Due to the great words of wisdom/advice on the last post, I created another introduction to my dating profile. Now I just need to find some better pictures of myself to put up there. I thought I'd start with dorky ones, and then add cute ones. Anyhow, here's the new introduction. What do you all think of this one instead?

(Updated to reflect changes my uncle made for me. The dude is seriously funny...)

Top Ten Reasons to Get to Know Me:

10. I know how to escape arrest in Canada.
9. I’ve got connections with local police, fire, and medical personnel so I can help get you out of a ticket, keep your house in one piece, and revive you if needed (Hey, CPR can be fun!).
8. I’m financially secure, but don't let that stop you from pampering me.
7. I own my own home, so I have a tool collection you can play with (and I can always use help reaching the top shelves or opening a jar).
6. I will enter a dancing contest with you (though our odds of winning aren’t good...it's tough with a wooden leg).
5. I will listen to your stories and laugh at your jokes (no alcohol required).
4. Your mom will love me.
3. I'm someone who actually loves her job and doesn't whine about it.
2. I’ll talk about anything (and enjoy a good debate).

And the number 1 reason to get to know me…

Sorry: you’ll have to find out! (you didn't think I'd tell you EVERYTHING, did you?)!

I'm an independent, confident woman who loves her career as an ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher and is surrounded by amazing family and friends. I love to laugh, dance, read, travel, and try just about anything. I'm having a great time in life and would love to find someone who wants to continue the journey with me.

What I'm looking for is someone who knows who he is and where he is going in life. He's funny and goofy, smart and sincere, compassionate and passionate about something in his life. He is understanding of differences, and open to seeing life through someone else's perspective. And if he speaks another language, my knees might buckle. So basically, a Catholic version of Jon Stewart.

I'm convinced there are amazing guys out there. If you're one, let's talk.

Labels: online dating

I always swore I'd never do online dating. I thought I'd feel pathetic for signing up to meet men. I mean, I'm cute, smart, funny, and don't need a man's money...what's not to like? But then I realized, the only dudes I'm meeting are students, and homey don't play that.

So, here's the profile I wrote to sell myself to the single men of southern California. What do you think (all two readers of you)?

As I've grown up, that long, overly-specific list of requirements for a potential mate has diminished ever so slightly. From a list of many, here are my current requirements:

1. Male.
2. Literate.
3. No prison record.
4. Has a pulse.

On second though, cross off number 4.

Now that we've covered you, here's a little about me:

I'm an independent, confident woman who loves her career as an ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher and is surrounded by amazing family and friends. I love to laugh, dance, read, travel, and try just about anything. I'm having a great time in life and would love to find someone who wants to continue the journey with me.

What I'm (actually) looking for is someone who knows who he is and where he is going in life. He's funny and goofy, smart and sincere, compassionate and passionate about something in his life. He is understanding of differences, and open to seeing life through someone else's perspective. And if he speaks another language, my knees might buckle. So basically, a Catholic version of Jon Stewart.

Does that sound like you and your list? I'm convinced there are amazing guys out there. If you're one, let's talk.

Labels: online dating

Sometimes my heart aches. Sometimes it stops for the briefest of moments, just long enough for me to feel anticipation for my next breath, making me aware of its power. And sometimes it weighs heavily in my chest, not from sorrow, but from being truly touched. Each time our hearts are touched, a handprint is left, adding layer after layer, like binding that helps our hearts grow stronger.

Tonight my heart had a special handprint added to it.

I cannot tell you how much I adore my night class. At the beginning of the school year, I dreaded having to teach three nights a week on top of the day hours and Saturday class. While I still think my overall schedule isn't exactly desirable, from the first night session I have loved going to work at night. These night time adult students are so incredibly dedicated. They work all day, many of whom get up long before sunrise to commute endless distances to work low-paying, labor-intensive jobs. Many have families waiting for them at home. But these students are so dedicated to learning English that they sit in my class until after 9:00 at night each night, sometimes trying to keep their eyes open because they've hardly slept all week. And the real kicker is that these students don't get anything out of the class but knowledge; they don't get grades or credits for taking this class, nothing that can help them if they want to further their education. Knowing I have these students waiting for me each night energizes me so much that I could totally kick the Energizer Bunny's ass.

