I decided to blog again, so I made a new one. It's way cuter. Go there now.
http://theresnostigma.typepad.com/theres-no-stigma-adven/
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Blast from the (not too distant) Past
And so, only three weeks into the new year, I have broken resolution number three. I have decided that is okay for the following reasons:
1. He's 27, so he's in his late 20's...which is almost thirty. And thirty is totally acceptable.
2. He has a child who is only 2 years younger than my child. My friend Tamara has an interesting theory: When calculating the age between two people, you don't count the years between the two of you. You should count the years between your children. She sets the age at which you become a parent as the onset of adulthood. So, according to Tamara, he is only two years younger than I am. He is 33, which is pretty damn old compared to my past dates. And totally acceptable. (I have no idea how Tamara calculates the onset of adulthood for the non parents. It probably has something to do with not bitch-slapping your idiot boss and knowing never to take your coworkers to that bar where you're known for doing body shots and Debbie Gibson karaoke.)
3. I saw a couple recently with a much larger age span. Dear ladies, you should never attempt a bare midriff when you are old enough to draw social security. Anyway, I remember thinking that her son (sitting next to her) must be appalled. Apparently, not her son...and not appalled. The make-out session was vomit-inducing. So, if Midriff Mawmaw can date 20 years younger, then I can at least contemplate dating a man 8 years younger. Moral relativism: I gotta say, I'm a fan.
The story: I call him BB. It's short for Baby B(insert last name you're not allowed to know). We went out a few times last spring, but then he took a job out of town. It was never anything serious, but he was sweet and fun...and very affectionate. While he was away, he contacted me a few times and asked me out...but I was knee-deep in the Muscles fiasco. Last month he moved back. He met me at Christmas party, and then I accompanied him to a Christmas party. We talked a few times. Last night he asked me to dinner. I said no because I am sickly at the moment. His response was, "Then I will bring you soup...and a hug." I told him I wasn't hungry, but that maybe we could have dinner next week when I was better...or that he could come visit me at school and we could have lunch where the cool kids eat. He said, "Aww...so you don't wanna see me, cause that 'sometime' was vague...if it's an actual invitation, like 'how about lunch next Tuesday at noon' then I'm there. Now how about just the hug? I'd like to see you and waiting until next weekend (when my kids are gone) is kinda far." Of course I said yes. He showed up, not with soup, but with a Diet Dr. Pepper - this is basically my crack. Since I was feeling icky, I wasn't looking my best: pajama pants, tank top, pony tail. His first words: "Awww, look at you. You're the cutest thing I've ever seen in pajamas. And no heels! You're so cute and little. Now gimme a hug, drink your dr. pepper, and we're gonna watch Top Chef cause I know it's your favorite show."
And so we did. He watched the show with me. He pretended to be jealous over my crush on Fabio (Top Chef Fabio, not the but-tah guy). He offered to make me dinner when I was better to prove that if accents and cooking skills were what I wanted, then he would make crawfish etouffe while attempting his very worst Cajun accent. He made me eat saltines. He rubbed my shoulders. He held my hand. When I told him he was going to get sick, he said, "I read some fancy medical article that said that cuddling builds antibodies. Now snuggle up next to me and feel better. I won't kiss you...well, maybe just the top of your head."
Now, I dare you to NOT find that charming.
I'm not sure how I feel about this situation with BB yet. I'm still a bit wounded from the Muscles dealio. But, we shall see :)
Peace, My Lovelies
Annabelly
1. He's 27, so he's in his late 20's...which is almost thirty. And thirty is totally acceptable.
2. He has a child who is only 2 years younger than my child. My friend Tamara has an interesting theory: When calculating the age between two people, you don't count the years between the two of you. You should count the years between your children. She sets the age at which you become a parent as the onset of adulthood. So, according to Tamara, he is only two years younger than I am. He is 33, which is pretty damn old compared to my past dates. And totally acceptable. (I have no idea how Tamara calculates the onset of adulthood for the non parents. It probably has something to do with not bitch-slapping your idiot boss and knowing never to take your coworkers to that bar where you're known for doing body shots and Debbie Gibson karaoke.)
3. I saw a couple recently with a much larger age span. Dear ladies, you should never attempt a bare midriff when you are old enough to draw social security. Anyway, I remember thinking that her son (sitting next to her) must be appalled. Apparently, not her son...and not appalled. The make-out session was vomit-inducing. So, if Midriff Mawmaw can date 20 years younger, then I can at least contemplate dating a man 8 years younger. Moral relativism: I gotta say, I'm a fan.
