I *heart* hot peppers

I love pepperoncini peppers. They are spicy and bite me back when I chew them. I love them because they wake up my tastebuds and smack me in the mouth and make my upper lip sweat and still keep me coming back for more.

Something about them makes my heart perk up. A familiar sentiment.
Sometimes this is what I want in love.
Except for the "smack me in the mouth" part, obviously. :)

Challenge me, boy-I-haven't-met-yet. Make me think. Shake me up inside and make me wonder. Make me sweat and keep me coming back for more. Because I will challenge you, if you let me. I will make you wonder. To see stars and rocks and water and trees and cupcakes like you've never seen them before.

Change my mind. Open my eyes. Teach me something new. And flip the switch in my brain that sends butterflies careening down to the bottom of my belly.

In the meantime, I'll keep munching on these little peppers. And think of you.

Tricks We Play

It is 7:52pm on a Monday night. A deep darkness fills the night sky. I have turned on all the lights in my apartment. It is a trick I try to play on myself from time to time, in an effort to lift the weight of winter from my mind. My kitchen smells of leftover jambalaya just warmed in the microwave. The inside of the microwave is clean. I marvel at this for a moment, and realize it is probably yet another trick I play. A clean microwave means a clean kitchen, right? The sink full of dirty dishes behind me would surely growl in disagreement if it could. I curl up on the end of my couch with my laptop and realize I am still wearing my workout clothes. Tonight is full of trickery, I conclude. Another one of my favorites: changing into my workout clothes after school, yet never going to the gym. After standing in front of the full length mirror earlier, I had decided that I am not yet horribly jiggly enough to require any kind of crazy work out regime. (Read: any kind of work out regime. At all.) My tolerance threshold for flab hasn’t quite yet been breached, apparently. For now, my workout clothes trick works. I settle comfortably in front of my laptop and eat my bowl of jambalaya. Slightly bothered by the way my stomach bulges underneath my sweatshirt, but not bothered enough to let it move me from the couch. Sigh...

A quote I read earlier today floats through my mind. “The future is completely open, and we are writing it moment to moment.”

How long will I trick myself out of this present moment?

My stronger self reminds me. This morning, driving to work in your “monster Monday” mood, you had no clue that several great things would ever happen to you today. In fact, this morning you climbed the stairs to your classroom with a bit of gloom hanging over you, grateful simply to be clinging to your mug of slightly bitter, mulled apple cider. Yet today brought you sweetness after all. You weren’t even asking for it. You were encouraged in your teaching by a supervisor. (Your lesson made “her heart pitter!”) You were inspired to start a blog on teaching. You were touched by two students who came to you, all flushed and bursting with excitement, with a wonderful science question. “Miss K! We found a rock! We don’t know what kind it is, though. We thought it may have been pumice because it has little holes in it but we put it in water and it didn’t float so we know its not pumice. But what could it be? It looks so cool!” You were so happy to see their eyes all wide and curious that it broke your heart and made you laugh out loud all at the same time, especially since you had to tell them that they had uncovered not a rock but a tiny piece of concrete. Today was beautiful, indeed. Yet this morning, you had no way of ever knowing this, and no motivation to even be hopeful for it.

If I can’t even imagine or anticipate a Monday being so sweet and wonderful, then how horrible am I at envisioning my infinite future being bright and hopeful and happy? Am I letting the tricks I play (to get through this moment so I can hurry up and get to the next one) determine my outlook on the future?

Dear future,

I love you. I trust you are beautiful. I embrace you. In this moment. And all the moments I will write tomorrow. I am going to try hard to keep embracing you, and all the hope and love and possibility you represent, instead of the little tricks I usually hold onto tightly. Thank you for being patient with me.

Love, Leah

Greater expectations

My little dream of a happy life has always been to find my soul mate, get married (and *stay* married), have a few kids, and grow old with my husband. This has always been my biggest hope and dream. For the most part, the rest of my life has been all about waiting for the aforementioned one to really begin.

