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!