Moving Up, Out, In, and On: One More Trip Around the Sun

Greetings, Dear Reader. It's been a month since we last met, and I have had so much to tell, but I have been holding my breath. I've been waiting for the right moment to exhale, the moment when I can trust that everything is actually happening just as it should, and in the most wonderful way. I think that the moment to exhale is now. So I breathe out. I want to sing and dance and shout with delight from rooftops...instead, I exhale. Whoosh. I exhale, and I write.

Suddenly, I don't know where to begin. There is so much tremendous, unbelievable, wonderful stuff happening in this middle-aged divorcee's life right now! It's all so interconnected that I can't really tell it in chronological order, though. I think I can sum it up with three different champagne celebrations that all happened in the same week, starting with my birthday. Just try to follow along, as life is happening at lightning speed.

Champagne Celebration #1 - Veuve Clicquot

 My 41st birthday was two weeks ago. I wasn't really planning to celebrate for a couple reasons: my birthday was on a Thursday, 41 is not a milestone like 40, and although close, it's not yet the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. Really, 41 is just a prime number that signals the start of The Forties. So, I was happy to keep it low-key and accepted a friend's invitation for birthday dinner at her house after work. When I got there, though, I found a whole party with surprise guests, ice cream cake, balloons, a confetti cannon, champagne...truly the best birthday ever! It was my first ever surprise party, but I have always wanted one. Now that it's out on the internet, though, I pretty much expect surprise parties all the time for the rest of my life. Just sayin'.

Champagne Celebration #2 - Perrier Jouet

On my birthday weekend, I went to the casino and gambled for the second time in my life. As a math teacher, I basically subscribe to the old adage that gambling is a sport for people who don't understand mathematics. However, I am evidently living a charmed life, so I won. Clarification: I didn't just win, I haplessly won BIG.

Here's how I did it. I sat down at the Super Fun 21 table and changed $40 that I was fully committed to losing into eight $5 chips. (Step 1: don't bet anything you can't afford to lose.)  I dutifully placed $5 bets until I had 16 $5 chips. Then I made a little stack of my original eight chips and vowed not to touch that pile. (Step 2: set aside the money that you were committed to losing.) From that point, I set little rules for myself: If, and only if (my math peeps will love this: IFF...), I won at least two hands in a row, I allowed myself to add a single $5 chip to my bet. If (not IFF) I lost a hand, I removed that $5 chip. (Step 3: Take a loss as a sign, and take action immediately.) As you can see from the photo, my friend T and I both walked out as happy winners. To be precise, the $320 in my hand is what remained after tipping our dealer and buying the celebratory bottle of PJ on our way home. MathMercy ultimately made ten times her initial bet, walking out with $400 from her initial $40 investment.

Champagne Celebration #3 -Moët & Chandon

This is the big one. This is the huge one. This is the "holy shit life is good" one. This is the one that really symbolizes the rest of my life. A little back story: about a week before my birthday, my casino/surprise birthday party friend was looking at rentals because, for the second time in as many years, her landlord decided to sell her house. She had wistfully strayed from the rentals and was looking at real estate. Around 9:30p on that fateful Thursday, she asked me "Do you want to buy a house?" I sent an email to my parents at 9:58pm asking what they thought about me entering a home-buying partnership. Less than 48 hours later, we had financing approved and were well on our way to gathering what was needed for a down payment on a mini-farm on the Peninsula.

We didn't end up getting that first mini-farm. Thank goodness, because we found another house for $50,000 less that is absolutely perfect for us. Because I am a woman, and women navigate using landmarks, I have to landmark this path. It started on June 8, 2013, when my ex-husband walked out on me. At the time, I was totally blind-sided as the life that I knew came crashing down around me. On June 8, 2015, exactly two years to the day since my ex-husband left, we placed an offer on the house. The next day, our offer was accepted, so now we are just waiting on the sale to close. I bought the Moët & Chandon to celebrate, and to reflect on landmarks.

Life happens, and man, does it happen fast. When I went to the credit union to essentially liquidate all my savings for the down payment on the house, I had a moment of panic. I have worked really hard to build a savings account in these past two years of being a single lady, and withdrawing all of that money was scary. However, it wasn't nearly as scary as the fact that exactly two years prior, I was visiting one of those "cash for gold" places to exchange my single earrings and broken chains for gas money.

