P.S. ...

By Mahlia Lindquist

Readers who have been following the Rocky Mountain Miamian (RMM) from the beginning, this post is for you -- a quick  postscript to some of the 2014 RMM stories. 

The RMM blog started as a creative exercise to get my creative juices flowing for a simmering book idea (see Hardness, Testosterone and Bookcovers,) and my first post was  I’m Not Unemployed, I’m a Writer. Unfortunately, I have so much fun writing for the RMM blog that it has been more of a distraction than inspiration for the book.  Consequently, six months later all I can say is "I'm not unemployed, I'm a blogger, which doesn't have the same ring to it as "I'm a writer."  

With regard to the Pleasure and Perils of a Pink Pet,  Zoe decided that if a pink Willow was a good idea, a red, white and blue one with with a mohawk would be even better. Willow was not amused. 

The real pity was that between the freakish hairdo and Willow's now sullen demeanor, pedestrians no longer stopped to chat and admire him on our walks.  Our family new year's resolution is to resist any impulses to decorate our dog. He is adorable all on his own.

This is a photograph of me with a quasi-celebrity. It was published in Ocean Drive magazine and taken during the 100k charity ride, for which I was training when I wrote about Biking In Miami. The photo suggests I am happy, healthy, and perhaps even socialize with the rich and famous.

Nope. The photo actually demonstrates that the adage of a picture being worth 1000 words is complete hogwash.

At the moment of the photo, I was hating life and praying for the ride to end which, for me, it did in short order. Moments later I crashed and broke my collar bone in a spectacularly painful and humiliating fashion.

As for the quasi-celebrity, I am certain he would be unable to pick me out of a line up if asked to identify the person who almost died shortly after being photographed with him.

By the looks of news that came out after my Open Letter to A-Rod, he has not changed his ways, nor has he made amends to my niece. The A-Rod letter is by far the most read of all of my posts, which I initially attributed the celebrity name in the title. So, to attract more readers, I put Oprah's name in the title of a later post. However, it was not nearly as popular as the A-Rod letter. It seems that most  people prefer to read about a rich baseball player who one commentator said has "been shamed into silence, relegated to cowering behind lawyers and liars"  over a rich superhero of a woman committed to making the planet a better place.

The creator of the famous Hot Crazy Matrix A Man's Guide to Women wrote to say that he is glad I enjoyed his YouTube presentation. He did not mention my describing him as a troll who has to pay for sex, so I assume there were no hard feelings and he appreciated my Hot and Crazy, It's in Our DNA essay. At least, I hope so.

The My Backpack is Butch post is officially obsolete. Zoe has deigned to use the Patagonia backpack for school, so I guess it's no longer butch. Or maybe the backpack is butch, and butch is cool. Or, maybe she's using it because her old one is ripped and I refuse to buy another one. Or, maybe she is exercising the prerogative of all 17 year olds to be utterly irrational.

I would like to acknowledge Zoe for being an awesome sport.  She previews my posts that poke fun at her and has given each one the okay. She even posed for this photo with the now acceptable backpack.  Her sense of humor and self-deprecating nature are two of the zillions of qualities that make her an exceptional person.

Exhibit A

In response to Miami, My Crazy B*tch, a few Boulder friends were skeptical that some women actually want bigger butts. Accordingly, I offer  Exhibit "A," a "butt plumping system," for sale in Miami retail establishments.  I really don't make this stuff up.





This blog has had the unfortunate effect of highlighting that I don’t have an actual job. Two of my more practical and highest earning friends asked what, if I make no money from blogging, is the point? To that, I say, in the 6 months since I started the RMM blog, it has had a total of around 5000 page views.  It takes 100,000 views per day to earn $100,000 per year blogging. I've had 26 so far today, so with just 99, 974 more views, I will be in the money.

Thank-you to everyone who has provided positive comments, “likes,” and shares for my 2014 Rocky Mountain Miamian (RMM) efforts. With your continuing support I will reach the goal of 100,000 views before my 80th birthday, which would be a great way to say  Happy Birthday To Me.