But the problem with my expectation of a happy life is that it leaves me feeling lost and sad and incomplete, since in my current situation, I am single, childless, and alone. Disappointment is a familiar friend. And fear creeps in when I start thinking, "What if I never have this dream of mine? What if I don't ever meet my perfect mate? What if I never have children of my own?" 

Or ... *LIGHT BULB MOMENT*... Is it that if I never met him, never had those children, then I could somehow rest assured that the alternate reality of my future would be equally fulfilling because... I made it that way?

Hmm... Perhaps I have more control over my own future than I ever realized. A powerful thought. I can choose to be disappointed. Or I can choose to find fulfillment in the present moment, as well as whatever future I find myself occupying. I know this, somewhere deep inside me, but to be THAT strong? THAT content? Do I have it in me? Do I *want* it in me? (Why do I feel like I push against a hardwired baseline of discontentment? Where the hell does that come from?!)

I am sitting in a box. It is one of those big refrigerator boxes like my brother and I used to play in as kids. Except now it is sealed shut. With me inside. I haven't minded the darkness. Or the close quarters. Until now. I found a little crack in the corner, and a little beam of light cuts through me like a knife. Pressing my face to the cardboard, I peek through the crack. THERE IS MORE OUT THERE?! My whole world suddenly becomes very, very small. For a long time I just sit and let the reality of my discovery sink in. Then I start to feel cramped and uncomfortable inside, yet mortified of what lies outside my safe little cardboard world.

Today I am sticking my head out of a hole I've cut in the top of my box. Just looking around, content to feast my eyes on all there is to see, and determined to be gentle with myself. I may not be out of my box, but that's okay. Where I am, in this moment, is okay.

I am okay.

Side note: I am a control freak. And a planner. I know this for certain now. It is one reason why my cardboard box is so small. I made it, and I control it, and it makes me happier when I feel in control. I ask myself "Could I be THAT strong?" without realizing that it actually may require more strength to try to control and plan everything that I do on a daily basis. It may be easier, and require less strength, to simply LET GO. And it amazes me that I can turn something so simple as "letting go" into some gargantuanly difficult task that I have to "be stronger" in order to do. 

Sigh. :)

So what?

Strangely, in a completely unrelated conversation with a friend today, I found myself asking "So what?" in response to a stranger's ranting about education. I was immediately struck by the impact of those two little words, and on my commute home while sitting in five o'clock traffic on the interstate, decided to try them out on myself.
You see, my usual mental repertoire in the car often goes a lot like this: "(Pulling out of the parking lot) School was great today. I'm tired. I have so much to do when I get home. (Sitting on the entrance ramp to the interstate) I don't do enough while I'm at school. I should be more efficient with my planning periods. (Finally merging onto I-40) One reason school is so wonderful is because it's the one part of my day where I don't give my brain (much) room to obsess about... him. My hometown ex-boyfriend. What is he doing today? I want to talk to him. But that's not what I SHOULD do. I should just stop hurting him by being in his life. I have hurt him so much already. Broken his heart so many times I've lost count. But he's doing so good these days. I'm so proud of him. But how can I keep being supportive of him if I don't see spending the rest of my life with him? I really don't see the rest of my life with him? Am I sure? For god sake, Leah, you are such a mess." By this point I've pulled into the parking lot of my apartment, and can usually be found pitifully bawling my eyes out in the front seat, car still running.

It's what my afternoons usually look like. Yet today, the words, "So what?" kept tumbling around inside my head.

So I loved a man. Loved him but didn't fall in love with him. Is that so horrible an offense? Does that really deserve such a bitter, daily ritual of self-loathing? I put my heart out there. I gave everything I had. So you loved him, Leah. So what? There are so many more worse and more hurtful things you could have done. Hell, you did more than just love him. You inspired him. You challenged him. You helped him be a better man. So you loved him. So it ended.

So what??

("Let it go," my soul whispers back for the millionth time.)