But what is most special about these students is how appreciative they are for everything we do for them. Sure, they know I get paid, but they literally leave each night thanking me, even waiting around while I help other students just so they can thank me before saying goodbye each night. But I often take for granted the impact I have on them and their lives. It is easy to forget how meaningful these classes are to them. Sometimes it can seem like "just a job" to me. I teach them grammar, I expand their vocabulary, and I play educational games with them. But that's not all I do in class, even though it may seem like that. No, the main thing I teach them is that they are smart, creative, and wonderful people. I don't always feel like I teach them this part about themselves enough, but I know it is what they most learn from my class.

Tonight I gave them their weekly test. In it, we reviewed the idioms that they learned the week prior. I had them use each idiom in a sentence in this portion of the test. When we were reviewing their idiom sentences, I would call on volunteers to share their ideas. One of our idioms tonight was "apple of your eye." A few students volunteered to share their sentences, many saying that their kids were the apples of their eye. One student in the back sat quietly. I decided to call on him, to be sure that he had a response. He didn't want to share his sentence at first, but I encouraged him to do so.

And then he put his handprint on my heart.

He said to me, "You know I don't really have anyone in my life. [Sidenote: He's divorced with no children, and lives alone.] I don't have anyone special. To me, you are the most special person in my life. So I wrote, 'Megan is the apple of my eye.'"

I clasped my chest, as if my heart would burst through so I had to hold it in. I told him that this might be the kindest thing that anyone has ever said to me. I couldn't help myself, my eyes welled up a bit with tears. That is a handprint that will stay on my heart forever.

Of course, after class was over, I looked him up in our computer system to see how old he is and where he lives (four years older than me and he lives in my area of the city). After all, he won't be my student forever. Maybe my mom is right--maybe I'll end up meeting my future husband in my class after all. (Hey, a girl can look!)

Labels: touching teaching moment

I hate those types of dreams that leave you a big sweaty mess in the morning with an ache in your belly and fear tangled up in your blankets. That's the kind of dream I had last night.

I must have abandonment issues somehow. I think my biggest fear might be ending up alone. I don't mean never getting married or anything trite like that. I mean having NO ONE left in my life. Maybe this is why I live alone; maybe I'm forcing myself to face my fear dead on. The thing about this, though, is that sometimes living alone can be a bit lonely. It hits me every once in a while. I certainly don't want anyone else living in my house (unless Brad Pitt wants to leave Angelina), but every once in awhile it really hits me that we can't always depend on others, even the dependable others. After all, we come into this world alone and we'll leave it alone.

The sweat is finally drying from my pores. The sense of panic I awoke with is subsiding. But that dream is still present--it is in the walls and blankets and sheets and air. I need to open my sliding door and release the dream from my room, force it to flow away.

Like most dreams, I don't remember it fully. Some type of natural disaster was getting ready to happen. Everyone kept calling it an earthquake like we normally deal with here in southern California, but those can't be predicted in real life. However, dreams are never like real life. We were somewhere in Los Angeles, a city I once lived in but don't know my way around very well. I have no idea where in LA I stood in my dream, but it was the first time I saw a crowd of people on foot there (other than a parade). I was with two friends, though I don't think they were people I actually know in real life. We were trying to find an escape before the disaster happened. Problem was, so was everyone else. With crowds of panic, I lost my friends and didn't know where to go. I was swept away in the undertow of the crowd's force, desperate for anything anchoring to hold on to. I didn't know where the one friend, the leader, was trying to take us, and I had no clue about where I was. We'd been fighting the direction of the masses, so I knew following the crowd wouldn't help. I found an open doorway and held on for dear life. Strange people passed, and I had a couple encounters with creepy people (including an old, zombie-like man). When there was a break in the crowd, I dashed across the street (no cars were in sight anywhere) to make my escape to the unknown. My stomach ached with sobs being held in. Suddenly, on the other side of the street, I found my two friends and sobbed the pathetic kind of sobbing where massive boogers are layering your face like a sloppy four year old slathering peanut butter on a slice of bread. My face was covered in snot and tears as I wailed. I grabbed on to one of the friends, begging her never to leave me again. "Don't leave me!" I shouted, as I clenched on her arm. "Don't leave me behind." I was utterly and completely desperate. It was then that I woke up.

