contact message. Woohoo, no more 25 or 60 year old dudes! It also means that my inbox has been considerably quieter for the past few days. Apparently, I'm going to have to actually go fishing instead of waiting for a normal guy to take the bait. It's exhausting and almost makes me wish my mother was one of those nosy sitcom moms who try to introduce you to every nice boy they meet. That's how much I hate this dating thing: I would rather have my mother find someone for me than look for myself. 

Because I love making lists, here is a list of the problems with "fishing" on this particular dating site:

1. Upgraded users. POF is a free site. I assume that upgrading requires money, and why would you do that unless you were desperate? From what I can tell, upgrading allows you to attach more pictures to your profile, and allows you to see when someone reads the message you sent. That second bit just seems creepy to me. I'm too much of a wuss to send a "sorry, I'm not interested" reply, so I operate on the assumption that if I don't respond, the dude will just move on or get the hint. The idea that he can see when I read the message and made a conscious decision not to respond prevents me from clicking on any messages from upgraded users. I basically feel the same way about IM and Facebook messages. I don't want the person on the other end to know when I read their message, because I'm usually too busy to respond right away. 
2. Meet Me. This is the most gutless, stalker-y feature to the site. For those not in the know, this feature allows you to let someone know you are interested without actually typing a message to them. You press "Yes", "No", or "Maybe" under a user's picture and the user gets a "So-and-so wants to meet you" message. Apparently, filters don't work with this feature. It wouldn't be quite so creepy if the user pressed that button and then immediately followed with a message: "Hey, I just pressed the "Yes" button, so now I am trying to meet you. My name is..." That has happened exactly zero times. 
3. Profiles without photos. Wait. Let me guess. You want to find a woman who appreciates you for your mind and you don't want her to be distracted by your astonishingly gorgeous face, right? That body of yours is a curse, right? I don't mean to sound shallow, but come on. The picture is the first thing that any of us are looking at to decide if we want to communicate with you. There is nothing quite so creepy as the photo-less dude with nothing in his profile description but "Later" who presses the "Yes" button described in #2. Makes me want to send a "What the fuck? How's that strategy working out for you, bro?" message, but I'm afraid that user would be like a computer virus - best not to open the attachment. 
4. Online Now in the Inbox. I wouldn't say I'm paranoid, but I don't necessarily want people to know when I'm online. Nor do I want to know when they are. I was responding to a message the other day and noticed that another guy with whom I've been chatting was online. I'm not really interested in him, but when I didn't receive a message from him, I actually got a little miffed. This was totally irrational as we had exchanged maybe two messages so he hasn't had the opportunity to learn what an amazing catch I am (tongue firmly planted in cheek). I hate irrational women, especially when they are me. 

One last thing before I go: a guy emailed me last night and we've been having a nice conversation. He seems like a down-to-earth, decent, fairly normal guy. He is flying home to Alaska to surprise his mom for the first time in 10 years, has an autistic daughter who is his pride and joy and "reason to be"...just really seems like a genuine, nice guy. Today, though, I noticed that the photo of his tattoo is, I think, an ICP clown. Oh no! Is this a juggalo? Just my luck.

Awkward and Anxious

First things first: Mr. Cute Fish might not be a total ass. I assumed that I was not going to hear from him again after he conveniently cancelled our date when I informed him of my self-mutilation/dis-figuration. However, I heard from him today. He says he has zero free-time until he leaves town Friday morning, but if I'm still interested, maybe we can try again when he gets back in three weeks. I'm not holding my breath for that invite, but yeah, Mr. Cute Fish, I'll probably still be interested.

By the way, the eye and lip are almost healed. See? I really thought I would have more time to try the boxing glove purchase pick-up line. Oh well. It was still an amazing idea. 

Now to the real reason for writing this post. I had to run to the grocery store for cat food and t.p. tonight. As I was heading down the personal care aisle on my way to the toilet paper, I passed this display: 

I have walked past the condom display pretty much my entire adult life without a second thought. Tonight, though, it nearly caused a mini panic attack. Here's a little stream of consciousness crazy to give you a glimpse inside my head: 

Oh snap. If I ever have sex again, I'll have to use a condom. I thought monogamy, marriage, and menopause meant I would never have to use protection again. If the situation does come up, am I supposed to have condoms on hand? I do like to be a good hostess...but how would I even know which ones to buy? Does size matter? If so, what would be more embarrassing for a dude: too large or too small? Would it look super slutty or super prepared to have an assortment of different sizes from which to choose? Hey, what's the free sample? What's the difference between 'Pure Ecstasy' and 'Her Pleasure Ecstasy'? For that matter, why isn't there a 'Her Pure Pleasure Ecstasy'? Oh wait. Maybe that's the 'Trojan Intensified Charged Orgasmic Pleasure'. Wow, that is a lot of adjectives. Is a man even necessary, or does the Trojan just intensify and charge the orgasmic pleasure all by itself?

