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

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

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.

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

Vacay Part 2

Sorry for the hold up...real life has intervened...and bitch slapped me. And then there are the other distractions - specifically, Muscles-related distractions. If you don't know who Muscles is...well, catch up on the old posts. I don't have time to catch you up on all that shiz.

We were discussing Divorce Vacation '08. I met a man. Well...a boy...wow, that sounds gross. Lets compromise and say "guy." He was gorgeous - although, do you really have to try that hard at 21 to be gorgeous? He had abs to die for, wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, a butt from the cover of a fitness magazine. It was such a change from the men my age - for starters, nothing on this guy jiggled when he walked, which meant I did a lot of sucking in my stomach when he was around.

Anygay, on night two of the trip we ended up hanging out on the beach with this faboo group of guys. Somehow VacationNathan (VN) and I ended up alone (thank you, girls!). We sat on the beach. He started to point out different stars and constellations (for the record, I'm pretty sure MOST of what he told me was incorrect). He finally said, "So, do you know much about the stars?" I said, "no." Then he said, "Okay, how about sports?" Again, I answered, "no." He laughed and said, "Okay, what do you know about?" I answered, "I know the 25 uses for a comma." His response? He grabbed me, pulled me close, and said, "Can you think of 25 uses for me?" And then he kissed me.

And that's all you get tonight. I pinky promise not to make you wait so long next time.

Love and flowers,
Annabelly

Let's Talk About Vacation Booty...

It's story time. Today we shall discuss Vacation Nathan (VL). Picture it: Florida, 2008. I was with three girlfriends on what I dubbed my Divorce Vacation. (Side note: If you walk into a bar and yell, "It's my Divorce Vacation!" you will drink free all night. Trust.) Anyway, it was about six months post-Douchebag (the ex husband), and I was just coming out of my funk. This vacation was my debut as a single gal. And what a debut it was!

The first thing you should know is that it was a very peculiar vacation. It remains the only vacation from which I have ever returned weighing less than I did pre-trip. The alcohol took precedence over real sustenance, and, apparently, a liquid diet consisting of mainly vodka and wine is temporarily good for the waistline. Anyway, I freely admit that I drank too much on this trip - so much, in fact, that my friends and I kept a list going of what I drank each night. It should have made me puke. Truthfully, when I go a little overboard on the adult beverages, I am a puker. However, I didn't upchuck once on this trip. We attributed it to the magic of Divorce Vacation - a place where Annabelly can get drunk and NOT puke and pounds magically melt off. It was a grand old time.

So, let's get down to bidnizz..............

On the first night of the trip, we went to one of our favorite bars, had some drinks, and made new friends. A tip for making friends: Have a girlfriend take pictures of you with random hot guys for your Divorce Vacation scrapbook. This is a fabulous ice breaker. And this is how we met an incredibly fun group of guys from a neighboring state. They ranged from 21 to 34 in age and so-so to OMG hot on the cuteness scale. And I took my picture with each one of them. (By the way, the scrapbook is faboo.) I thought several of them were viable options, and the rest of the girls were having fun with them, too, so we made plans to meet up with them again the next night.

The next night we had a great time again. We drank. We sang. We drank some more. We rode a tram. We walked on the beach. And I did a little stargazing on the beach with one particular guy. Before I tell you which one...let's learn a little bit more about a few of these guys:

A 34 year old science teacher who wore long sleeves in Florida in July
A 31 year old insurance salesman and wannabe recording sensation
A 27 year old math professor
A 31 year old engaged physical therapist

And then, there was Nathan - a 21 year old college student, specifically an exercise science major and personal trainer with blond hair, blue eyes, and abs that made you stupid.

And.............we will finish later. I'm jonesing for a snack.

Peace, love, and all that stupid shizzle,
Annabelly

Muscles: The Saga Continues...

Well...we got back together...at least, as "together" as you can be without actually being in a viable relationship. Whatever. We'll see how this goes.

It's Done.

It's official. Muscles and I broke up. The (sort of) relationship is over. Normally, I'd say bring on the next guy. But this one kind of did a number on me.

By the way, on a not totally unrelated note, I have decided that I don't believe that people actually fall in love anymore. I know they used to fall in love. My parents were in love until the day my mother died. My sister and her husband are in love. I have friends who are in love. BUT these people all fell in love pre-facebook and pre-internet dating. I don't think it happens anymore. I really don't. If anyone reading this is currently in love, I guarantee you that you fell in love pre-2003. It is my opinion that no one has fallen in love in the past 7 years.

The End,
The Definitely Single Annabelly.

I'm about to break up with my NONboyfriend.

I think I'm at the very beginning of a decent romantic comedy. I'm in a (quasi) relationship that's going nowhere. I'm frustrated. I'm pissed off. I'm alone. Again. There have been mixed signals. There have been dashed hopes. Isn't that how the heroine starts out in most of those movies?

And then just when she's at her wits' end...when she's not looking, when she's not prepared, when she's usually in some awkward, embarrassing scenario...there he is. And it just works. She finds him charming. He finds her adorable.

His bottom line: I don't think Muscles likes me very much. I think I annoy him. He overanalyzes everything I say. Lately, I find myself walking on eggshells around him. He only seems to enjoy being around me when we're in a group. We have been "talking" for two months now. I have been stressed and confused 90% of the time.

My bottom line: I don't want someone to look at me in annoyance. I don't want someone to roll their eyes because I did or said something silly. I don't want someone to read into everything I say looking for the flaw. I don't want someone to wish I were a little thinner, a little taller, a little smarter, a little more interesting. I don't want them to wish I had a slightly smaller nose or a quieter laugh. I want someone to look at me and like me...just the way I am right now. And if Muscles isn't that guy...then what the hell am I doing?

Stupid Students...

It occurred to me that I never finished telling you about Motorcycle. Oh well. Here's the short version - he kept flirting. A lot. He kept asking me out. I kept declining. The flirting escalated with him eventually telling me something extremely naughty that he wanted to engage in while we were on his motorcycle. Anyway, I never did go out with him.

The end.

Here's my point, though...well, the point I'm trying to make today. Students are weird. For every Mary Kay La-Whats-It (I can't remember her name. You know - the one who boinked her extremely underage student), there are probably 10 students trying to get somewhere with a teacher. And by somewhere I mean naked city. Yes, this is gross. Yes, this is wrong. No, I never had fantasies about bumping uglies with one of my teachers. EWWW - I just had a baby barf. Anyway, trust me, peeps, these stupid students are trying.

Take today, for instance. I have been assigned a teacher's assistant (TA) one hour. My TA is a guy; he is a senior. He has decided that he has a crush on me. He has told people this. He walks by my room constantly. He compliments my hair, my teeth, my shoes. Today he got a sticky note and wrote a date on it; he stuck this to my computer. Here's our conversation:

Me: "J, what is this?"
J: "My birthday."
Me: "You're telling me months in advance? Yeah...I won't remember that. Also, I wasn't aware I was supposed to celebrate my TA's birthday. Don't expect much...guess I could bring you some gum."
J: "But it's an important birthday."
Me: "They're all important when you're young. Eventually, you'll want to ignore them."
J: "But I'll be 18."
Me: "Goody for you. Congratulations. We're all proud."
J: "So I'll be legal."
Me: "I don't want to hear about that."
J: "Aww, c'mon, Ms. A. Your niece told me you were single. Soon as I turn 18, I'm asking you out...or do I have to wait until I graduate?"
Me: "You can wait til I'm drawing Social Security; it's still never gonna happen. Don't be gross. Now go sit in the back of the class."
J: "Will you at least dance with me at Homecoming?"
Me: "Gross. I will not."

Like I said, gross. I have said this before, but it needs to be repeated: I cannot attract a man my own age to save my life. Where is the 35 year old single man? Hell, even if you tell me...or place him right in front of me...he wouldn't want me. Now, take an 18 year old moron or a 55 year old paw paw...and they will love me and possibly stalk me. Gross.

Grossly yours,
Annabelly

So Here's What Happened...