As it turns out, when you are living a charmed life, good things happen to you. When you choose to surround yourself with supportive friends and family, you have everything you need. We have been able to utilize friends and family for everything from temporary storage to our mortgage loan to our real estate agent, and it has been so easy. I am reminded of a book I had to read back when I was a dancer, called Zen in the Art of Archery. Clicking the link will download a pdf copy that you can (and should) read. The book teaches that in order to become an archer (or a dancer or just about anything else), one must learn to breathe properly with no knowledge of breathing, to Be without Being. I adapt the lessons for myself as Buy a House without being a Home Buyer. Perhaps after we close, I will write "Zen in the Art of Home Buying". (Step 1: Find a friend with whom you can live for the next 30 years....)

Two years ago, I thought life as I knew it had ended, and I was right. What I didn't realize is that I needed that life to end so I could discover the life that I am meant to live. I am meant to live a life of delicious risks, surrounded by kids, love, chickens, honey bees, friends, family, and walls that I OWN. I feel like I'm dreaming. Every day is the first day of my rest of my life, and I simply can't wait to wake up to greet each morning..

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.

Black Magic Woman

I half-suspected the witchiness to subside once I made it public, but the complete opposite has happened. It's probably just because I'm thinking about it that I am noticing it more, but I don't know. If I turn off my inner skeptic, it's pretty easy to believe that I am more receptive to cosmic energy right now. Following that logic(?), perhaps my heightened awareness is an annual event around the time of my birth due to the alignment of the stars...

Anyway, here are the two biggest oddities and further witchy evidence of the day:

1) Mac and cheese is "a uniter, not a divider". (If you don't get the reference, you are way too young, but let me help you out with that: http://lmgtfy.com/?q=uniter+not+a+divider.) Mac and cheese united deliciously on my FB news feed and in my belly this week:

 
2) Heidi Klum is totally in on it. Here is proof: 

I didn't want to mention it in my original Witchy Woman post, but a prior witch precedent has been established in my family. My dad sent me the following message today "You know that your mother is a witch?" I replied that I remembered stories, but I didn't want to "out" her on the internet. That was before I channeled a supermodel to sing me "Happy Birthday", though. So, yeah. Apparently, my family business is witching and as the eldest daughter in my extended family, the universe is grooming me to take over. I'm not sure I can handle that kind of responsibility.

Witchy Woman

As a mathematician, I am a woman who puts her faith in numbers, data, science...you know, reality. However, I also know that there are things around us that can't be quantified, categorized, or defined. I guess you could call me MathMercy, Agnostic Mathematician.

Having told you that, I have a confession. Here goes. In addition to being MathMercy, Agnostic Mathematician, I'm pretty sure that I am also a witch. (Yes, I meant to type Witch, smart ass. Bitch stands for Being In Total Control of Herself...and that's no secret. Bam.) Believe me, I know how super weird and hippy-dippy sounding it is for me to just come out and say that I am a Witch, but it comes from a scientific standpoint: I can't deny empirical evidence. Read on and tell me what you would call it, if not Witch.

So, there is an inexplicable phenomenon that happens to me around this time of year, where I am somehow apparently tapped in to totally random and, thus far, useless cosmic forces. It's like phrases that suddenly show up everywhere, coincidences and feelings of deja vu that are just too persistent to be random. Unfortunately, none of this seemingly super cosmic connected-ness ever proves to be useful information like winning Mega-Millions numbers. On the other hand, I never buy Lotto tickets because the mathematician in me has a hard time seeing lottery tickets as anything other an idiot tax. Stupid math. I probably could have been a Mega-Millionaire by now. Anyway, here are some witchy examples on a scale from Kind of Odd to What the Fuck.

1. Last week, I was at a friend's house when she Googled the name of Natalee Holloway, that poor girl that disappeared in Aruba 10 years ago. Yesterday morning, the first news story I read was about new evidence in the case. Kind of Odd.
2. On Saturday, I ended a Facebook post with "Everything's coming up Mercy". One of my brothers picked up on the Simpsons reference and threw 'Everything's coming up Milhouse' back at me. That doesn't count as witchy, but this might: On Sunday, I tuned in to TCM right as Rosalind Russell broke out into "Everything's Coming Up Roses" in the movie, Gypsy. Three references in a sixteen hour period? Everything's Coming Up Weird. 
3. On the morning of May 5, I was moving a raised bed garden box frame to a different spot in my yard. As I moved the frame, I had this sudden memory of how my ex-husband's stepfather had given that garden box to me exactly two years ago to the day, when I saw him for the last time on Cinco de Mayo weekend. I was feeling a little poignant about that memory when I received an email an hour later. The email was from my ex-husband (totally harmless, just needing some information), from whom I probably hadn't heard for six months or more. Um, This is Getting Spooky now.
4. Earlier tonight, I took a silly little online quiz to see what it thought I was in a past life. Eight questions later, it spits out the result in the picture below and I say What. The. Fuck. and throw my phone down like a hot potato.