Thankfully, I didn't have to answer any of those questions tonight. I grabbed my giant bag of cat food and toilet paper and skedaddled on home. In other words, I did the exact opposite.

Last thought before signing off. I ran across someone I know on Plenty of Fish the other day. Since I sent a hello message from within the app, this friend now shows up as a "Top Prospect". So, that's awkward.

I'm a Bruiser

How funny would it be if I updated my online dating profile with this picture, just to see what happens?

Bruiser lookin' for love

If I can do this to myself, imagine what I can do to someone that pisses me off. Want a date, cutie?

Update: I just received this text from my friend, B: "Dare you to go buy boxing gloves and ask the first guy out when he approaches you...Then tell him to come chop your wood and stay for drinks." I think it's just about the best plan ever. How much do boxing gloves cost? 

Self-Sabotage and a Cautionary Tale

So, I did something stupid. With a supreme lack of grace, I tripped and did a face-plant with an armload of firewood, giving myself a fat lip and a hint of a black eye. Wait. That's not even the stupid part.

Turns out, I make a pretty cute little boxer, but the timing of this new look is awful. As you know, I was really looking forward to meeting a particular hottie on Monday. I didn't want my face to startle him on our date, so I wrote and told him what happened. Oddly, he now says he will have to work late on Monday because he's trying to finish up a project before he leaves town for three weeks. He says he will contact me when he gets back after the new year. I'm calling bullshit. I should be grateful to learn that he is so focused on physical appearance and/or shallow before wasting any time, but damn. He was so cute.

This has nothing to do with dating, but let me entertain you with my latest middle-aged humiliation. Young ladies, take notes through your laughter. This will happen to you someday. If there is any justice in the universe, this will happen to you.

I had stepped out of the shower and was drying myself off when I noticed a dark line about an inch below my nipple. I had a mysterious breast infection a few years back and I've known too many women with breast cancer, so any anomaly in that region raises a red flag. A little investigation convinced me that this was just an ingrown hair. Yes, ladies. You have that to look forward to as you get closer to 40 - random, solitary hairs that crop up in places where hair just doesn't belong, like on your boobs.

I pulled out my trusty tweezers and was pleased that the rogue hair came right out. Success! A second look, though, revealed that the dark line was still there, that the hair I'd removed was just a decoy, laying on top of the real culprit. Removal of the second hair required me to do a bit of self-surgery. Picture, if you will, me standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror with tweezers, a needle, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a solid vow that I was NOT going to text my neighbor to come over and help me. Probably the only difference between me and Bob Geldof's Pink was an absence of shaving cream.

It took about 20 minutes, but I finally got the little bastard out, and I did not resort to drinking rubbing alcohol in frustration. The scab has already fallen off and the only trace of the whole sordid ordeal is this confession that I'm putting on the internet.

I'm a freaking catch, right?

24 year olds, Juggalos, Old Dudes, and Tina

Okay, so the past month has been a whirlwind of mostly unwanted attention. It all started when my girl S came up from Vancouver on a Saturday afternoon in November. I actually said these words when we were talking on the phone around noon: "I want to go trolling." 3 hours later, she was here with hot rollers and a whole bag full of makeup. We called our friend L (who is married to a great guy with two beautiful children that I consider my unofficial god-babies) because she actually gets out and knows the hot spots to go dancing. We ended up on Capitol Hill on a Saturday night. We spent most of our time at the straightest, most dancy place on the hill where...I admit it, I kissed a couple of boys. Here's the thing, though: they were all boys. I'm talking 24-year-old boys. Por ejemplo, when the Puerto Rican hottie started whispering "ay mami" in my ear, I had to stop him and say "yes, I am old enough to be your teenage mommy." That's too young.