Miller: The Conclusion

It was painfully awkward. He barely spoke. He barely looked at me. It was clear that he was not thrilled about me being there. I know I am not imagining things when I tell you that he went out of his way NOT to acknowledge me.

At one point during the evening, we found ourselves alone in the game room. I had popped in there to get juice boxes for the kids. He was there to grab a beer. I'm assuming the alcohol made it easier to deal with seeing me. Here's what happened:

Miller: "Oh. You're here," he said, turning away to leave.
Me: "Hey! Don't leave. What do you need? Beer?"
Miller: "Yeah."
Me: "Got it," handing him the beer.
Miller: "Thanks...uh...thanks."
Me: "Hey, it's really good to see you."
Miller: "Yeah."
Me: (this is where I start rambling because I hate awkward silences) "So, your kids are adorable...that youngest one looks exactly like you...and you look great, too. You really haven't aged a bit."
Miller: "And...that's good?"
Me: "Of course that's good! Who wants to age?"
Miller: "Yeah. You look...you look...well, you look..........................."

And I never got to hear what I looked like because at that point he shook his head and walked out. I followed him saying, "What's wrong with you?" But he never turned around. He just kept walking away while shaking his head.

Do I look like poo? An extraterrestrial? A supermodel? A prostitute? A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker? A fair worker? A PTO mom? A Jehovah's witness? WHAT the hell do I look like? I'll never know because the MORON walked off without completing his sentence. I hate fragments. Fragments are rude.

And that's that.

Weirdness. Awkwardness. Boo hiss.

This is the same man who once drove 9 hours because I was sad. And now he can't look at me, talk to me...hell, even complete a sentence about me. What the hell happened?

And, because I suppose it's fitting for this post, I may as well tell you that the alias Annabelly came from him. "Annabel Lee" is my favorite poem. Ever. It was one of his favorites, too. He used to call, and when I'd answer he'd say the first line, "It was many and many a year ago..." I would reply by saying the second line. We'd say the entire poem that way - a line at a time. Say Annabel Lee quickly. Sounds like Annabelly, right? At some point, we started referring it to it this way. And later he started referring to me that way. So, there you have it. I'm Annabelly.

Whatever,
Annabelly

Here's the poem. It really is excellent. It is still my favorite and my best.


Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Miller Time

Let's continue, shall we?

We went to separate colleges. He was...I don't know...maybe 9 hours away from me. We talked every night at first. Then it dwindled to maybe every other night. It was always several times a week, though. We both got into the swing of college...made friends...all that crap. I think we both adjusted easily, except for missing each other. I had a cork board right over my bed in my dorm room. It was plastered with pictures of the two of us. People asked constantly, "Is this the boyfriend back home?" Nope. It was Miller. Of course I also had pictures of Bo, and we were still together. So were Miller and Pepper.

Then shortly after Christmas break our freshman year, Bo and I broke up. LONG, weird story that I promise to tell you later. It's a good story - and my good I mean heartbreakingly interesting. Anyway, the first person I called was Miller. I don't even know how he understood me. I was sobbing uncontrollably. I remember him saying a lot of, "Uh huh...yeah..sorry...I know." Well, I started to get pissy because I thought he really wasn't listening. He was shocked I would think this, "Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not talking much because I'm concentrating on packing, you moron! You think I'm letting you go through this alone? I'll see you in 9 hours."

And he did. He showed up at my dorm 9 hours later looking absolutely exhausted. He had forgotten one detail. Guys couldn't stay overnight in the girls' dorms, so we drove to a hotel. I cried all night, and he just held me. That's it. No sex, no kissing, he just held me and let me cry.

After this we visited each other as often as we could, and we met in Stupidly Small Town during our breaks, but we did sort of lessen our grip on each other. I started dating DB, and he started dating some moody chick...so we didn't stay in touch quite as often. We were still close, though, and when DB proposed I asked Miller to be in the wedding.

Then came the big day. At some point I found myself alone in that stupid little room in the front of the church, and I was starving. I realized I hadn't really eaten anything all day. And as soon as this thought popped in my head, there was a knock on the door. It was Miller. He had snuck into the reception early and grabbed crackers and drinks. We were now alone in that stupid little room. I guess I was a little nervous because I was babbling and scarfing down crackers. Eventually, he interrupted me.

Miller: "Don't marry him."
Me: "What did you just say?"
Miller: "Don't marry him. He's not right for you."
Me: "What the hell is wrong with you? Of course he's right for me."
Miller: "I know you better than anyone. You have doubts."
Me: "I do not."
Miller: "You do. Don't marry him."
Me: "What if I did have doubts? What am I supposed to do? Tell my dad thanks for paying for all this shit, but I'm out?"
Miller: "Your dad wouldn't care if you weren't sure about this. And you're not sure."
Me: "So, you expect me to do what exactly?"
Miller: "Leave."
Me: "Leave? Leave my own wedding? Just jump in my car and shove this big ass white dress in the driver's seat and leave my own damn wedding?"
Miller: "Leave. But not on your own. Leave with me."
Me: "You're insane."

And then my dad walked in and told me it was time. I looked up, and Miller was gone. My dad took one look at me and said, "You don't have to do this you know." But I said, "I want to." And then those double doors opened, I walked down the aisle, and married the douchebag.

And we never really kept in touch again. He made one trip to see me 4 years later. By this time, DB and I had kids. It was an odd visit. He just kept repeating, "You have kids. And a husband." And then the visit was over. I tried calling. I tried emailing. He never responded. Then, my mother died. It was the worst point in my life. And he didn't call. I heard from people I barely knew, but he didn't call. His mom and dad called, came to the hospital, came to the funeral. I never heard from him. It killed me. It remains a very sore subject with me. Soon after this, I heard he was getting married. I never got an invitation. Finally, his mom called me (we were very close) and said, "Please come. For me. I'm sending an invitation (this was a week before the wedding). I don't know why he couldn't send one, but please come. I need you there." So, I went. I hadn't seen him in years. He looked great. The bride, however, did not. She has a big nose and is in serious need of some makeup tips and highlights. I call her Vanilla. Yes, I realize I am biased and in a very pissy mood tonight, whatever. I'm sure she's a lovely person.

I approached him at the reception. I said congratulations. He said he needed a beer. I followed him. I am not entirely proud of what happened next.

Me: "What happened?"
Miller: "It's not all my fault. You haven't called in years either."
Me: "My MOTHER died, you asshole. You should've been there or at least called me. Everyone came by. But not you. I watched that hospital door for a week hoping you'd walk through it. You never came. You never even called. You missed her funeral."
Miller: "Annabelly, I'm at my fucking wedding."
Me: "Which you didn't invite me to. Your mother did."
Miller: "Yeah...she still thinks you and I should be together...but I'm marrying Vanilla. I'm at my wedding, Annabelly. Remember weddings? Remember your wedding? Don't get mad at me. You got married first. You got married and had kids and changed everything."

Then he walked off. I didn't see him or hear from him until last night. And last night sucked.

Sucks to be me,
Annabelly.

Tonight Was Stupid...

It really was. It was awkward and weird and really, really stupid. It was so stupid that it was stoopid - this is how the teenagers spell it when something is beyond the usual limits of stupidity.

First, more background. At some point during our senior year, it hit us that soon we wouldn't see each other every day. We did not take this well. We used to spend hours lying on the trampoline in his backyard discussing this - while holding hands and crying. How were we going to cope without each other? He debated changing his mind and staying in state for college. We were pretty torn up about the upcoming separation. We dealt with it by spending even more time together. Our significant others weren't happy with this decision.

Like I've mentioned, we were best friends; we never dated. I had a boyfriend of 2 years. He had a girlfriend of about a year. We told these significant others the deal - we would spend one night of the weekend with them, but the other night was just for us. Looking back, I can't believe they agreed to this.

Eventually, the topic came up: Why had we never dated? We reasoned that we had just become too close - that we were more like brother and sister - that there was no attraction there. The last one was definitely a lie. At some point, I remember looking at him during our senior year and thinking, "What the hell is my problem? He's adorable."