http://en.what-character-are-you.com/d/en/1101/index/6321.html

"...sense and intuit almost automatically what is going on within the people and the nature around you" finally gives words to my weird Spring psychic sense that I couldn't explain. It's all about recognizing patterns. I am pretty sure it still works within my mathy raison d'etre, as expressed in my favorite math thriller film, Pi. (Okay, you got me. I can't really think of any other math thriller films off the top of my head. Pi is still my favorite, though.)

1. Mathematics is the language of nature. 2. Everything around us can be represented and understood through numbers. 3. If you graph these numbers, patterns emerge. Therefore: There are patterns everywhere in nature. 

So there you have it. The evidence keeps mounting and it all points to MathMercy, Agnostic MathWitch. I don't yet know how to channel my witch energies for good, but I am working on it. I'll be sure to let you know if I hit the jackpot. In the meantime, I'm auditioning potential theme music.

Update (12 hours later): Oh my goodness. It just happened again. A couple weeks ago, a friend returned from Hawaii with a gift of tea from the Hanalei Tea Company. A certain demographic will understand why this box of tea has me singing "Puff the Magic Dragon" on a pretty much daily basis. Recall that I work from home, so TV is just part of my rainy day routine. Also, like every other middle-aged white woman in America, I freaking love Wayne Brady, so I like to watch Let's Make A Deal. Anyway, this dude on LMAD just picked "H for my daughter's middle name, Hanalei". It was probably spelled differently, but when Wayne Brady said "Oh, like in 'Puff the Magic Dragon'?", the dude totally agreed. If that isn't proof that I am being followed by Magic, I don't know what is.

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!

  

What Would You Do?

Howdy. I am crowd-sourcing advice for a friend who doesn't feel totally comfortable posting the problem to her personal Facebook page. The vastness of the internet offers a sense of anonymity, though, so I offered to put it out there to the world. Please weigh in. 

This story is going to be much easier to write with names, so let's start with the aliases: 

• My friend, Candy, a mom
• Candy's son, Andy, a smart, loving 8 year old
• Andy's friend, Mandy, presumably 8 years old too
• Mandy's mom, Brandy. 

Andy and Mandy were playing together at Candy's house after school one day last year. When Brandy came over to pick Mandy up, she decided to tell Candy that she (Brandy) was a white supremacist. Who does that? Candy was horrified, but glad that at least she knew. Armed with that knowledge, she didn't feel comfortable having Brandy come to her house, and was certain that she didn't want to send Andy over to Mandy's house to play. How do you explain that to a first grader? Candy went to the school and spoke with the kids' teacher about it the next day. The teacher was just as shocked as Candy, but likewise perplexed about how to proceed. For the rest of the year, Candy just avoided arranging play-dates for Andy and Mandy.

Last night, Candy and Andy ran into Mandy and Brandy at the store. Andy and Mandy played together so sweetly, pretending to be an old married couple with giant candy canes, and asked if they could play together another time. All day today, Andy has been begging to have Mandy come over. 

After a lot of internal debate and conversation with me, Candy is resolute that she doesn't feel safe having the kids play together outside of school. You can't just say that to an eight year old, though. You want to just be able to tell him: "We are accepting and loving of all types of people and belief systems in our family. We don't hate. We don't discriminate. Your friend's parents have a violent belief system built around hate and feeling superior to people who don't look like them or think like them. You can't play with your friend because I don't want you to be exposed to that belief system." Is it hypocritical to say "we don't discriminate except against people who hate"?

Candy has decided that she might try to have a conversation with Andy and help him understand why Mandy can't come over to play. Perhaps he is old enough to understand. So, we're looking for the correct words to tell him. What would you do?

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?