The freedom in these words catches me by surprise. With the sudden lightness in my chest comes a cool, sweeping calm. I want to hold onto this little bit of peace for as long as I can, and I beg my battered heart to let me remember every moment while it lasts.

The Rest of My (Mis)Adventures, abridged

So, I actually started this entry like two weeks ago. But life, as it tends to do, has gotten in the way and I haven't had time to finish it until now. Oh well. Rewind to the weekend of October 1st.

I have had a simply beautiful weekend. Friday night the girls came over for dinner. I made spaghetti with meat sauce, veggies, and salad. We sat together, laughed together, and smooshed together on my little couch to watch a movie together. I don't remember feeling that giddy in a long time. I'm pretty sure I crawled into my pink bed and fell asleep smiling from ear to ear. On Saturday I soaked up the delicious fall breeze on my back porch with a cup of coffee and a cupcake, then went to a housewarming party. There was a bonfire, a clear, starry night sky, and my best friend huddled next to me. Today I should be feeling good. But instead, I am reminded of my loneliness. My original intent was to publish each of my "Internet Dating (Mis)Adventures" as separate stories, filled with lots of funny details and self-deprecating humor. It was even suggested to me that I write a book of all my hilarious experiences. But as time has gone on, its become more and more difficult for me to find the humor in them. Perhaps I've mulled over them too much at this point... I don't know. But now feel a bit burdened and embarrassed by them. They feel more like a list of my failures, really. My disappointments. And now I just want to be done with them. So, I'm posting them here, in a little purging ceremony of my own creation. The last of my internet dating (mis)adventures. Abridged for your sake.

Glover, the needy, almost-gay vet tech with no car. Claimed he "didn't have any condoms" shortly after I made the mistake of making out with him on the bed in his tiny, one room garage-turned-apartment. (To which I promptly responded that I "didn't have any time to stay.") The bed which was the bottom in a bunk bed set. The top bunk belonged to his four year old daughter. The Sesame Street sheets were the last straw. Lesson learned: When a guy says his car is "in the shop" and needs a ride to the date, what he really means is "I'm a pushover and a huge waste of your time."

Hank, the sexy, incredibly handsome fireman who took me out on Halloween night, got us both back safely to my place after a drunken but incredibly fun night out, and surprisingly didn't even try any moves on me in bed. Took me out a few more times, swept me off my feet, and was a real gentleman. Thoughtful, sensitive, intelligent. I could have fallen head over heels in love with this guy. Yet he dropped me like a bad habit three weeks later in favor of his psycho ex-girlfriend. The one he swore he could never go back to, but who was obviously more familiar, and more safe to him, than me. Yeah... that one stung. Bad. Lesson learned: Karma is a bitch.

Logan, the ex-marine gym manager with PTSD and night terrors, who had an amazing body and didn't mind being a fuck buddy, but who also drank all the liquor at my place (including an entire bottle of $65 champagne) on New Year's Eve and became so drunk and belligerent that at one point had his hands around my neck. I kicked him out of my apartment and called the police shortly afterward when he remained outside my door, shirtless, screaming at me. Lesson learned: the terms "marine," "manager," and "New Year's toast" unfortunately now make me shudder a little with fear.

Sam, the fast-talking ex-frat boy with braces, in school to be an orthodontist, who was just now getting his life together at 30 years old, but who still enjoyed partying with the barely legal sorority girls when he wasn't cramming for his MCAT. On our first date together he actually spoke in text-language. He literally said "BRB" right before he got up to go to the bathroom, and said "OMG" and "LOL" the way a 13-year-old would in a conversation at the mall. Lesson learned: I teach middle schoolers. I don't want to date them.