I remember this moment during our senior prom. We danced together one time, and he said, "Have I ever told you that you're beautiful? I know I joke around a lot (understatement of the century), and I'm always talking about your boobs (long story - short version of it is that he used to write poems and songs about them)...and I don't know if I have ever said you're beautiful, but...you are. And I should have told you that a long time ago. I've been stupid. About a lot of things. Do you think there's any chance that you've been stupid about a lot of things, too?" I couldn't answer, so I just nodded yes. Then the song ended...and we went back to our dates. We didn't discuss anything else until our senior trip.

This trip was wonderful and terrible. We were inseparable. We stayed on the beach later than anyone else. We cried a lot. Mostly me - but he cried, too. We just sat there on the beach, not really talking much, with our arms wrapped around each other. But on the night before we went home, we had the following discussion:

Miller: "Do you love Bo (high school bf's alias)?"
Me: "Yes, do you love Pepper (his high school gf's alias)?"
Miller: "Yes, I think so...but then there's us."
Me: "Yes, then there's us."
Miller: "We're different."
Me: "Yes...difficult to explain us, but..."
Miller: "Not dating, but..."
Me: "I can't imagine my life without you."
Miller: "Exactly. Me either. Look...let's just say whatever we want this week. This week, it's just us...no Pepper, no Bo...just us. Okay?"
Me: "Okay. You start."
Miller: "If I had to lose one of you...you or Pepper...I'd give her up. No question. I'd rather have you."
Me: "I couldn't give you up either...I do love Bo, but..."
Miller: "We're something else entirely, aren't we?"
Me: "Yes."
Miller: "Are you attracted to me at all?"
Me: "Yes. Are you?"
Miller: "Yes, and it's not just your boobs, I promise...I look at you, and I think I've been a moron since 6th grade...a scared moron."
Me: "Did you ever want us to be more than friends?"
Miller: "Yes, but I always pushed it out of my mind."
Me: "Me too...and I've got Bo..."
Miller: "And I've got Pepper...but you know that we're more than that."
Me: "I know. Now what?"
Miller: "I don't know...I'm going to be hours and hours away from you this fall."
Me: "I don't want to talk about that tonight."
Miller: "How about we don't talk? Let's stay out here as long as possible...til people come looking for us."

And we did. He wrapped his arms around me, and we both cried. And he kissed the top of my head over and over. Finally, someone did come looking for us. I cried myself to sleep that night. The next day we got on the bus to go home. We sat together, and he put his pillow on our laps so that no one would see that we were holding hands.

That's all I feel up to sharing tonight. I will finish tomorrow, and tell you more about how stupid our little reunion was tonight. Excuse me - stoopid.

like (cause I ain't in the mood for love),
Annabelly

Some Background Info...

Thought you might enjoy a little background info on the dude I'm going to see tonight. He needs a name. Let's call him Miller. It's an appropriate name, and, no, you don't get to know why it's appropriate. Deal with it.

Miller and I were close friends from a very young age. Starting in junior high, we called each other every night and talked for hours. I distinctly remember my grown sister making those emergency breaks on the phone line because she couldn't get through to our parents. This was before the days of call waiting...either that or it was before my dad agreed to pay for call waiting.

Miller and I were in the same school activities. We played the same sport. We arranged our schedules so we'd have the same classes. We went to church together. We went to the lake together. We spent almost every day after school together. We told each other secrets that no one else knew. I once popped a painful zit on his back he couldn't reach. He once held my hair when I vomited. He painted my toenails for me. I rubbed sunscreen on his back and shoulders (he was a pale sonofabitch). He helped me with my tennis serve. I helped him shop for his Homecoming outfit. He was my best friend.

We never dated. For a long time, we never even discussed it even though everyone around us (especially our families) wondered why we weren't a couple. At some point, though, the same thought occurred to us - why had we never dated? We did couple-y things. We watched movies on his couch. I'd throw my legs on his lap, and he'd rub my feet. He'd put a pillow in my lap, and I'd run my fingers through his hair. Sometimes when we ended our phone conversations, we'd say, "Love you more than anyone." It remains the most intense friendship of my life. Not exactly that he's been the greatest friend I've ever had - Padma and Tamara take the cake on that - but it was definitely the most intense.

Our senior year, things really started to change...and I'll tell you about that next.

Love you more than (almost) anyone,
Annabelly

OMG...Should Have an Interesting Post Tonight...

Forget the "Things I Should Be Teaching Kids" post...because at approximately 7:00 tonight I will see a man I haven't seen in years. There were feelings...and missed opportunities...and tears...and secrets...and drama...lots of drama. This went on for years, yet even my closest friends didn't know about it at the time. I am excited and very, very nervous. I wonder if he's changed? I wonder if he'll be excited to see me? Will he hug me? Will he be nervous? Will we have anything to say to each other after all these years? And, most importantly, what should I wear?????

For those of you concerned that this is inappropriate due to my SORT OF relationship with Muscles, don't be. This dude from my past is married, and the wife will be there. I have no intention of acting or saying anything inappropriate...BUT...bet you 5 bucks she hates me.

Word to yo muthas,
Annabelly

Things I Should Be Teaching Today's Kids...

Let's be honest...how many of these kids are going to remember how to solve quadratic equations? How many of them (beyond high school) are going to NEED to know how to solve quadratic equations? However, they can still benefit greatly from my knowledge. Because, let's face it, I know things. In honor of back to school time, here are a few classes I wouldn't mind teaching.

Actually, here's just the first one...I'll post the rest after dinner. Deal.

1. Naming Your Children 101: Some of these students have some f'd up names. Trust me, people, come down off your acid trip and your wacky weed buzz before naming your children any of the following: Aquanetta (hello, the 80's hairspray standby?), Charmin (tp for your bunghole, anyone?), Chastity (trust me, she will be the one knocked up with twins by age 15 and will appear on an episode of Maury Povich's "Who's my Babydaddy?"), or Cherry (lots o virginity jokes), or Waldo (the next person who says "Where's Waldo?" in my class is getting a smack to the head. I plan on telling the principal this kid just tripped.)

We GOTS to Talk about Muscles...

Well, I hadn't planned on telling you peeps much about Muscles since I'm currently smooching and groping him, but...DAMN, the man is driving me crazy. He has GOT to be the sexiest, muscliest, possibly bipolarest (yes, I know est doesn't belong on two of those words. Sue me) guy ever. EVER.

He is, alternately, supersweet and supercranky. This past weekend at MainGay's house, he was fantastic. But the last two nights on the phone he clearly had his manties (male panties. duh) in a wad. A big wad. He was short with me, seemed aggravated with me, and clearly did not want to talk to me. Then why did he call me? Last night was the worst. Apparently saying things like, "yes, uh-huh, I understand" during a pause in the conversation is rude. He considers it interrupting. I was unaware he felt this way. I was unaware that anyone felt this way. I enjoy a back-and-forth banter. He does not. At one point he said, "Look, am I telling you the fucking story, or are you telling me the fucking story?" And he said it angrily. And loudly. He followed it with, "You're always interrupting. It's like you're always trying to steer the conversation."

Yikes. I did not enjoy that. I also did not agree with his assessment of my conversational skills, which, clearly, are stellar. Ask anyone. Ask Padma or Tamara or MainGay. Just don't ask Muscles. Anyway, a few hours after this lovely convo, I get a text from MainGay: "You will never believe the incredible thank you email Muscles sent me (about the weekend). Fairly long and EXTREMELY heartfelt. I'll read it to you and, trust me, you're going to officially declare "underwears" to be perfectly acceptable!"

I haven't seen the email yet, but I have no doubt that it is extraordinarily heartfelt. That's him...sensitive and observant and heartfelt. Except for when he's not. And then he's SuperCrank.

Today he called and said, "Guess what? I was an ass yesterday. I apologize. I could make excuses, but I won't because that's disrespectful to you. That's it. I was a huge ass, and I'm sorry. Also, I know I kinda griped a lot yesterday and never asked about your day. So, I'm gonna sit here and listen, and I really want to hear about it. I'm all ears. To be honest with you, it's been several days and I haven't asked about you at all, and that's wrong. You know I love me some Annabelly, so start talking, Hotness." See - ass then sweetheart.