I've had similar abandonment dreams in the past few years, but I'm always surprised when they hit. It's never at times in my life when I feel desperately alone. It's always after what seemed to be a normal day.

The other day I realized once again that one day my parents will be gone. It is a thought I don't like to dwell on because it saddens me so. But I also realize it affects me this way because I lost my brother already, too. So, when they go, I will be alone unless I've created a family of my own. My mom always used to tell me after we lost my brother that I'd always have our extended family. This is true, of course. However, they are on the peripheral in my life. And of course I have my friends. While I don't have tons of friends, the ones I do have are amazing people. But they, too, have their own lives and problems to deal with.

It is then that I understand why people get married. Marriage helps keep us from being alone.

The sun in creeping through my window now. The negativity of this post will wash away as I am bathed in sunlight.

Sometimes I just have to work through issues by writing. If these thoughts can leave my body through my fingertips, I always know I'll be ok.

Labels: dreams

Spring is definitely in bloom. How do I know this? It ain't the flowers, or the weather, or the blue sunny sky. Nope, it's testosterone.

Men seem to be coming out from every crevice of the planet. They might even be coming out of my butt. I'm still not dating anyone, but I'm having a bit of a hard time taming some dudes around me. Maybe those birth control pills (or "whore pills") are giving off a scent to horny dudes around me. Too bad they don't know how much I mock them in the privacy of a friendly phone conversation.

Luckily things were pretty crazy busy in my life for a while so I didn't notice the psycho-ness of some guys. We recently began our third trimester, and the change of terms is always stressful and busy. I'm getting a better handle on things now, so I can't help but notice the men around me.

Take one of my night students. I have over 50 students in my night ESL class. The room is almost literally bursting at the seams. Fortunately for me, there is some definite eye candy in the room, so I don't mind the coziness. However, there is one student in there who is starting to annoy me. I was flattered by his compliments at first, but now I think he has the potential to become a stalker. Stalkers are definitely unsexy (unless I'm the one doing the stalking). He started by using his new vocabulary words to describe me in class ("attractive," "appealing," etc.). I simply thought it was embarrassing for him, not me. But then in class after I'd just taught them some interjections (sounds like uh-huh for yes or uh-uh for no) by asking them questions and having them answer me with an interjection, he said aloud, "Teacher, can I ask you a question?" "Sure!" I was excited to have a student be interested in this lesson. "Teacher, can I have your phone number?" Without missing a beat, I dramatically responded "Uh-uh" (the interjection for no...or HELL NO to be more precise). Of course the class laughed, but secretly I thought "Why can't I have one of the hot students ask something like that?" Oh, I kid, I kid.

My biggest problem student has been absent for the last two weeks. He told me he'd be in another part of the state for the first week of the semester, but he hasn't returned. I certainly don't mind. Let's give this student the title Psycho Monk. Yes, you read that right, he's a monk. I've had quite a few monks walk through my classroom door, and all have been the most excellent of students...all but this one. This student has some serious mental issues. It got so bad that I had to have a long talk with him after class one night to teach him about appropriate and inappropriate behavior in America. Because I didn't know how he would respond, I had called my parents in advance so they could wait outside my classroom when I talked with Psycho Monk. (After all, my mom is a retired psychiatric nurse.) He responded well to our talk, and his behavior improved tremendously...for about a week. Then he got creepy again. So, if he shows back up in my class, this means I'll have two creepy students on my hands. Fortunately this is all in my night class which is predominately male. The thing about these night students is that these guys would do anything for me. They would give someone a beat-down if I needed it. They're super protective over me, so I know I have nothing to worry about during class time.