Las Lessons Learned

I just realized that this week marks the first anniversary of "Confessions of A Middle-Aged Divorcee." So much has happened in this past year; I should probably commemorate my dating/self-discovery blog's first birthday by doing something epic and fun and potentially scandalous like...well, an almost spontaneous trip to Las Vegas for Halloween weekend. I just did that! Perfect. 

Clearly, I can't violate the "what happens in Vegas..." code, because I'm pretty sure that the first rule of Vegas Club is: you do not talk about Vegas Club, but I can at least impart some lessons learned by a middle-aged Vegas virgin. Here, then, is what I learned on my first ever Las Vegas trip.

Lesson #1: Choose your travel companions well. This is not specifically a Vegas lesson, but it's important enough to be my first rule of travel. The ideal companions don't like to bitch, do like to laugh, and are up for anything. Lucky for me, my inner circle is full of just this sort of people. I have taken incredible trips with my family and friends in the past year, and I have come out of each adventure loving my travel mates even more. Vegas was absolutely no exception. There was no drama, no one got lost or arrested, and we had a ton of fun. 

Lesson #2: Bring sensible shoes and plenty of cab fare. Trying to walk across the street on The Strip is nearly impossible. As it turns out, the shortest pedestrian distance between two points there is a crazy labyrinth of resort casinos and staircases and malls filled with handbags that cost a year's salary. The first time we left our hotel room in costume on Halloween night, we looked amazing from head to toe. The first time (of many) that we ended up back at our hotel room on Halloween night, we had one costume change and two shoe changes. Unfortunately, the blistery damage had already been done. We already have plans to return next Halloween dressed as old people on rented Rascal scooters. Important takeaway: Just pay the $8 fare for a five minute cab ride that will ultimately save you 30 minutes of walking and hours of bitching about how much your feet hurt. Or rent a Rascal scooter.

Lesson #3: Vegas ain't cheap. This was the first time that I have ever traveled like upper crusty folks do. I have to admit - I could get used to it. We stayed in a lovely room in the Bellagio, ordered room service, had our concierge get us amazing seats for the Cirque du Soleil show, "O", and just generally had a grand time. Happily, the past year has been good to me, so I was able to afford a carefree vacation without worrying about rent or the electric bill. Any other time of my life, the first round of cocktails at $20 a piece might have broken me. Here's a tip: an entire bottle of Stoli from the liquor store is the same price as a single cocktail and there is no open container law in Las Vegas, so you should buy a bottle and mix your own drinks in the hotel room whenever possible.

Lesson #4: Hit the strip club. Wait. Hear me out. When your male traveling companion who had the glorious idea to go to Vegas for the weekend wants to go to a titty bar, you go to a titty bar. So, yeah, I got my first lap dance. From a girl. Twice. It just would have been rude to refuse the poor girl standing right in front of me after the travel companion has already paid her. If nothing else, the $20 lap dance is the same price as that $20 cocktail on The Strip, and the drinks at the Spearmint Rhino Gentlemen's Club only cost, like, $10, so a lap dance might actually be the best deal in Vegas. Also, you can get a table and just sit and listen to music and talk to your friends without walking anywhere. Priceless. Oh, and here's a tidbit: the Bellagio concierge adamantly insists that he is not allowed to refer guests to strip clubs, but he might discreetly put an x next to one in his entertainment guide if you tease him enough.

Lesson #5: Call your credit union. Knowing how my credit union watches out for me, I probably should have done this before I left town. It would have just been a simple phone call to say "Hey guys, I'm going to Las Vegas. You might see some atypical spending activity, but no need to worry. I have not been abducted or robbed." As soon as I returned home, I got to have a fun phone call with Visa Fraud Services authorizing a bunch of charges, including the Spearmint Rhino. The robotic voice on the other end tried to remain cool and detached, but I'm sure I detected a hint of disappointment as it thanked me and told me that my card would remain active.

Lesson #6: Ditch the Strip. Unfortunately, we didn't get this piece of advice from a hostess until Saturday night, when we already had "O" tickets and the strip club on our agenda. She told us that downtown Las Vegas is much more chill than the Strip, there are no ridiculous lines, more of an indy scene than a tourist scene, live music...exactly what we were really seeking. We'll just save the discovery of downtown for Vegas trip number two. I can't wait. 

Being There

This is one of those posts that you might want to skip if you just look for levity from MathMercy. It that's the case, stay tuned-I have a Halloween weekend trip to Vegas which is sure to result in some fun blog fodder. If you are still with me, though, I just need to process this out loud.

