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

More Postings for the (imaginary) Movie of My Life

So, we've cast a few of the men...on to the besties!

Padma

Here are my nominations for bestie number 1, the one I call Padma. Please vote; many thanks. And, yes, she really is that gorgeous! Coming up next, Tamara and my MainGay.

1. Courtney Cox

2. Jennifer Garner

3. Lauren Graham

Leave your vote below; also, I still need a doppelganger. One of the dudes on my M List (yes, one and only one of the guys knows about this blog - we've actually become friends) has made the suggestion of Carrie Underwood, and MainGay has suggested Jessica Simpson. Jessica is a dummy, obviously, but I took it as a compliment to my shoe selection and my rack.

Love you muchas muchas,

Annabelly

Picture Time, Picture Time!

Okay, you bitchtastic readers! This should be oodles o' fun times. This post is inspired by my MainGay (yes, I really do need to capitalize that). And, for the reader who sent me an email asking me if she may borrow my MainGay, HELL NO! For the last time, get your own MainGay.

Anygay (told you it was inspired by him), a few of you have written asking various questions about the men on my M List. And what I've noticed about you peeps is that you're basically shallow people. Which, of course, is one reason I heart you so very much. You mainly want to know - 1. What these dudes look like. 2. The largeness/smallness of their junk. 3. Their occupation.

So, because my MainGay called recently and said something to the effect of, "I figured out who would play Muscles in a movie;" we are playing a gamed called....

"Who Would Play the Men on My M List in a Movie" Duh.

I've started with a few...I'll get the rest later. If you know me, and these men, feel free to put your two cents in about their movie doppelgangers! Also, we need to pick an actress for me - I've already had a few suggestions, but I'd like to hear your thoughts. Don't pick a fatty!

1. Muscles: (As picked by my MainGay) Hugh Jackman - it's not just the pretty-armed goodness; it's that whole sexy, strong jaw he's got going on. But picture him younger, and, if possible, even better arms.

2. Softy McNoodle: Ed Harris, partly because of the lack of hair, partly for the pretty eyes. Please note I am not making any sort of comment on Ed Harris's noodle. I have never been acquainted with it.

3. Itsy: Joshua Jackson - it's the dark hair and scruffy beard he's rocking. Again, making no presumptions about Joshua Jackson's stuff. No clue if it's itsy or otherwise.

4. MWFHS: aka "The One You're All So Interested In": I get more mail about this dude than any other. Anyway, I picked Gerard Butler. Now, MWFHS is definitely fatter and less sexy than Gerard Butler, but hear me out -- try to picture Gerard Butler letting himself go, getting a little tubby, not as toned...he'd still have something about him that would do it for you, right? You know you'd do an out-of-shape Gerard. Don't lie. Another reason I picked him is because when you think about Gerard Butler, you think about charming and sexy, but underneath it all - you really suspect he's an ass, right? Yeah, that's MWFHS. A charming ass hat.

Hope you enjoyed that. I'll post more soon. Don't forget to leave your own suggestions about the men...or me. But be nice when it comes to me. You can be mean about the men. Who cares about them? But me? I'm fabulous and you love me, so be all sweetness.

Love you muchly,

Annabelly

So, I Went to This Wedding...

Well, another first out of the way for this divorcee. I promised to give you details, so here ya go, you nosy biotches. Are you ready? Because I am about to reveal something surprising...

I cried.

There. You happy? I'm not talking watery eyes. I'm not talking those few measly drops that only drip down because you blinked really, really hard. I really cried - both hands wiping my eyes, nose getting red kind of cried. It surprised me. It probably surprised all those in the vicinity. One dorky college aged kid kept staring at me. I tried to subtly shoot him the bird while wiping my tears, but, let's face it, subtlety is probably lost on him. Moron.

Anyway, even after the shitastic things I've been through, I apparently still have a somewhat intact heart. I was genuinely happy for my friend. And, I've got to admit, it filled me with the tiniest bit of hope for the whole "happily-ever-after" crapfest that I thought I had turned my back on after my divorce from Mr. Douche. See, my friend and I had a similar story: married young, had kids, found out the husband was hiding things, found out the husband was hiding MORE things, and then found out husband was diddling other women. This friend and I had discussed how difficult it was to find the right guy - especially one that would accept our children as his own. And, then, it happened...