Outside of work I'm becoming a flirting machine. I used to be a huge flirt when I was younger. Then I lost that ability as I got a bit older. I think insecurity kept me down for some time. But now I'm feeling really good about myself again, and I've become a flirting machine. I just need to keep this machine maintained so she'll keep on truckin'.

Spring may be in the air, but men are sure blooming. Actually, maybe I'm the one whose blooming after all. I wonder who will end up pollinating me.

Labels: creepy dudes, flirting, men

In my younger days, I remember having older men be interested in me. No, not tons of older men, but a few who played important roles in my life. Nothing ever happened with these men; I was a good Catholic girl who was utterly and completely clueless about guys. But I remember one man in particular, Philip, who played a special role in my life.

I was 17 when I first met him. It was my first time leaving the country, aside from Tijuana, Mexico. I was heading off for a trip to Europe with a school group consisting of people I barely knew. Philip was best friends with our advising teacher, and he went along on the trip as a pseudo-advisor himself to get a cheap rate. He and I struck up a bond on that trip. He was thirteen years older than me, Italian, and oh-so-worldly as a thirty-something man. That seemed so ancient to me, but so mysterious at the same time. I'd sit on the bus alone sometimes with a notebook and pen, jotting down some thoughts, and he'd come join me. He was the first man who wasn't related to me with whom I became close friends.

I remember one night in Italy sitting in a hotel lobby with our tour bus driver and Philip. The rest of the group had gone off somewhere, but I wasn't interested in going. Actually, I think I'd been sick and had fallen asleep when they left. Anyhow, I joined Philip and our bus driver on the lobby sofa and listened as the men chatted in Italian. I hadn't studied Italian at this point, so I didn't understand anything that was said. Philip would translate for me here and there, but I could tell they were talking about me. At one point he teasingly said that our bus driver claimed to have seen me kissing boys outside. Naively believing him, I protested profusely. This only made Philip's smile spread wider. He kept looking at me with this look in his eyes--not a sexy look, but one of fascination.

The next day on the bus he sat next to me. We sat there quietly for a long time, looking out the window or reading. Our legs touched at the side. I remember being fascinated by him. I'd never met a man who spoke a language like Italian, who lived on his own, and who could still somehow relate to me a bit. He was exotic and mystical to me, and I thought he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. I looked up at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to get a peek at him to see what he was doing. Anything sexual never entered my mind. I didn't think in those terms at that age. Hell, I'd only let one guy feel me up at this point. Philip caught my gaze and looked at me for a while. The smile that found lodging on his face in the hotel lobby the night before woke up from its slumber and appeared again. I didn't know what it meant.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked. My inexperience didn't know how to interpret it.

"Do you know how interesting you are?" He asked in response.

What did he mean by this? How could this man who was so much older than me find me interesting? I thought he'd be bored of me.

I nervously changed the subject. I discussed my observations of Italy thus far. Then I started talking about my life back home. I fidgeted around, nervously unable to sit still. It's a nervous tick I still have to this day. I move around, looking like a person with no bones with ants crawling all over her body.

He started laughing. I bit my index finger, another nervous tick. My eyebrows furrowed quizzically.

"You have no idea how amazing you are, do you?" Oh my god, did this man just say that to me? Then he jabbed his arm into mine, laughed, and went back to his book.

When we returned to California, he and I stayed in touch. We became pen pals, handwriting letters back and forth. He made me think in ways I never had before, deep thoughts about life and the world. He said that he enjoyed the letters as well because it was nice to open the mailbox once in a while and find an envelope that didn't require a check in return. Midway through the school year he came to a performance of our school play ("Fame") to see me dance away on stage. He drove all the way out to see me and didn't even go out with me afterwards. At the end of the year he came to my graduation, and then to the party at my house. My mom fell in love with him right away. He was kind, gracious, and obviously doing nothing harmful with her underage daughter. I was so proud to have him there. He made me feel better about myself.