I had a "date" tonight with someone from Tinder. The reason for the quotes-he is a teacher at Marysville-Pilchuck H.S. who was, I think, looking more for a sense of normalcy and human contact than a date tonight. I don't know how much people outside of our area know about Marysville-Pilchuck and I don't want to rehash it, so I will just say this: last Friday, I sobbed as I watched the most horrific events that a teacher can imagine unfold on live t.v., and those events happened at M-P H.S. Google it if you need to know more.

So, I met this man tonight and wasn't sure what to expect. Would he want to talk about it or do anything but? I think that he needed to tell his story to a stranger. I sat with him and listened as he related the events that led up to that day, the thoughts that went through his head as the lock-down started, the perspective from 3.5 hours inside his classroom and when they finally got bussed to the church, how the staff has gone about coming back together this week, and his fears about bringing the students back next week.

It was a lot to hear. My heart broke all over again for him, his colleagues, his students, for his community. Certainly not what one expects for a date, but I am glad that's how it worked out. In an odd way, it felt like I was able to do something by just being there to listen. He mentioned donating to a fund for the students as a way that the rest of us can help; I will update this post with information on the best way to do that when I find out.

That's it for now. No punchline, no funny witticism, just a plea to pay attention to the children around you -- hug them a little tighter, be there for them when they are hurting. Also, please take a moment to thank the adults who work every day to keep our children safe. As teachers, we drill for scenarios like this all the time, but hope that we will never have to use those lock-down protocols for real.The staff at this school did an incredible job of protecting students and keeping them calm for nightmarish hours on Friday, and I hope they know how heroic they are. The hardest part is still to come for the Marysville-Pilchuck staff and students. Please hold them in your hearts in the coming weeks.

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!

Wildness

The mystique of the Wild Woman has been somewhat of a running theme in my life. When I was a little girl, my father used to joke at the dinner table that he was about to go "chase wild women." When I was really young, I actually believed him, and I was horrified that a) MY daddy knew how to chase wild women and b) that he would say so right in front of my mom. As I grew older, I learned that my dad is the truest, bluest man on the planet and the mere thought of him chasing wild women was totally ridiculous. Not that he isn't totally adorable...just that he's too much of a gentleman to know what to do with one if he caught her. I'm pretty sure my mom is enough a handful for him anyway.

My mom is not a Wild Woman, but she is definitely a kick-ass woman in her own right. I've always felt that if I could be half the woman she is, I will be a better woman than most. When my mom gets a hair up her ass about something...well, let's just say it's best to stand back and let her do it until she finishes, fizzles out, or finds something else to tickle her fancy. When she gets in this mode, my dad lovingly refers to her as a "force of nature." Think 'tornado' and you're in the ballpark. One of my favorite examples would be the time she stayed up all night piping little frosting violets onto every single sugar cube for my brother's first wedding. Bear in mind, this brother is a proud member of AA, so the wedding reception had no booze, but lots of coffee, along with probably 500 or so lovingly hand-flowered sugar cubes. I digress.

My mom is a passionate music lover; mostly gospel, blues, and reggae. When I was in junior high, we attended St. Paul's Southern Baptist Church (probably the only black, southern Baptist church in the state of Idaho) just so my mom could hear live gospel music. The city is much more diverse now, but in 1987ish, the only other place in Boise where you might expect to see a non-white, non-hispanic person was on the Boise State football team, and even that was pretty pale. See?

http://varsityb.com/photo-galleries/?album=all&gallery=53&nggpage=3

So anyway, my mom really loves gospel music. When she isn't listening to gospel music, though, she listens to some of the nastiest, raunchiest blues you've ever heard. The nastiest of the bunch has to be Saffire - The Uppity Blues Women. These are middle-aged ladies with no time for innuendo, as evidenced by song titles like Bitch with a Bad Attitude, There's Lightning in These Thunder Thighs, and Silver Beaver (yes, that kind of beaver). It's basically middle-aged divorcee theme music.

Saffire didn't write this song, but they do a bang-up job with it, and it fits my theme nicely, so take a moment and listen to the Wild Woman theme song, Wild Women Don't Have the Blues.  

So, I have made a sincere attempt at being a Wild Woman this summer, but it turns out that I'm not so much a Wild Woman as a Wing Woman. No matter, I've been having a ball. Here are some highlights.