I want to strangle him, then make out with him. UGG.

That is all,
Annabelly

I'll Finish Motorcycle When I Feel Like It: Let's Talk About The Trip to MainGay's House!

I'm the boss. I do what I like. Deal with it.

The weekend trip to MainGay's house was way fun. You may think that you had fun this weekend, but you did not. We had fun. We sang. We danced. We drank. We swam. We ate (too much). We danced with lesbians. Some of us got tattoos. And some of us vomited. Good times.

Things I Learned This Weekend:

1. Henna tats are fun. I want one, but what to get? I want something unique...something that really says Annabelly. I'm pondering a full back tat listing the 25 uses for a comma...either that or "Ain't nothing but a big ass" on my (duh) lower back/upper butt area.

2. Prank calls to your friends are still funny in your 30's.

3. You can't go wrong with a crowded dance floor, Lady Gaga, shirtless men, and confetti. That's good value.

4. It is fun to debate the real issues of the day with your friends - is it a "front butt" or a "fupa"? These are the types of issues my generation cares about. If you don't know the definition of "fupa," I suggest Urban Dictionary.

5. If you're going to go to a lesbian bar, you really should buy a t-shirt. Hopefully, these shirts will say something cool like "Lesbian Fest." You should buy one for everyone in your group. You and your friends should then wear these t-shirts to Sunday brunch. You will feel famous because everyone will stare at you while you eat your shrimp and grits.

6. Saying, "You better shut up," when no one is talking is funny. Trust me on this.

7. I like gay clubs. The people there are polite. Every time someone bumped into me they stopped to say, "Oh, I'm so sorry." Then they smiled and complimented my shoes.

8. Muscles will halfway undress on the dance floor (of a gay club), but don't peck him on the lips in a restaurant...or on the street in front of a restaurant...or anywhere other than a dark bedroom...geez.

9. The following quotations from the weekend are just funny - no, you don't get to know who said them. Some of the following were just overheard, not stated by our group.
"I'm pretty sure I'm a big ole lezzie."
"Is it possible to get a hickey on your pecker?"
"I can't get out!" (of this bathroom stall)
"You can't paint over crazy."
"I'd rather go back to the mental hospital than this piano bar."
"So, there was this sad hermaphrodite..."
"I want a small lezzie shirt, so my boobs will look really big."
"Muscles will love this lesbian bar; all these chicks have his same haircut."
"Did I get vomit in MainGay's car?"
"Was that a man or a woman who just grabbed my ass?"
"I don't know, but I saw the panic in your eyes. That's why I twirled you away."
"I just got hit on by a drag queen...an ugly one."
"When I was younger, my idol was Dolly Parton...all I aspired to was blonde hair and big boobs."
"Go to this bathroom...the other bathroom means you're open for business."
"If the situation were reversed...you'd help me get laid."
"I could rock his world in a twin bed just as easily as in a king."
"There was no sex. There was vomit. And I was the mom."
"I like to know that I've still got it...even though I don't need it."
"We are not having a threesome with another man...perhaps a woman, but not a man."
"I get jealous. If those lesbians hit on you, I may have to mark my territory as alpha male...guess I could pee on your leg. Is that how it works?"
"I feel like a 2 tonight."
"That guy right there is a fixer upper!"
"Who did you blow to get that pen?"
"He's gonna have whiskeydick."
"The guys in that bathroom don't zip up right after they pee; they wave it around for a while first."
"I have an unspoken."
"I don't want to be in the thoughts and prayers of anyone."
"Her ass is huge...oh, nevermind, it's okay because she's pregnant."
"I was scared of penises in eighth grade."
"What the hell do I do with that? I know there's a button somewhere..."
"Is he trainable? French maid trainable?"
"Gay dudes dance more than lesbians...but lesbians have better music."

10. Tamara wants me to find my soulmate. I don't think Muscles is my soulmate because he told me this long story about this man getting caught cheating on his wife...and he kept saying "underwears." I don't think my soulmate says "underwears."

11. Muscles also didn't know who Cyndi Lauper was. MainGay and I almost had a heart attack. People should know about Cyndi Lauper. They just should.

12. Muscles also said, "If MainGay has a waffle griddle, I'll make you waffles." WAFFLE GRIDDLE.

13. However, he is a sweetheart. He brought a camera this weekend. I always have my camera, yet I've never seen him with one. I commented on the camera, and he said, "of course I brought my camera on my weekend away with you...you're so beautiful, why wouldn't I want pictures?"

14. Looking through my pictures later he said, "You don't take a bad picture, do you? Damn." I like it when he looks at me, grins, and says Damn.

15. Guys, do not use Nair to de-hair your back. You will break out. A lot.

16. Lock the door before...well, just lock the damn door. Trust me.

17. Next time I hold a bucket for a vomiting man, I better have girlfriend status. Yuck.

18. People will say anything in front of waiters and hired drivers. Trust me. We really did say anything.

19. MainGay almost let the blog out of the bag in front of Muscles, but he caught himself in time. Thank the goodness!

20. Walking into the Walgreens in Stupidly Small Town still wearing your lezzie shirt is just asking for trouble...oh well.

Love to my homies!
Annabelly

A Brief Note...

Yes, I realize that I said I would finish up the Motorcycle story...big effing deal. Get over it. I'll finish it when I'm good and ready. I'm not your bitch, Bitch.

Just wanted to take a moment and thank someone (yes, I have a heart, you turds) - I have a reader from Moscow. And I think that's pretty freakin' fantastical. Thank you, Moscow Reader. You are my favorite and my best.

Have a very Russian day,
Annabelly

Mister Mister

So, let's finish up Mr. Motorcycle because I really want to tell you about my trip to MainGay's house this past weekend.

Facebook: I love it. I hate it. I love reconnecting with old friends. I hate reading Freakin' Stephanie from high school's status updates that detail her whole day: "Today I weeded the garden. Then I made homemade scones and ironed the creases out of my aprons and doilies. I then completed my daily needlework - an enormous "Footprints" masterpiece done in pastel threads. I made sure the kids ate their veggies so they'd be regular, and I rubbed my husband's feet after dinner. Shortly before bed I checked my face for wrinkles. I still don't have any."

Anyway, after I clicked "accept" to BNB and Motorcycle - I waited. I was fairly certain they would both either send a private message or use the chat feature to communicate. Here were my predictions:

1. BNB would be respectable and sweet. He would also detail all his accomplishments since high school.
2. Motorcycle would hit on me.

I looked at their profiles. BNB was adorable - nerdy and a little goofy. His arm is around a guy in his profile pic. I wondered if he was gay - which is cool; the gays love me. Then I checked out Motorcycle's profile. Forgive me - but he is CUTE. I assumed he would be, but I wasn't prepared for the pic. Supertall, blond, blue eyes, amazing arms (good arms are my weakness), and (usually not my thing) tattoos, and that shit-eating grin. And he was riding a motorcycle. I don't know anything about bikes (which I'm sure is no surprise to anyone), but even I could tell it was a good one.

Both guys wrote on my wall. BNB wrote, "Ms. A, so good to find you! I hope you've been well." Motorcycle wrote, "Ms. A!!!! Whassup?" Then...the chat box opened. BNB first. Here are a few of the things he said:

BNB: "Wow - how have you been? Been looking at your pics. Your kids are so cute! Are you still teaching?"
BNB: "I thought about you every time I had to write a paper. You really were my favorite teacher."
BNB: "I'm doing well - graduated Valedictorian, then it was off to college and law school."
BNB: "If you're ever this way, please let me know. I always told you I'd take you to lunch again one day. There are several of us who live in the same town - we'll get a group together and go."