I went on a date set up by my friend T. Perfectly nice guy, but this happened: Date: "...my family moved when I was in second grade, in 1992..." Me: "Wait. Back up. Did you just say you were in second grade in 1992?" Date: "Yes. Why?" Me: "I graduated from high school in 1992." Yep. Too young. I nannied kids older than him when I was 18...in 1992. As a teacher, that's just creepy. Like I said, a perfectly nice guy, though, and a good fellow to know.

I've come to realize that I have a very restrictive age range in potential suitors. It's tough being so close to 40. I want to say 5 years older or younger is fine, but 34 feels too young, and 44 is almost 45 and that seems really old...unless he still has hair. Apologies to both of my older brothers for that last sentence. Weird to think that I used to regularly date guys who were 5 or 6 years older. I'll bet none of those dudes still have hair. Side note: the only people who say "age is just a number" are people who aren't in your age range.

The online dating thing is weird. Like, extra super batshit crazy weird. Don't believe me? Here are a few of the extra super craziest who have contacted me:
1) 61-year-old "reformed minister" whose initial contact turns into a rant about young ladies who turn out to be old women. Seriously.
2) My second old dude: I received a message from a 61-year-old "crystal hound" who chose "nudist gourmet" as his online dating profile name. Truth.
3) Speaking of profile names - Sorry, "juggalojohn69", but I am not the juggalette you're seeking to turn your 69 into a 96. Do you know that my little dog was rescued from juggalos? 

4) A 30 year-old chef contacted me and said that if I like to party, he knows Tina. My response: "sorry, too old. I don't even know Tina. I quit doing party drugs before they got names like 14-year-old girls." It just feels wildly inappropriate for me to say "I did Molly/Tina last night." Right? Confession: I don't honestly know if tina is a drug. I just assumed it was, but maybe I missed an amazing opportunity. Maybe Tina is just a really fun girl, the life of the party. I guess I'll never know now.

Here are some general observations and, perhaps, tips for men considering setting up an online dating profile. 1) Keep your shirt on! No one wants to see your nipples. 2) When in doubt, see #1. 3) Please don't submit pictures of yourself at the gym. Save those pics for your super heterosexual bros. 4) Your profile says a lot about you. In fact, it says all about you that I will ever care to find out. Choose your profile name carefully. SeahawkFan74 is perfect (as long as 74 refers to your birth year, not your age),  LookinForFun69 is not. 5) Maybe she is your sister, but when your profile picture shows you dressed up and/or dancing with another woman, most of us will never click to find out who she is. Fail.

It's not all bad, though. I have a date with a Plenty of Fish guy on Monday, and I'm pretty taken with him. I hope it goes okay; I'm actually looking forward to this date.

Grammar Matters

That does it. I'm adding a grammar requirement to my profile. If I follow one more "So and So wants to meet you" link to open a profile laden with "if your up for..." I'm going to scream. The most recent was (supposedly) a Jewish doctor who offended me with both "your" and "to". So...he's out.

I initially thought that if a guy was nice/cute/whatever enough, I'd get over it. I don't want to limit my options by being a nit-picky schoolteacher with a grammar pet peeve, right? Let's be honest. I'll never get over it. Even if I met a man who turned out to be the world's greatest guy, I'd always be thinking "you're sweet but dumb" in the back of my mind.

Introduction

After 13 years with the same man, I suddenly found myself divorced. Shock and devastation are gone and I'm starting to see that I have been given a new opportunity to shape myself and my future. While I'm not ready to jump into any kind of relationship yet, I have decided to put myself out there and see what dating in the 21st century looks like. Having never really dated before, I'm treating this as a grand experiment. I created this blog to document my adventures in middle-aged dating.

So here I am: a nearly 40, menopausal, divorced, workaholic. I know that sounds super hot, but back off boys. I can only date one at a time! I created an online dating profile at Plenty of Fish and am slowly learning the ropes of internet dating. 

I would like to start with a few observations: 

1. I don't care how sexy you are. If you can't take the time to proofread and spell-check your dating profile, I won't give you a second look. Yep, I totally pull out the mental red pen and correct your grammar.
2. Asking a lady if she is a C or D is not appropriate in your first contact. (Too bad for you, dude. You will never get to see these Ds!)
3. Explaining how you spent a few years in prison for robbing a McDonald's might not be the best choice for the "About Me" section of your profile. Just saying.
4. If you're 61 years old and mark me as a "favorite"...that's just creepy. 

Having said all that, I have communicated with a few men who seem perfectly nice. Also, it is pretty flattering to have multiple men say they want to meet me. It's entirely possible that I'm only doing this for my ego. That's okay, right?