Wild Washington Women's Weekend
My girlfriends and I kicked off the summer with a trip to Chelan. It was a wild weekend at a lovely resort on the lake. The only rules: no kids, no pets, no husbands/boyfriends, and no responsibility. We spent a delicious day tanning on the dock and drinking "yards" of fruity cocktails. I think their "yard" glass was only about 2 feet long, but after drinking 3 of them, I think we can legitimately claim that we drank yards of booze.

 After dinner and a failed attempt at dancing at Chelan's only night club (so gross), we ended up partying back at the hotel with a group of late 20-somethings who were in Chelan for their annual guys' weekend. Correction. Half of the group partied up in the room with the 20-somethings, while I joined an expedition with a mission of accessing the resort's hot tub/pool area. Night-time security guards can be bought, but not necessarily for money. My girlfriend tried to bribe the security guard for pool access with $100, then with $200, and finally with a promise of boob. Guess which one brought him down from the parking garage with key card in hand? I blame the alcohol for this, but somehow my boob ended up being the one offered up. So I let the security guard touch a breast for three seconds and he let us in the pool area. Just to prove how much of a Wild Woman I am not...I swam in my sundress.

 Not long after the security guard let us in, a gaggle of girls (21-ish) scaled the fence on the other side of the pool and started swimming, topless. Guess what the security guard who likes boobs more than money did? Did he kick them out? Of course not. He pulled up a chair and tried pretty ineffectively to keep them quiet while one of them kept yelling "I have teeny tiny titties!" (I'm pretty sure I know why resort security dude chooses to work weekend nights. He probably does this every weekend, right?) We avoided the chaos and silently patted ourselves on the backs for being old and mature enough to keep our tops on.

If being a Wing Woman is about facilitating hookups, then I believe I attained epic Wing Woman status that weekend. Granted, only one of these hookups was intimate, but I think the others totally count as hookups.

• Hookup #1: The hot tub.
• Hookup #2: Towards the end of our day of afternoon drinking, the toilet flooded in our reduced rate hotel room with a view of the parking lot. I called down to the lobby and they sent someone over to jiggle the handle and start mopping. Normally that would have been fine, but I was drunk enough to march down to the lobby and tell the 20 year old behind the counter that there was no way that we should be paying $200 to stay in a toilet-water room. We got moved to a condo with a kitchen and a balcony overlooking the lake. Hooked up!
• Hookup #3: After finally climbing into bed at 4am, one friend and I put our shoes back on and headed out to the beach chairs on the dock so that another friend could invite a 20-something hottie back over to our room for some action. Out on the dock, we wrapped ourselves up in the little hand towels that were laid out on the beach chairs, laughed hysterically about how it was kind of like camping, and waited for the sun to rise over the lake. 
• Hookup #4: Due to different schedules, we had all arrived in Chelan at different times, in different vehicles. I was the first to leave for home on Sunday and was about half an hour out of town when my hot tub friend called me. She was scheduled to stay one more night, but was feeling so hungover that all she wanted to do was go home. I was feeling pretty groggy myself and was grateful to have company for the drive, so I turned around and picked her up. I hooked her up with her own bed that night. What's better than that?

Wilderness

I spent the first week of August in upstate New York for my brother's wedding. It was the most joyous wedding I've ever attended. A few years ago, this particular brother decided to get in touch with our Jewish cultural heritage and started attending a temple. Since his bride is Puerto Rican, their wedding was a glorious mix of both cultures. My mother was employed to bake cakes and she, in turn, employed my cousin and me as her baking assistants, and my sister-in-law's mother as a froster. Remember the frosted sugar cubes? Imagine two days of cake baking mania. She even monogrammed aprons for her crew. Here are the results:

One of the Jewish traditions that they adapted for their own purposes was a tisch. Traditionally, all the men gather with the groom, and all the women with the bride, to tell stories, tease, give advice, and just generally celebrate the honoree. Our tisch was not divided by gender, but along family/friend lines. It started with a passage from the Torah and a discussion of my brother's journey through the wilderness of bachelorhood (and Wild Women!), punctuated with lots of toasts of L'Chaim! By the way, I learned at the tisch that my uncle was the first to bring the concept of chasing wild women into our lives, so Dad is off the hook.