BNB was exactly as I expected him to be - sweet. And now for Motorcycle. So glad I saved this conversation:

Motorcycle: "Ms A! Whatcha been up to? I ain't (yes, he did) seen you in years!"
Me: "Nice to hear from you, Motorcycle. I'm doing well. You?"
Motorcycle: "I'm cool. Now don't get pissed. Didn't do college. You know school wasn't never (yes, he did) my thang (again, yes he did - apparently, my English lessons didn't stick)."
Me: "So, what are you doing?"
Motorcycle: "I got a shop. Build and repair bikes. Love it. Doing pretty damn good."
Me: "Sounds interesting."
Motorcycle: "It is. You still teach?"
Me: "Yes"
Motorcycle: "You was always my favorite."
Me: "Really? Did I manage to teach you anything?"
Motorcycle: "Now you know I always went to your class. Not the others but I wouldn't miss yours."
Me: "True. You were there."
Motorcycle: "I learned!"
Me: "Well, I'm glad."
Motorcycle: "Damn...you're still fine as shit."
Me: "I'm not sure that's a compliment. Shit isn't that attractive."
Motorcycle: "LOL you know it's a compliment. You're hotter now than you were back then and you were fine as hell then. There wasn't one day I didn't get a boner in your class."
Me: "Uh...I did NOT need to know that."
Motorcycle: "It's true. Never stopped thinking bout you neither. I got an idea. Go out with me."
Me: "WHAT?"
Motorcycle: "Go out with me. We're all adults now."
Me: "Uh...I don't think I could do that."
Motorcycle: "Why? Age? I'm 25. That's a grown ass man. Don't tell me you don't date younger guys."
(side note: Shit, Birdman was 24, and I almost married him.)
Me: "It is a pretty big age difference, but besides that - I was your teacher! That's a little too strange for me."
Motorcycle: "Why? Who the hell cares? It wouldn't be like that. I'm not taking you to a fucking alumni picnic. Just two adults going out. Happens every day. You're just Annabelly, not my teacher."
Me: "Really? You could see me as just a woman - not as your former teacher?"
Motorcycle: "Yes"
Me: "Liar."
Motorcycle: "LOL...well, maybe not. I aint gonna lie - the teacher part is hot as fuck. Dammit - I gotta go. Ima (lovely, huh?) be on here later. Just think about it."

More to follow...................................

Peace to my peeps,
Annabelly

Things That Are on My Mind Right Now...

1. If I were to go to a lesbian bar, would anyone hit on me? And if they did not, would that make me sad?

2. I wonder if Muscles is really going on the weekend outing we have planned? Or will he flake at the last minute?

3. I would like to get my eyebrows waxed tomorrow, but everyone in this town has uggo brows. Is it worth driving an hour tomorrow to get them waxed?

4. I would really like a grilled cheese right now.

5. I would also like fried green tomatoes.

6. I am ready for Botox. Right between my eyebrows. There is an ugly "squnch" right there that bothers me.

7. I still have a crush on Doogie Howser. I don't care if he's gay and won't love me back; I love him.

8. If I let my leg hair grow, just how long would it get?

9. Why do we have all this body hair anyway? It is not necessary, and I think it's gross. We should only have hair on our head and our eyebrows. That is it.

10. Why do I have the song, "Centerfold" stuck in my head?

Night my bitchtastic peeps,
Annabelly

So...My Former Student Says He "Likes" Likes Me...

Which, of course, is complete horse pucky. Mr. Motorcycle doesn't like me, and he certainly doesn't "like" like me. He wants to bang the teacher. Simple as that. Here's how it began - Facebook. Which some days I love. And which some days I hate. And which I often love and hate on the same day.


It was this past spring - after Softy McNoodle, but before D.A. It was around the same time as BB, at least I think it was. They all start to run together after a while. Anyway, I was on Facebook checking out my friend requests. I spotted a former student among the names - not Motorcycle, but another kid from that same class. Let's call him BrownNose Billy (BNB). BNB was a sweetheart of a kid. He made straight A's, said "yes, ma'am", offered to carry things to my car after school, sat in the front row, and had color-coded notes in a binder divided by subject. He carried one of those tiny packages of kleenexes at all times and sharpened his pencil a lot. This was my first year teaching eighth grade. I was 22 and newly married. BNB was a late bloomer. He didn't seem interested in girls. He wasn't one of those pervy eighth graders who stared at my boobs while I was trying to teach. He was certainly attached to me, but I honestly believe he wanted to be my little brother or my friend. I do not believe he was picturing me naked. Or, as peeps around Stupidly Small Town say, "nekkid."


Anyway, BNB friended me. And while I refuse to be Facebook friends with any current or recent students, I reasoned that, at age 25 or 26, I could safely befriend him. I clicked "add." In a matter of minutes, another friend request popped up - Motorcycle. And, while I don't remember all my students, I certainly remember him. Like BNB, Motorcycle was memorable. He was the anti-BNB. He was smart, but lazy. He was always late. He never had his homework. He sat in the back and flirted with cute girls. He was a cut-up, a smart ass, a pain. And yet...everyone loved him. From the secretary to the principal, he could charm them all. I once watched him walk in the front doors of the school over an hour late. He walked right up to the secretary and said, "It's been one of those days...you understand." Then he winked at her, complimented her haircut, and whistled on his way to class. To my knowledge he never arrived on time, yet he was never on the absentee list. By the time he arrived to my class for third hour every day, I'd already heard ten stories about him.

One day I walked past a group of boys that included Motorcycle and BNB. As soon as I passed them, they burst into laughter. I stopped, turned around, and gave them, "the eye." BNB, eager to please, quickly volunteered: "The guys just asked Motorcycle why he was never late to your class. He said, "Why would I be late? Look at her. She's hot." I shot Motorcycle a look. I expected him to be embarrassed. He was not. At all. He took a few steps toward me and said, "Well, it's the truth. I think you're hot. Why lie? You're the most beautiful woman I know...in real life." Then...he grinned, winked, took a blatant glance at my boobs, and walked away whistling.

On the field trip to watch a play, he finagled his way into sitting beside me. During art class he drew a picture of me with my new haircut (I cut bangs. Big mistake). At the Spring Dance, he walked up and asked me to dance, and I don't think he was joking. I think he actually expected me to accept (no, I didn't accept, you fools!) For Christmas that year he bought me a card that said I was a great teacher, and that since being in my class he actually felt guilty when he forgot his homework or failed a test. He said I made him care.

This school was small - smaller than SSTHS. It was k-12, and they graduated around 40 students. When I told the kids during the last week of school that I wouldn't be returning the next year (my husband DB was taking a job far, far away), the students were upset. They were sad. A few of them were mad and didn't speak to me for a few days. BNB and Motorcycle knocked on my classroom door later that week during lunch time. I had no idea how they got into the building; students were supposed to be in the cafeteria or the playground, but there they were. I answered it. BNB was grinning broadly. He was holding a pizza from my very favorite pizza place. Motorcycle wasn't grinning, but he was holding a Diet Dr. Pepper for me and two Cokes for them.

BNB: "It was Motorcycle's idea. I called my mom, and she picked everything up. She's right down the hall with Mrs. G; they're coming , too. And we got permission to have lunch with you."

Me: "How did that happen?"

Motorcycle: "It's not that difficult."

BNB: "Nothing is difficult for him."

On the last day, I was sad. The kids were sad. My close friend, Mrs. G., who also taught there was sad. The kids hugged me (that is the only day of the year that I permit the students to hug me. I still adhere to this rule; I announce it on the first day of class). BNB and Motorcycle were the last to leave that day. They both cried, though Motorcycle blamed it on allergies. Then these young boys both had the oddest parting words for me.

BNB: "Mrs. A, you're the best teacher we've ever had. We love you, and we'll miss you. But there's something I've wanted to say all year, but I was scared I'd get detention. Now that you can't write me up...I don't like that husband of yours. There's something weird about him, and you're too good for him. I've wanted to tell you that all year. I know I'm only 14, but...I just thought someone should tell you. Anyway, I'll miss you. I'm gonna find you one day when I'm successful, and we'll have another lunch, but not pizza...a real grown-up lunch. And I'll buy it, not my mom."

Motorcycle: "You're the best, Mrs. A. I mean that. To make me care about school...well, you must be the best. And you really are the most beautful woman I know...in real life."

Next up: The Facebook Reconnection

It Has Been Exactly...

951 days since I became single.