A super special thanks to readers who haven't had anything nice to say but heeded their mother's advice and chose not to say anything at all. 

I'm Not Unemployed, I'm a Writer

By Mahlia Lindquist

My daughters, Dylan and Zoe, are newly concerned about my lack of employment and/or  a “relationship.”  It’s true that I have shown little interest or aptitude in either endeavor, but that never bothered them before. 

Indeed, for years the dynamic between us was akin to a yard with an electronic doggie fence, which kept me in and distractions out. I am on the high side of social without an obvious sort of maternal bent and the girls charming and seemingly easygoing, so most people who know us were unaware of the invisible fence. Even I was only subconsciously aware of the electrified barrier surrounding our happy home. But it was there.

Dylan and Zoe have always had a way of silently communicating to me their disapproval over a person or situation. They have been at, at best, indifferent to any man I have dated. I had a law practice for a few years, but their pointed silence when I was unavailable to them because of work made me feel the neglectful parent and hesitant to work more than part-time.

Undoubtedly, as with most prisons, mine was mostly of my own construct. The truth is that I didn’t like practicing law, and after divorcing  didn’t have the stomach for a long term relationship. The kids were a convenient excuse to avoid dealing with my own s****.   My daughters are smart, funny, irreverent, kind, travel well, and delightful company, all of which I find to be high value attributes, and so I mostly didn’t miss having a satisfying career or partner.  Ignoring the possibility that we may have been codependent, the electric fence actually served all three of us fairly well.  At least it seemed to until recently. 

Now, the girls routinely point out men who might make good “step-daddies.”  The step-daddy reference has been a longstanding joke between us, but now they mention it so often I actually think they are serious. They also  keep asking me what I am going to do. It could be my imagination, but I have  detected a note of fear in their inquiries—fear of having a needy mom. 

As someone who sees herself as active, independent and competent with varied interests and a network of awesome friends, I hope that my imagination is wrong. But then I recall things I’ve said  that could give cause for a needy person alert.  Encouraging the girls to promise since they could barely talk that the three of us would live together forever, ever and ever sounds potentially needy. Musing that with so many cool women in the world it’s a shame I am not gay, and fantasizing aloud about being a sister-wife to my favorite straight couple, I must admit sounds just plain weird in retrospect.  So, I just want to clarify:  I was joking.

Nevertheless, given our current circumstances, what I am going to do with the rest of my life is a fair question. Dylan is in college, Zoe in high school, and I recently closed my law practice in Boulder. Zoe and I recently finished a yearlong visit to Mexico and  moved  back to my hometown of Miami, a place I left in a huff 13 years ago. 

When asked, I refer to my time in Mexico as a sabbatical, though the term sabbatical is more of a euphemism for “an exploration of the ecstasy and the agony of drinking too much tequila too often.” Besides drinking tequila, I kept busy there with logistics: school for Zoe, housing, figuring out where to buy tofu and peanut butter without sugar and where to do yoga, and learning how to ask the housekeeper in Spanish not to run the dishwasher with just two coffee cups. All first world problems, I realize, but they kept me occupied.

Not having to deal with the logistics of being an expat has freed up a lot of time. My Miami friends are professionals with actual jobs and so can’t drink tequila with me on a regular basis. Besides, even tequila gets old after awhile and it’s just not the same when not in Mexico. Suggestions that I practice law in Miami triggers in me an involuntary gag reflex, so I have decided to listen to my body for once and have nixed going back to law. 

A few friends suggested I start a blog or write a book. They may as well have said, Mahlia, other then being a lawyer, you have no tangible skills — which is true.  I have no idea what I might write about that someone besides my mom will want to read, but I am going to try.

As a first step, with this first blog entry under my belt, when someone asks me what I do, I am going to say, “I’m a writer.” It sounds almost as legit as “I’m on sabbatical” and will hopefully help ease the minds of my children.