The tisch got me thinking a lot about tradition and community and stuff. I don't quite know how to say this and I think it's funny that this is the first real confession that I feel like I've put on this blog, but I've been thinking about exploring my own Jewish heritage a little deeper than my love of animal print. I've even gone so far as to look up different Reform (obviously, because bacon) congregations in my area. I doubt I'll go any further with it, but it's out there now and, if you know me at all, you know that's just weird. Weird, wacky, wild stuff. It strikes me that going to Temple could be something like a standing date for Friday nights. Who knows - maybe I could even meet a nice Jewish boy who can be corrupted with bacon!

Wild Wild West

Here's one final piece of wildness. I got a chance to chase - well, watch - wild men a few weeks ago. One of my friends and I went to see a western-themed, tongue-firmly-planted-in-cheek, male burlesque show. It was SO MUCH FUN! Ladies - you need to go to an all male revue/burlesque. Sure, most of the dancers are gay, but they were delicious and scantily clad and came out into the audience to collect "Buckaroo Bucks" (sold in rolls of 60 for $20 and totally worth it) in their g-strings. Unfortunately, I didn't buy my Buckaroo Bucks until intermission and the second half was short, so now I have a bunch left over. I guess I'll just have to go again the next time they have a show. Yee-haw! 

Another Day

I am currently working on a post about how much crazy fun I've been having in the first month of being forty, but I have to insert this one first because it just threw me a bit off-guard.

So weird. One of the approximately 972 calendars on my phone saw fit to remind me that today is my ex-husband's anniversary. Immediate thoughts:

1. If the calendar knows it's no longer my anniversary, why doesn't it know it's no longer his? 
2. Why can't I locate and edit that calendar?
3. I can tell you exactly what I was doing on this date a year ago, but I would have let today pass unnoticed if the phone hadn't reminded me. How odd that today is just another day.

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.

Screwed, Blued, and Tattooed

The other day, a friend relayed a message to me from her friend, "Pat". Sadly, Pat is an addict who fell off the wagon and will now be serving time for crimes related to her relapse. Although she probably won't be able to read it in prison, she wanted me to know that my blog had kept her going during some of her dark times recently. It's weird to think that my self-indulgent little pastime has any sort of impact on another person, but it makes blogging feel a bit less selfish. If I can bring a smile to someone's face I kind of have to, right? With no further ado, then, here's a post that's all about me, but not in a self-centered way. :)

Kill Blog #5

Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh. Sweet baby girl kitty is inside the house with a rat right now. I hate to say it, but I ran outside, shut the door, and am just waiting for her to put it out of its misery. I saw her in the bathroom next to what I thought was a corpse, but as I grabbed a grocery bag and moved in to pick it up, it dragged itself into an empty t.p. roll (PepPurr's previous toy), which made her all kinds of excited. Now I have a quandary. I'm pretty sure the thing is critically injured but there's no way I can bring myself to finish the job, either deliberately or by slow suffocation in a grocery bag at the bottom of a garbage can. I may be a country girl who has held her share of chickens on the chopping block, but that was a long time ago. Hell, even my dad takes his chickens to a professional "renderer" these days.

As I stood in my tiny bathroom and pondered what to do, PepPurr worked the poor creature out of its hiding place and started to fling it dangerously close to my face, causing me to squeal a little girl and go running out of the house, chasing my dog in front of me.

She just came out the window without the rat. Wish me luck on a quick, clean find. I'm going in.

Update: after a frustrating search with a very excited dog trying to prove the ratter in her bloodline, I finally discovered it on the back of the couch right where I sit. At least it looks like it ended without much trauma. Sigh.

Kill Blog #4 - Survivors

Last night was a long, sleepless night. Difficult as it was for me, it was tougher for the little family that met my monster menagerie. I think I was able to save each one, though. Here's how it went down:

PepPurr. The dog wakes me up at 3:30am. I can hear the bell on my little black kitty's collar tinkling enthusiastically, along with an occasional thud that can only mean one gruesome thing. I let the dog down off the bed, put on shoes and pants, grab a bag from under the kitchen sink, and head to the bathroom to investigate. The dog is losing her little mind trying to see what's happening in the bathtub. PepPurr is sitting in the tub staring at a tiny little bunny rabbit hopping around. I pause for a moment to admire PepPurr's ingenuity at preventing the rabbit from hopping away in the darkness, then swoop in and grab the bunny. I walk across a soaking wet field, deposit it through a hole in the giant fence separating our property from the elementary school and ball field next door, and watch it hop away. Well done, MathMercy. Now back to bed.