The story: I call him BB. It's short for Baby B(insert last name you're not allowed to know). We went out a few times last spring, but then he took a job out of town. It was never anything serious, but he was sweet and fun...and very affectionate. While he was away, he contacted me a few times and asked me out...but I was knee-deep in the Muscles fiasco. Last month he moved back. He met me at Christmas party, and then I accompanied him to a Christmas party. We talked a few times. Last night he asked me to dinner. I said no because I am sickly at the moment. His response was, "Then I will bring you soup...and a hug." I told him I wasn't hungry, but that maybe we could have dinner next week when I was better...or that he could come visit me at school and we could have lunch where the cool kids eat. He said, "Aww...so you don't wanna see me, cause that 'sometime' was vague...if it's an actual invitation, like 'how about lunch next Tuesday at noon' then I'm there. Now how about just the hug? I'd like to see you and waiting until next weekend (when my kids are gone) is kinda far." Of course I said yes. He showed up, not with soup, but with a Diet Dr. Pepper - this is basically my crack. Since I was feeling icky, I wasn't looking my best: pajama pants, tank top, pony tail. His first words: "Awww, look at you. You're the cutest thing I've ever seen in pajamas. And no heels! You're so cute and little. Now gimme a hug, drink your dr. pepper, and we're gonna watch Top Chef cause I know it's your favorite show."
And so we did. He watched the show with me. He pretended to be jealous over my crush on Fabio (Top Chef Fabio, not the but-tah guy). He offered to make me dinner when I was better to prove that if accents and cooking skills were what I wanted, then he would make crawfish etouffe while attempting his very worst Cajun accent. He made me eat saltines. He rubbed my shoulders. He held my hand. When I told him he was going to get sick, he said, "I read some fancy medical article that said that cuddling builds antibodies. Now snuggle up next to me and feel better. I won't kiss you...well, maybe just the top of your head."
Now, I dare you to NOT find that charming.
I'm not sure how I feel about this situation with BB yet. I'm still a bit wounded from the Muscles dealio. But, we shall see :)
Peace, My Lovelies
Annabelly
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Happy Screw Year!
Listen up, Peeps, cause this is how we do it, do it...in 2011.
Annabelly's Resolutions:
1. I will lessen my addiction to Facebook. This basically means that I will stop cyber-stalking my dates/ex-boyfriends/ex-husband/booty calls/and any such potential variations of the aforementioned. To show you that I am serious, I have temporarily deactivated my account - a little test to see how long I can resist. Yeah, I'll probably see you there on Wednesday.
2. I will lose 14 pounds. Yes, I am aware that 14 seems like an arbitrary number, but therein lies the genius. Stay with me, people. Every year I say that I am going to lose 15 pounds. This never happens. I always work diligently for at least a few months, then I step on the scale, utterly convinced I am 15 pounds lighter, but NO - I am still far from my goal. Then I give up and eat my weight in cookie dough/hot tamales/french fries/margaritas. I have deduced that the problem is not me; it is 15. Fifteen is daunting. Fourteen, I have decided, is manageable. And let's face it, if I don't do something about my weight, my favorite skinny jeans will be a thing of the past, and I will have to say hello to the As Seen on TV "Pajama Jeans." The Great Holiday EatFest of 2010 was not kind to the waistline.
3. I will not date men under the age of 30. After the whole Muscles debacle, I have deemed it wise to date men closer to my age. Yeah, I know what you're thinking...and to be honest, I'm skeptical, too.
Bite it, 2010,
Annabelly
P.S. I reserve the right to amend resolution #3 at any time. Especially because after making said resolution, I found out that the really cute coach at the high school, who I think is around 28, broke up with his unfortunate looking girlfriend over the break. Don't you just love it when wishes come true? For me, obviously, not her.
Annabelly's Resolutions:
1. I will lessen my addiction to Facebook. This basically means that I will stop cyber-stalking my dates/ex-boyfriends/ex-husband/booty calls/and any such potential variations of the aforementioned. To show you that I am serious, I have temporarily deactivated my account - a little test to see how long I can resist. Yeah, I'll probably see you there on Wednesday.
2. I will lose 14 pounds. Yes, I am aware that 14 seems like an arbitrary number, but therein lies the genius. Stay with me, people. Every year I say that I am going to lose 15 pounds. This never happens. I always work diligently for at least a few months, then I step on the scale, utterly convinced I am 15 pounds lighter, but NO - I am still far from my goal. Then I give up and eat my weight in cookie dough/hot tamales/french fries/margaritas. I have deduced that the problem is not me; it is 15. Fifteen is daunting. Fourteen, I have decided, is manageable. And let's face it, if I don't do something about my weight, my favorite skinny jeans will be a thing of the past, and I will have to say hello to the As Seen on TV "Pajama Jeans." The Great Holiday EatFest of 2010 was not kind to the waistline.