That translates to the following:
22,824 hours
1,369,440 minutes
82,166,400 seconds

Does that sound like a drunk proclaiming their days sober? Frankly, I envy the drunks. They have social outings where I hear there are donuts and coffee. I enjoy snacks; I don't do coffee, but I could get enthusiastic about a donut or two (shut up, I'll mall-walk it off later). They also have prizes - medallions that they are presented with when they attain specific milestones - one year sober, two years sober, and so on. And they even get their own prayer, what could be cooler? I hear from a friend that they sometimes have guest speakers. And, my fave part, you're actually encouraged NOT to give your full name - first names only. As a girl who has used various aliases for years, this is a rule I can get behind. Now, on to my point, why should the drunks have all the fun? I propose Divorcees Anonymous. Here is our creed.

1. Thou shalt serve double chocolate Milano cookies, chips and salsa, Diet Dr. Pepper (shut up, it's amazing), and a decent Pinot Noir.

2. Thou shalt enjoy entertainment. No guest speakers here; we will have concerts. Our first concert will feature a female impersonator (the only type of man allowed in our meetings - except, of course, you may all bring your own version of MainGay for moral support) singing "I Will Survive" and that "To the Left, To the Left" song by Beyonce.

3. Thou shalt be called by a new name. Mine is GG. Stands for Gangsta Girl. No, you can't have it. Pick your own.

4. Thou shalt receive presents. Medallions are tacky and useless. Who the hell thought of that? We will award prizes people actually want: Sonic gift certificates, spa services, cookie of the month club, free babysitting, magic mirrors that make you appear 20 pounds thinner, personal chef services, and rent-a-hunk services for when you need a hot date to impress people you hate.

4. Thou shalt recite this pledge:

Oprah, grant me the strength

To put down these damn cookies

And to pick up a freakin' apple

And the wisdom to know when to throw in the towel

And eat the damn cookie anyway,

Plus an entire carton of ice cream.

Living one day at a time,

Enjoying not sharing the bed with that douche

Accepting dates with weirdos

As the pathway to self discovery and tetanus shots.

Discovering along the way

That while I may be reasonably happy in singlehood,

Sharing it with you bitches is supreme bliss.

Peace out!

Annabelly

I'm Not Gonna Lie...It's Been a Day

I've had a day from hell here in this chicken-fried-nightmare known as Stupidly Small Town. Here's a small snippet - cause I like saying, "snippet."

Would it surprise you to find out that I am bisexual? Cause it surprised the skittles outta me. The guy I'm (sort of) seeing is apparently a freakin' woman about most things...especially relationship-y things. This does not please me. It makes me feel like I am dating a woman - not that there's anything wrong with dating a woman, but I want a man...a man with a working set of balls. I swear the next time I see him I'm gonna do a full body search...cause I have a sneaking suspicion he's hiding his vagina somewhere...his mangina, if you will. After having discussed our relationship for about 10 out of the last 24 hours (no, not exaggerating), I finally decided three things:

1. I am clearly the man at this party. I don't want to be the man; frankly, I'm too pretty and dress too damn well to be the man.

2. Firefly vodka is my friend.

3. I hope to go at least a few days without hearing the following words from anyone: relationship, commitment, connection, and feelings. That last one is just gross.

4. The only thing that could possibly bring me out of this funk is a pair of rockin' shoes. I don't want just any shoes, I want my dream shoes: Christian Louboutin. Here are the three I am currently lusting over: (and don't ask me about the eyeballs in the backgroud of the first pic, I don't know, and I don't care. It's Louboutin's!)

Love you bitches,

Annabelly

Motorcycle Mister...A Preview

A brief preview of the next story:

I'm going to take the logical step from Teach to Mr. Motorcycle. Why is it logical, you ask? Well, two sides of the same coin: Teach was, duh, my teacher...and Mr. Motorcycle...well, he was MY former student. I get to be Teach this time. Oh, yeah...I'm warped.

All you're getting right now is this: Our story starts in that great cyber brothel - the 2010 equivalent of a saloon, a bath house, a key party - Facebook.

Grope ya later,
Annabelly

We're About to Wrap Teach Up, Yo.

So...when we left our story, Teach was choking.

Me: "You okay, Teach?" (Yes, I called him that.)
Teach: "Barely...wow, you really were clueless, weren't you?"
Me: "Very."
Teach: "So, how long did it take you to figure out exactly what that dictionary was talking about?"
Me: "I'll tell you, but, just so you know, this is a very inappropriate conversation between pupil and teacher."
Teach: "Former pupil and former teacher."
Me: "Way to put a buzzkill on it; that's not hot at all. The illicit aspect of this is the whole reason I said yes to this date."
Teach: "Wow...you really are..."
Me: "Awesome? Fabulous?"
Teach: "Blunt."
Me: "You have no idea."
Teach: "So...if you're blunt, I can be blunt, right?"
Me: "Go for it."
Teach: "Answer the question."
Me: "I forgot the question...I just remember it was inappropriate."
Teach: "I asked you how long it was before you figured out what the dictionary was talking about."
Me: "Oh, years and years...well, I figured out during high school what it entailed for guys, but it took me a while to figure out what it meant for us girls."
Teach: "I see. But when you did figure it out, I really hope my name popped in your head at that moment."
Me: "I am shocked and appalled and will be reporting you to the principal, Teach."

So, he was obviously starting to loosen up a bit. We finished dinner, and we decided to walk around the casino a bit. We had a drink and played a few slots. He made fun of me because I didn't push the handy button on the slot machines. I like to look around for the ones that still have the lever, cause that's just more fun and you know it. I won exactly $42. I squealed and jumped up and down in my very high heels. Yes, I know that $42 is not a lot of money, but I never, ever win anything, so I was thrilled. Stop laughing at me, jerks. It was fun.

We talked and walked and had a perfectly lovely evening. He walked me to my car, told me he would like to see me again, and gave me a kiss. I drove home - of course calling Padma, Tamara, and Dorothy on the way giving them all the deets. I also called my sister. She, of course, was thoroughly proud of her matchmaking abilities and was already planning our upcoming nuptials. I called her a moron, told her I loved her, and continued my drive home.

Over the next week, Teach called every night. We talked for hours; I got very little sleep that week. We were trying to find a time to see each other again, but it was difficult because he had track commitments every weekend. The next week the phone calls tapered off...until I hadn't heard from him in about four days. Then, it started raining shit...

I checked my phone one day at lunch, and there were several texts from an unfamiliar number. Luckily for you readers, I saved these batshit crazy texts. I will gladly copy them word for word for you:

Text #1: Hi...I hate to impose but we have a common link that I need to discuss with you if possible. I've been seeing Teach for quite a while and just found out about you. It breaks my heart because he spouts his undying love and I don't know what to believe anymore. I don't believe anything he says but I need closure if possible. I really only need to know if you spent the night with him and is he still pursuing? I know this is very personal and I'm sorry to be asking...I just need answers.

Text #2: Sorry, I'm Barbie.

So, I'm thinking, naturally, "WTF?" I don't even take time to think about what to do - I immediately forward them to Teach, saying, "Apparently, your woman is on to you...and now so am I."

He calls me within two seconds.

Teach: "Please...let me explain."
Me: "Not much to explain...you have a girlfriend. I'm out."
Teach: "No! Well, that's not completely accurate...yes, we've had a relationship, but..."
Me: "But what?"
Teach: "You're going to think badly of me."
Me: "I already do. Spill it."
Teach: "She's married."
Me: "Wow, you were right...now I think worse."
Teach: "Please listen...it's been going on for five years...we work together here at the school...it just happened...it's the reason I left my wife...she was supposed to leave her husband, but she never did. She's lied to me for years."
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry...the woman who has been a liar and a cheater for five years wasn't completely honest with you? Shocker. And things like that don't just happen. You know this. You teach science. How many cases of a penis 'accidentally' falling into a vagina can there really be?"
Teach: "You don't understand...I'm trying to get over her...to get out of this for good...you're the first woman I've met who I've thought I could have a relationship with and forget about her."
Me: "Wow...unbelievable. No thanks. I'm not looking to be your escape route from your skeezo affair. Have fun with Barbie...or not... I really don't care. But, know this...while you've been talking I've looked up your school's website. And there's only one teacher on there with that first name...so now I have her last name. It won't be hard to find her husband...you live in a fairly small town. If either of you bothers me again or contacts me in any way...I will make sure he gets these texts. I plan on saving them. Got it?"
Teach: "I won't let her bother you...I promise."
Me: "Of course you won't...not because of affection for me, let's be clear on that...it's because it's in your best interest. Goodbye Teach. Don't call. Don't write. Don't think of me."