One day

One day I will laugh at your jokes. The deep kind of laughter
that bubbles up from my toes and makes my eyes water.
One day I will be impressed. By how you fold your t-shirts
and how you made it through the loneliest time of your life.
You are as stable as an oak tree.
One day I will sit under your branches and feel
safe enough to fall asleep and dream of our babies.
One day I will shiver at your slightest touch
and every day feel more beautiful in my own skin and yet
more challenged to become stronger, better, bolder,
just because of who you are.
One day I will know down in the marrow of my bones
that I am in love with you,
that fifty years from now when we're old and wrinkled and slow,
I am still in love with you.

One day my heart will be open, and I will be ready for you.

(Mis)Adventures of Internet Dating, Part 2

Internet dating is a lot like shopping at Wal-Mart. Eighteen different brands of fishing poles? Check. Thirty different kinds of Hamburger Helper? Check. One container of Italian Marscapone cheese? Good luck! Certainly if you're going for quantity over quality, then look no further than the billions of personal ads littering the World Wide Web. Just to illustrate my point, I've copied and pasted a few shining examples below for your viewing pleasure. I've also included some of my own commentary, in pink. Enjoy!

"I like all shapes sizes and colors of women.luv to have a good time,I'm very laid bck kool to be around.and very sweet funny and very ready ........" (Read: I'm just looking to get laid. Now.)

"I work out 5 days a week I love shopping ..and goings to the movies....very out going young very witty man...I'm different in my thinking processes..im a man of many characteristics good and bad but over all a decent young man" (Wait. He works out AND he loves shopping? Different thinking processes? Pretty sure this one is batting for both teams.)

"I like meeting people and having interesting conversations. I enjoy playing music, meditation, exercise, helping people and petting my cats. My taste in music varies widely, but as a general rule I'm not a huge fan of easily digestible pop." (Honestly, I couldn't get past the "petting my cats" part.)

"I am a Real guy, w/ a REAL job, a REAL car, and very soon a REAL place of my own...I love down to earth people who can conversate (what?) about anything and can find good/fun in any situation. I plan to own my own business very soon and looking to share my free time with someone looking for fun." (I literally laughed out loud at this one. He should have just come out and said, "looking to share my free time with someone other than my mom.")


"OK IMMA MAKE THIS SHORT AND SWEET LOLZ.. I WORK MY ASS OFF, LIVE ON MY OWN, I LOVE FOOTBALL, BBQ'S, TACO TRUCKS, TXTING, BEER, .... MANY OTHER THINGS ... BUT REMEMBER I SAID IMMA MAKE THIS SHORT AND SWEET LOL .. I LIKE A REAL WOMAN.. ONE THAT'S CARING,SWEET,CUTE, HAS CURVES, *NOTE* NOT INTO SKINNY CHICKS.. GOTTA HAVE MEAT ON UR BONES :). ANY ?'S JUST ASK.. AND PLS NO FAKES.." (This one has it all. Text speak, all caps, a mention of taco trucks, and the infamous "real woman/no fakes" reference. By "no fakes" does he mean he doesn't go for silicone breast implants? Or perhaps he means he wouldn't be attracted to a woman with a prosthetic limb? Or is he just against female robots?)

Alright, as much as I enjoy poking fun at complete strangers, I shall now move on to more of my personal internet dating mishaps. I should probably preface this next section with a bit of a disclaimer. After the first few dates (see Part 1), my view of internet dating started to evolve into a kind of desperate "surely more dates is better" mentality.  I was booking myself for an outing just about every night of the week. (How could I possibly be sad and depressed when I was so busy?) My expectations were changing rapidly, too. I began to broaden my idea of "good looking" to include the more all-encompassing "visually tolerable." My list of "must haves" was starting to resemble an ever shortening list of "as long as he's nots." My original hope of finding true love was morphing into a much more superficial desire for something fun to do on a weeknight. (Then again, perhaps I should have just gotten cable instead?) Well that, and my loneliness seemed to urge me, like a little devil sitting on my shoulder, to wholeheartedly pursue Mr. Right Now. I could almost hear the little horned bastard in my ear: "I don't see the right man anywhere, missy. However, I do see several fun-for-now-free-dinner-keep-you-warm-tonight-gone-tomorrow men lined up outside your door!" It was a sad state of affairs, really. I wouldn't exactly say I'm proud of this time in my life, but it has since proven its value, hindsight being 20/20 and all that. So now that you've been appropriately warned, let's get to the good stuff.