The letters dwindled after graduation, and then stopped not long after. I haven't heard from him since, though I'm certain he's married with kids by now. I sometimes wonder how life is treating him and wish him well.

Now that I'm about the age he was when we met, I understand things more from his point of view. Words he said come back to me in pieces, and I can interpret them more clearly now. It was my innocence that he was attracted to. I was beautiful in an awkward way, unsure about who I was and what my place in the world should be. But he saw what made me special, what made me unique. And to him, that was the part of me that was radiant. I didn't understand at the time when he tried to explain it to me, but I understand it now.

Tonight I was speaking with one of my students after class. He is 22, ten years younger than me. He's not too much further along than I was when I had met Philip. This student is adorable. Sure, he's incredibly attractive, but that's not what I'm talking about. It's obvious he has a major crush on me, and it is so refreshingly sweet. There's something so purely innocent about this crush, and I'm certain it's what Philip saw in me all those years ago. In some ways it makes me feel old to see how nervous this student gets when we're having a private conversation. When he finds out little bits of information about me, his smile grows exponentially. I never reveal anything deep or important, but I know he feels special when I share.

This student makes me so aware of how far away I am from that point in my life. I'm no longer the innocent, naive girl who developed crushes on "ancient" thirty-year-olds. But I see her reflected in my student. It makes me wonder who will one day be the girl who makes him see this reflection of himself. But it will be years before he sees himself in that way. In the meantime, I want him to stay innocent. Philip was right, that kind of purity is so full of grace.

(But damn he makes me feel old.)

(Then again, I'm an old woman who gets hot 22-year-olds going for her. So, at least I'm a rockin' old chick.)

Labels: I'm not a kid anymore

Update, you ask, Miss Maria? I can do it in one breath:

I'm stressed beyond belief with grad school; my day class is driving me absolutely bat-crap crazy, but I adore my night class with all my heart; I'm single once again and have been a couple weeks or so (yes, it was my doing, and no, I won't be discussing it here); I don't know how I'm going to survive until the end of the school year, but I know that somehow I will; and a new ginormous zit has taken up residence with its own zip code on my chin.

Hot.

And I'm happy that Juno won best screenplay now that I finally saw it this last weekend. Oh, and I'm still going to marry Jon Stewart...or at least a Catholic version of him.

Don't be an idiot; if your state is part of Super Tuesday, get off your lazy ass and VOTE. And don't let anything keep you from getting in.

Labels: make a change

It's been on the tip of my tongue. It jumps around my mouth like Pop Rocks, making me smile and giggle. But it's a little magic show that only goes on when my lips are closed. My teeth and my tastebuds have all given their approval, but my lips just can't seem to open when it dances around my mouth.

I say it to him every night when I lay my head down on the pillow where he sleeps when he visits. I imagine my head rests on his chest as it would if he were really there. I say goodnight and let it slip out gently for his imaginary ears to hear. Or sometimes we'll be on the phone, both in our respective beds, dozing off in the night. After a "Goodnight, baby" we'll hang up and sometimes it will escape from my lips once the phone is safely resting on my nightstand.

I feel it, the L word. I feel it for him. But I can't but help holding on to my long-ago formed notion that "he" should say it first, no matter who the "he" may be. I've tossed out all my other "rules" established in younger days, letting this relationship unfold as it naturally does. But this rule, this need, has held on strongly. I can't bring myself to tell him I love him, even though I know I do.

For now it is a thought, a feeling, a word that resides only in my head, in my heart, and on my tongue, but I won't allow it to leave any orifice of my body. I've lost out on having romantic stories of our first kiss, our first time sleeping together, and our first date (all of which took place at my house in very unromantic stories). So I cling on to the desire to have a romantic story of our first time using the L word with one another.

I may not remember our first kiss, but I want our first "I love you" to last the rest of our lives.

Labels: relationship issues, the L word