And that, my friends, is all she wrote! For tonight at least.

Love you muchas smoochas,
Annabelly

Wow, I never finished Teach

I profusely apologize. I just realized that I never finished the Teach story. Actually, that's not true. I didn't even realize it - a reader did. And this kind (but kinda pushy) reader informed me of this via email. I'm on it!

So, after several phone conversations, Teach finally proposes an actual date. He suggests dinner at the Asian restaurant at a nearby casino. I cringe, but decide to roll with it. Here's the deal: I love Asian food. I had Asian food for lunch today. It is yummy. However, I usually avoid Asian restaurants on first dates...actually, on the first SEVERAL dates for one very specific reason: I can't work chopsticks. At all. I can strut around in some ridonkulously high heels, but those little sticks kick my ass. I prefer to wait until the guy thinks I'm adorable until I unashamedly pull out the fork while everyone else is wielding chopsticks. But - that's what Teach picked, and I do love it when a guy comes up with a plan for a date. Seriously, if you're going to ask me out, don't then say, "So...whatcha wanna do?" Make a freakin' plan! My job is to look hot; yours is to plan the date.

So, we meet at this casino. And, I have to say, I was looking pretty damn cute. My friend (let's call her Dorothy) helped me with my outfit: low-cut (but not sluttily so) red dress and a pair of rockin' heels (Steve Madden, 5 inch with a hidden platform, very strappy and with a zipper). I walk in ... and I notice him immediately. He basically looks the same as he did when he was my teacher, just a little gray in the blond hair. He's a good distance away from me, so I check him out as I approach. Here's the observation:

1. Good smile, thank-the-goodness, I have severe issues with teeth. SEVERE.
2. Very thin, but not too thin.
3. Very, very tan - and it's March. Most people are still pale and sickly. Not me, of course. My sister has a tanning bed. Spare me your "sun is bad" stories. I know this. I am not uneducated. But you know these are indisputable facts: everyone looks better with a tan, and cellulite, most especially, looks better tan. If you saw my thighs, you would agree.
4. Outfit - oh, we have a problem. I know he is a coach, but did he really need to wear a Nike sport shirt on our date? And the jeans - have mercy - they are late eighties stonewash. And crapdoggit (that's the cuss word I use around my kids. Don't judge me. What do you say?) he is wearing white tennis shoes. This is when I start my mantra for the night - "focus on the face, focus on the face."

I walk up and say hello. He smiles and says it's nice to meet me. I, of course, make a crack about the fact that we've already met before and that I thought about teasing my bangs to make me more recognizable. He blushes. Interesting...

Dinner is okay. The conversation is fine, but it's clear he is nervous. It's a tad bit charming, though. Well, it's either his nervousness I find charming or the fact that he's told me about 10 times that I'm pretty. He also compliments my dress. I tell him Dorothy picked it out. He says, "Wow, thank her for me."

We talk some more...and just when I think I have him pegged as impossibly shy (too shy for me, definitely), he blurts out (right when I put a big bite of food in my mouth with the fork - not the chopsticks, of course): "So, your brother-in-law Coolio informs me that I said 'orgasm' in class, you had to look it up in a dictionary when you got home, and that's your only memory of me as a teacher."

I try not to choke on my food (which was pretty good, actually. I'd go back.), and I stammer, "He told you that? Nice. It's true, though. That's my memory of you: orgasm."

Teach: "And you really didn't know what it meant?"
Me: "No. Clueless. I was fairly naive."
Teach: "And you really looked it up in the dictionary?"
Me: "Yes. That's what I do when I don't know a word."
Teach: "And your thought was?..."
Me: "I didn't get it."
Teach: "What do you mean you didn't get it? It's pretty straightforward."
Me: "Well, the thing itself is, yes. But have you ever looked up the definition?"
Teach: "Well, no."
Me: "Well, you should. And then imagine that you are a very naive 14 year old who thinks a blow job means you actually stand in front of a penis and blow on it."

Then it was his turn to choke on his food.

Gotta run, but I will finish tonight, crapdoggit!


Hugs and kisses and candycane wishes,
Annabelly

Things I Have Learned Since Becoming Single, Part 2

More stuff, yo.

8. Sometimes it is nice to have the whole bed to yourself...

9. And sometimes it is not.

10. Sometimes I enjoy watching 16 straight hours of chick flicks...

11. And sometimes I turn on football just because I think this house needs a small dose of testosterone.

12. I am reminded every Thursday night that I am single...why? Because that is trash night. And taking the trash to the curb was perhaps the only chore my ex-husband used to do. I hate lugging trashcans to the curb. And remembering I am single.

13. Adult relationships are complicated. And to add to this - I over analyze everything. I miss the days of "Will you be my girlfriend? Check yes or no." I'm a chick who likes things spelled out for her. Right now I MAY be in a relationship, but I'm not sure. I want this current dude to hand me a note, folded up like a little pocket with the flap tucked in, with boxes to check.

14. I won't go into details, but just know this - I have confirmed over the last few years what I always secretly suspected: my ex-husband, DB, was no good in bed. This amuses me.

15. Every now and then, on an ordinary day while I'm going about my ordinary business, a fear will seize me. It is overwhelming. It is the fear that another man is going to break my heart. And it scares the beejezus outta me.

That's all folks! Hmm...kinda sucks I ended on a downer, huh? I'll make it up to you and post a funny later.

LURVE you,
Annabelly

Things I Have Learned Since Becoming Single, Part 1

Here is a list, in no particular order, of things I have learned over the last two and a half years from dating (mostly losers) as a thirty-something divorcee.

1. Stupidly Small Town is no place to find dates. The men here are either toothless, bald, uneducated, partial to overalls (NO freakin' way I'm dating that fashion disaster), unemployed (but they're okay with that), twenty years old, or sixty years old. GROSS.

2. Cougars are IN. And, unfortunately, I have been viewed as one. I can be in a room full of men in their 30's and 40's, and there will be ONE damn dude who is 22. The 22 year old is the one who will hit on me. And he will be stupid.

3. Facebook is like one giant brothel. 'Nuff said.

4. Men enjoy texting you pictures of their junk with absolutely no provocation on your part. I have been the recipient of several. I did not, I repeat, DID NOT ask for these penis pictures. Although Tamara thinks it's hilarious, and she thinks I should start a penis scrapbook. These pictures often come from men you would never think would send such a picture...but there they are....the full monty...on my phone. Lovely.

5. Some men enjoy asking you, in the middle of dinner and often on the first date, if your boobs are real.

6. Bowling is a great first date. Hear me out! I know it sounds like something I wouldn't like because of the shared shoes (I did have to actively ignore that part), but it's actually adorable. You're not just sitting and staring and grasping for something to say. There is an activity in which to partake. There are people to watch. There are snacks. And, a huge bonus, if he has a cute booty you get to check it out every time he gets up to bowl. (side note: he had a PERFECT booty)

7. Men in their 20's are all about the boobs. Men in their 30's are all about the booty. Men in their 40's, well, that was an unfortunate surprise that I will tell you about later.


Part 2 will follow soon. I'm headed to the pool, bitches!

You know you love me,
Annabelly

So, A Friend and I Were Talking...

...And, of course, we were talking about men and relationships because that's what chicks do, right? Right. That and shop for shoes...which is a whole 'nother post! I may not know men, but I damn well know shoes. Later, in another post, I will tell you which shoes you should buy for the fall...because we all know what pitiful excuses for footwear you have now and that you're bound to screw it up come fall if I don't help you.