3. I will not date men under the age of 30. After the whole Muscles debacle, I have deemed it wise to date men closer to my age. Yeah, I know what you're thinking...and to be honest, I'm skeptical, too.
Bite it, 2010,
Annabelly
P.S. I reserve the right to amend resolution #3 at any time. Especially because after making said resolution, I found out that the really cute coach at the high school, who I think is around 28, broke up with his unfortunate looking girlfriend over the break. Don't you just love it when wishes come true? For me, obviously, not her.
Monday, December 27, 2010
So I Read a New Book . . .
You've heard of it - that "He's Just Not That Into You" book. The verdict? Pretty good shit. But here's the thing about good shit - true, some of it is good. The rest? It's just shit. In this book there was enough good to make it worth wading through said shit. For those of you unfamiliar with the tome, here's a looky-loo at a chapter title:
1. "He's just not that into you if he's not asking you out"
What I took from this chapter: If a man says any of the following to you:
"We should hang out sometime."
"So maybe we'll run into each other."
"Maybe I'll stop by later."
Or if he does any of the following:
Calls you only when drunk.
Calls you only after 10 p.m.
It means this: He doesn't want to see you UNLESS you are naked.
Men I remembered I hated while reading this chapter: Itsy, MWFHS, Mr. Motorcycle, Cable, CrazyEyes, BB, DA, and Softy McNoodle . . . and Muscles.
Mainly Muscles. Of all the men who didn't love me back, I think I hate him the most . . . because I wanted him the most. I've feigned ambivalence, but I wanted him.
Stupid book. Stupid book with enough good to outweigh the shit.
Shittily yours,
Annabelly
1. "He's just not that into you if he's not asking you out"
What I took from this chapter: If a man says any of the following to you:
"We should hang out sometime."
"So maybe we'll run into each other."
"Maybe I'll stop by later."
Or if he does any of the following:
Calls you only when drunk.
Calls you only after 10 p.m.
It means this: He doesn't want to see you UNLESS you are naked.
Men I remembered I hated while reading this chapter: Itsy, MWFHS, Mr. Motorcycle, Cable, CrazyEyes, BB, DA, and Softy McNoodle . . . and Muscles.
Mainly Muscles. Of all the men who didn't love me back, I think I hate him the most . . . because I wanted him the most. I've feigned ambivalence, but I wanted him.
Stupid book. Stupid book with enough good to outweigh the shit.
Shittily yours,
Annabelly
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Things I Have Broken This Week:
1. A button on my laptop. I stepped on it.
2. A wine glass. It got stuck in the dishwasher. I got pissed and yanked it. Glass errrrrrrverywhere.
3. A corkscrew - while it was in my bottle of wine.
4. My solemn pledge not to buy another pair of boots until my next paycheck.
5. A penis. More on this later.
Peace out,
Annabelly
2. A wine glass. It got stuck in the dishwasher. I got pissed and yanked it. Glass errrrrrrverywhere.
3. A corkscrew - while it was in my bottle of wine.
4. My solemn pledge not to buy another pair of boots until my next paycheck.
5. A penis. More on this later.
Peace out,
Annabelly
Sunday, November 28, 2010
I'm Back, Bitches.
Dear Peeps,
Thank you for your pushy, nosy, bitchy emails asking about my prolonged absence. They make me feel loved and, what's clearly more important, popular. Why the silent treatment, you ask? I suppose it happened because I've been busy with work, kids, friends, and I've been all up on Muscle's junk. That's over now. We broke up. So, here I be. Get ready.
Thank you for your pushy, nosy, bitchy emails asking about my prolonged absence. They make me feel loved and, what's clearly more important, popular. Why the silent treatment, you ask? I suppose it happened because I've been busy with work, kids, friends, and I've been all up on Muscle's junk. That's over now. We broke up. So, here I be. Get ready.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Muscles Update Time
Yo, Yo, Yo, what up, Biotches? I decided it was time for an update on Mr. Muscles. He's still adorable, yet frustrating. He still claims to enjoy simplicity, yet he spews complicated nonsense. AND he still hasn't decided that he's ready to commit...and on that note, I may have agreed to dinner on Sunday with D.A. and a dinner next weekend with Mr. Motorcycle. Good day to you all :)
Cause that's what's up,
Annabelly
Cause that's what's up,
Annabelly
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