Enter Jason. Assistant basketball coach for a prominent professional team in the area, college graduate, and had even spent a few years teaching math at a private all-boys school. His resume was impressive, to say the least. In his pictures, he appeared tall, confident, and had an approachable, easy smile, with (get this) straight teeth. He wasn't drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but I was hooked when I saw the nice smile in his online photographs. After a few emails sent back and forth (where he proved he had sufficient spelling ability), we decided to meet at Bonefish Grill for dinner. He was punctual and polite, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief that he was the same guy I remember seeing in his pictures. Although he was a bit more gangly than I had anticipated, (his long arms and mannerisms reminded me a bit of a marionette doll, for some reason) I shrugged it off when he waited for me to be seated before he sat down himself. A gentleman? This guy's got potential. Sixty seconds into the date, and I'm thinking, "What's his last name again? It better not be something weird or hard to spell." He sat down across from me, smiled, and we exchanged a few pleasantries before the waitress came over to take our orders. The small talk was appropriately balanced between him talking and me talking, but the more he spoke, the more I became fixated on his mouth. There was a funny, barely perceptible almost-whistle to his speech, and I realized within a few minutes that his jaw was set back more than I had noticed before, giving him an enormous overbite. That, and his top row of teeth (although straight) were downright massive. Damnit! This was going so well.

The waitress took our orders and the small talk continued, although a little more awkwardly now. I shifted the conversation in his direction, asking him questions about his experiences in the classroom, wanting to keep him talking so I could thoroughly analyze exactly how devastating this overbite was going to be for me tonight. In his defense, he hid it well, and had apparently learned at a young age to alter his speech in such a way as to downplay its severity. He was rambling on about coaching basketball at this point, and was telling a story of how he rescued one of his players from a crazy night of binge drinking the night before a big game. I remember thinking there was something I found familiar about his face, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

When our food arrived at the table, I was thoroughly on the fence with this guy. I had actually been considering giving him a chance. That is, until we started eating. Well, I should clarify. Until I started eating, and he started... gorging himself like a wild animal who hadn't eaten in months. Our entire conversation came to a complete halt when he picked up his fork. With both elbows up on the table, he instantly transformed into some sort of hungry, zombie caveman. He was actually trying to talk again, apparently undaunted by the mouthfuls of food he was tossing around underneath his giant overbite. I sat there for a moment, in shock, then looked around. Surely someone else was seeing this ridiculousness. Little bits of food were dropping like bombs out of his mouth onto the table. (And was that a spit bubble I just saw?) I suddenly imagined myself jumping up, ripping the tablecloth and plates and food off the table in one violent apelike move, beating my fists on my chest, then huddling over the mess and shoveling food into my mouth with my bare hands. Instead, I stared down blankly at my own forkful of pasta and giggled to myself, "I can't compete with this."

When the waitress returned later to take our plates (mine was practically untouched), I was mesmerized by the ring of crumbs and unidentifiable soggy bits of post-chew left on the tablecloth. My stomach turned. When he offered to pay for dinner, I didn't argue as much as I normally would, and then suddenly remembered why his face seemed so familiar. He reminded me of Mister Ed! You know, the talking horse. I wish I could tell you more of what he talked about that night, because he did a lot of talking. What I can tell you is that I remember hoping that the little green piece of spinach stuck in his front teeth (I had actually stared at it so long that I contemplated giving it a name) stayed there all night so he could go home, look in the mirror, smile, and then suddenly realize why I would never be calling him again. And as much as I appreciated his chivalry in paying for my dinner, I learned my third very valuable internet dating lesson that night: Free dinners always come at a price. Tonight's price? My appetite.