Savvy. The dog wakes me up at 4:30am. This is getting old. I have to be up in three hours. A quick inspection fails to turn up cats or any other critters in the house, but the dog is unconvinced. I let her out the back door and start making some tea. A plaintive cry calls me outside, where I discover my big gray cat teasing a little bunny in the grass. Oh yeah, bunnies cry. When I try to grab the rabbit, the cat picks it up and starts hissing and growling. He is often my sweet lover kitty, but Savvy is sixteen pounds of muscle, fang, and claw, and in this moment he is pure hunter. I try unsuccessfully to make him release the bunny and end up watching him carry it over the fence. We repeat this little sequence four or five times over the next 30 minutes. At 5:00 I finally succeed in getting both cats shut inside the house and head back to pick up the rabbit. My dog beats me there and trots off with the bunny. She is much less experienced than the cat, so I have no trouble prying her jaw apart and rescuing the bunny, who is miraculously still alive. I snap a photo, slip it through the fence onto the ball field, and congratulate myself on the second rescue of the night.

Lola. Holy fuck. Are you kidding me? It's 5:30am. It sounds like PepPurr has a bunny in the living room. I put on my shoes and head out, but I find the cat eating cat food and the dog watching me calmly from the couch. Huh. That's weird. I start looking for an abandoned bunny. It takes me a few minutes to realize that Lola is watching me calmly from the couch with a bunny in her mouth. A minute later, Bunny #3 joins Bunny #2 on the ball field. I hope their mama finds them. If she doesn't, though, I am counting on the elementary school kids to take them in.

Losing all that sleep was a pain, but it was nice to be able to rescue something this week. Last week, I realized that I know the sound of Savvy crunching bones, as he dissected and consumed a rodent in the hallway at 7:30am every day Tuesday through Friday. Worst alarm clock ever. I took photos every day, but Thursday and Friday are pretty gross and I prefer the live bunny. No death pictures today!

Spring Blossoms

I was briefly inspired to start converting my room-sized junk drawer back into a reading/sewing/guest room today. I say "briefly" because after about 20 minutes, I opened a box that contained all the journals from back before I decided that, for me, writing journals is little more than emotional self-indulgence.

After spending some time on memory lane, I am happy to report that the journals of my teens and twenties aren't all negative. Don't get me wrong: there is plenty of gloom and angst, but there is also a lot of joy. There is even poetry. That's right. MathMercy used to write poetry, and she is about to share some of it with you.

This poem was inspired by irises, and mine just bloomed yesterday. Finding it today was probably kismet.

The Faintest Scent

Spring is just moments away, 
Waiting. 
Breathless and giddy like a first date, 
Not yet late but hesitating 
So as not to seem too eager. 

Never one to give Them exactly 
What They Want, 
She hints at just enough 
To keep Them clamoring for more. 
Spring waits outside the door. 

A sigh heard faintly through the willow, 
Spring whispers.  
(Don't weep, my dear. I'm here.) 
She leaves just the faintest scent on pillows, 
Enough to open windows 
To invite her in. 

Springtime is my sin. 

I had put this poem on Poetry.com back in 2000 or 2001, so I was mildly surprised and amused to find that not only does Poetry.com still exist, but so does my poem. Let that be a lesson to you, kiddos. The internet is your permanent record. No matter how well you think you've hidden it, all of your future boy/girlfriends, college admissions boards, and future employers will know that you used to write poetry (gasp).

Incidentally, I'm not surprised if you don't know the scent of iris. Irises have a delicious honey aroma that will make you melt, but they don't like to broadcast it. You basically have to get right in there and risk walking around with pollen on your nose. You won't care, though, because you will be drunk on the scent of paradise. Drink it in and let springtime be your sin.

Kill Blog #3

This rat was whole when I went to the bathroom. When I came out a few minutes later...it wasn't. At least I have definitively solved the mystery of what happens to the missing rodent parts: He eats them. When I moved him away from the guts so I could clean them up, he just moved to the body and started (gag) crunching bones.

Kill Blog #2

They produce a lot less blood and gore than your typical rodent, but dead birds are still lame because their little downy feathers get everywhere.  I think this little birdy just had his little birdy heart ripped out.

Damn it. I just swept and mopped that floor yesterday, psycho!

I should have suspected the kill would be waiting for me in the hall when I woke up to a pile of lovey pets on the bed. Homicidal kitty cats get really affectionate when they have death on the breath.