Anyway, back to the man discussion. We were talking about the "macho" factor. You know, that quality that some men have that says, "I'll stick up for you," "I'll protect you," "I'll fight for you if I need to." This girlfriend and I have never been with a man who possesses this quality. And, frankly, it's something we've always wanted. We like it. We want it. We think it's hot.

Now, on to the men we HAVE been with...these men have witnessed us being chewed out, called names, and generally humiliated by other men. That's right. By other men. It's not like our dudes were trying to avoid a hissy fit between girls. They sat and observed another man belittling us...and did nothing because, as they said to us later, "I didn't want to cause a scene." Cause a scene? You were scene-adjacent and did nothing. There WAS a scene, buster. And now everyone post-scene is talking about what a wussy you are. One time at a company party, I had another man, one I barely knew, apologize to me for my then-husband's lack of balls when he failed to do anything other than twiddle his girly thumbs while some jerkface chewed me out.

This girlfriend and I have had multiple conversations about how nice it would be to have that "macho" factor in our men. But, then, I observed something about a week ago that made me question this.

Some friends and I were out one night (MainGay was there), and we ran into some acquaintances from high school. One of the girls was there with her husband. We had never met him before, but he seemed nice enough. UNTIL...he was told, very politely by a server, that the bar had stopped serving food about 15 minutes ago. He was livid. It was like a switch had flipped. And he became angrier and angrier as he watched food come out of the kitchen. Now, clearly, the food that was coming out of the kitchen had been ordered before the kitchen closed, but he wasn't having it. He became ridiculous and impossible. And an asshat to everyone around him.

Yesterday, I told my girlfriend about this episode. She concluded that he was probably the type of "macho" guy who would come to his wife's defense if someone was belittling her...but that same quality that made him angry enough to confront a stranger for his wife also made him angry for other reasons, too. We deduced that he probably had similar outbursts for lots of non-chivalrous reasons, like when he lost his keys or his soup was cold.

We decided that we've given too much credence to the "macho" thing. Not that I wouldn't love a man who stood up for me, but clearly there are degrees of this quality. There might be something to be said for that strong, silent type my mom always told me about.

P.S. My current dude came to the rescue, by the way, and found this jerkface food. Again, it was like a switch had flipped. He became pleasant and chatty and perfectly lovely...but you bet your sweet, sweet ass we were all talking about him at breakfast the next morning.

Peace out, my lovelies
Annabelly

My Response...in Venn Diagram, of course.

An Interesting Response...in a Venn Diagram, No Less

From a reader who prefers to remain anonymous...this is his response to yesterday's post about women liking drama and assholes. I have to say, I'm impressed. Who doesn't love a good venn diagram? Oh, and I will be making one of my own soon...about men, naturally. Enjoy!

Give the People What They Want...(even when the people are delusional)

Taking a break from imaginary movie castings to give you peeps what you want. And, according to all the emails, you people want more MWFHS...I am seriously surprised. You all must be gluttons for punishment. Or maybe it makes you feel better to revel in my misery. Who the hell knows? Or, perhaps, it's like a guy told me recently, "Girls don't want a nice guy. They want a jerk...a good looking jerk...someone who will send mix signals that they can then obsess over and call their girlfriends at 2 a.m. and pick over every little thing the asshole said and didn't say...girls say they want the nice, sweet, sensitive guy, but they don't...they want the ass who will keep things stirred up in all kinds of drama." Damn, he was harsh, no? Is he right, though? Is that what most women want? Do we need drama to stay interested? Lordy, Lordy, I hope not. I don't think it's true. Is it?

Anyway, for your reading pleasure, here are a few more tidbits about MWFHS.

1. Months ago, he and his live-in girlfriend decided to build a house. They went with one of those cookie-cutter planned neighborhoods. They had only 5 or 6 plans from which to choose. MWFHS emailed me all the plans, saying he and his GF (I call her WideFace - seriously, her face is W-I-D-E) couldn't decide. I looked at the plans, chose the ugliest one, and told him I loved it. I was freakin' thrilled when he posted the plans on facebook. Yep, there it was, the ugly house I had picked. It is wide...and plain...and flat...like his GF's face.

2. He is, as we speak, on vacation...with WideFace, of course. They are in an absolutely beautiful location. Though I would NEVAH tell him this - I am a little jealous because I am stuck in Stupidly Small Town folding mah damn laundry and eating Domino's pizza. Anyway, he sent a text when he got off the plane. He sent a picture of the resort. He sent a picture of their room. He sent a picture of the pool. He sent several pictures of himself. He has been sneaking off to the bathroom to text me and call me. By now WideFace must surely think he has the runs or a bladder infection.

Here are a few texts from the last few days:

That morning:
MWFHS: "I'm at the pool. It's beautiful here...only thing that would make it better is you lying right here beside me."
Me: "Where's the GF?"
MWFHS: "Beside me."

That afternoon:
MWFHS: "So, how's the new guy?"
Me: "Pretty good; things are groovy."
MWFHS: "I didn't need to hear that."
Me: "Why the hell did you ask?"

That night:
MWFHS: "Did you get my pic? I'm all dressed up for dinner. You know I look sexy."
Me: "I suppose you looked okay."
MWFHS: "Whatever. You like it."
Me: "I don't hate it."
MWFHS: "I fucking hate this new guy."
Me: "What's he have to do with it?"
MWFHS: "Everything. And you know it. See ya."

Later that night (technically early that morning):
MWFHS: "Sorry if I was an ass."
Me: "You're always an ass. That's how I've always described you - a lovable ass."
MWFHS: "You said lovable."
Me: "Don't get carried away. I also said ass."
MWFHS: "I heard what I wanted to hear...and I'm happy. Night baby...my sweet Sunshine."
Me: "Goodnight...ass."

Love to the peeps!
Annabelly

There's a Poll Now, Bitches :)

So, I've read the emails and the texts and compiled a list of your movie doppelgangers for yours truly. Some were, forgive me, truly heinous. I'm sorry, but I just don't see the following choices working out very well:

1. Halle Berry

2. Shakira

3. Britney Spears

However, here are the others, listed in no particular order. Gaze at their pics, then vote in the damn poll on the left. And, yes, I am aware that you were very generous in your selections and that I am nowhere near as smokin' hot as these babes.

Annabelly

1. Jessica Simpson: As chosen by MainGay

2. Monica Potter: Chosen by a reader. I confess I had to look her up, but I kinda like her.

3. Carrie Underwood: Chosen by the only member of the M List who reads (or knows about the existence of) this blog.

4. Kristen Bell: Chosen by a few readers who sent their choice via email. These readers have never met me, but I totally dig their choice!

5. Jen Aniston: The quintessential unlucky-in-love gal.

6. Reese Witherspoon: As my friend says, "She's spunky and Southern." Plus, I love her for the line in Sweet Home Alabama, "You have a baby. In a bar." And, come on, I love me some Legally Blonde.

7. Katherine Heigl: Chosen by Padma's boyfriend, who has actually met me.

The Imaginary Casting Continues...with MainGay and Tamara

So, here are my picks for the bestie known as Tamara. Yes, she, like Padma, is superhot. Please vote below.

Tamara

1. Vaness Marcil

2. Eva Longoria

3. Jessica Alba

And, of course, the MainGay must be represented. He must be hot. He must be smart. He must be fabulous! Here are your choices:

MainGay

1. Ewan McGregor: MainGay himself approves of this choice, and I get the feeling Ewan could play gay pretty damn well. Plus, he's stupidhot.

2. Neil Patrick Harris: For two reasons - 1. He's fabulously hot. 2. I had a major crush on him in the Doogie days. He remains the only celebrity to whom I've written a fan letter. I was probably 13 at the time. I lied. It was last week.

3. James Van Der Beek: Again, superadorable. Plus, he seems like the best friend type, and, is it just me, or do you get the feeling he wouldn't object to a little peen? Maybe it's just me...

Please vote below for Tamara and MainGay. And, remember, I still need doppelganger suggestions. I've had a few good ones...and some awfully strange ones. Dear RoadieDude: I understand that you have the hots for Shakira, but that is not an apropos choice for me.

Much love and shit,

Annabelly