She found one. The one. And she's impossibly happy. I watched them say their vows...with her children standing beside them...and listened to the preacher unite them as a family...and, yeah, I blubbered like a fat kid being denied a second helping of fried pork chops (don't judge, love me some friend pork chops).

And I wondered a couple of things while I watched my friend get married at dusk, in a flower draped gazebo on the lake, on an oppressively humid July night:

1. What's the good of having a great hair day INSIDE when the effing wedding is outside? The humidity is making it stick up in Roseanne Roseannadanna proportions (look it up, you freakin' youngsters).
2. Who the the hell has an outdoor wedding in July in the effing South? My makeup had melted off my face and into my cleavage before the flower girl skipped down the aisle.
3. Curse my thighs! They are all kinds of sticking together in this damn heat.
4. Is she wearing flats? Oh, HELL no!
5. Why do women with excessive back fat always wear backless dresses? The armfat/backfat overflow from that chick in row 2 is impressive. Impressively gross, but still impressive.
6. If I've got to traipse in these 5 inch heels over this gravel driveway to get to the reception, there better be two things: alcohol and cute guys who like to dance.
7. Don't look to the left; don't look to the left! Pimply guy with bad teeth is giving me the eye. If he asks me to dance, I will instantly become a lesbian. Oh LAWD, is he wearing white athletic socks with his dress shoes? This is why I hate going to weddings without a date.
8. I wonder if anyone can smell the mosquito repellent I put on? Oh, well. I'll tell them it's really expensive French perfume. Nothing uglifies your legs like bug bites.

And two serious thoughts....

9. My friend looks absolutely stunning...the prettiest I've ever seen her.
10. I wonder if I'll ever do this again...stand beside a man, pledge to love him, to respect him...all that shizzle. I wonder if, like my friend, I'll have the guts to try this whole marriage dealio again. And I wonder if I'll find a man amazing enough to make me consider standing outside on a hot night in July, not caring that my hair is frizz, and that my makeup is nonexistent, or that the gravel is hard to walk on, or that my dress is stuck to my skin, or that my thighs may be permanently fused together...because I love him that much.

I kind of hope I do...

Well, enough ooey gooey shit. I'm back to normal. I'll be back really soon. Lots to tell you. LOTS.

May you be so happy you shit rainbows and butterflies,
Annabelly

Another "After the Big D" Firsts...

So, there are several firsts following a divorce. Here are a few in no particular order:

1. The first night spent really, truly alone.
2. Your first big event (birthday, Christmas, Festivus, Groundhog Day) alone.
3. The first time you run into some, who obviously doesn't know about the divorce or the extent of your ex husband's douchebaggery, who says, "So, how's (insert ex's name here)?"
4. The first time you say, out loud, "No, I'm not married; I'm divorced."
5. The first time you see those awful legal papers.
6. The first time you seriously consider drinking enough vodka to render you unable to pronounce, hell, probably even remember, douchebag's name.
7. Your first date post-divorce (I'm pretty sure I vomited).
8. Your first kiss post-divorce (thankfully, I did not vomit on this particular first).
9. The first time someone new sees you naked (always fun - sarcasm, peeps!)

I'm about to add a new one -

10. I am getting ready to go to my first wedding post-divorce (duh, as a guest, moron).

It's been more than two and a half years since we separated....I'm not sure why I'm just now getting to this first. Maybe I've avoided it...who knows...I'll let you know if I got misty-eyed, or simply rolled my eyes.

Peace to the homies,
Annabelly

Questions, Questions....

You've got a few more days to submit those FAQ's, but do hurry, bitches; I'm very important and really don't have the time to wait on you. In the meantime, here are some answers to some of the questions I have gotten in my inbox.

The catch is...here are the answers. You don't get the questions. (Insert evil laugh here). Have fun guessing the questions, darlings :)

1. Easy, peasy question - I would definitely say Muscles for this one.
2. Because I'm really, really cute...duh.
3. Gross...but I guess I'll go with MWFHS for this one. Wish it weren't true, but it is. Again, gross.
4. No, I did NOT!
5. No, thank you. I really don't need to see a picture of that. Geez, pervo.
6. About 3 inches. No, I'm not kidding.
7. That's the goal, sweetie!

Keep the questions coming! Send to annabellysflops@hotmail.com. Or, if you're truly brave, post them in the comments section. You can post them anonymously if you'd like. Cause we all know you're a nosy bitch, just chicken. BOK BOK! (that was a chicken noise)

Word to your muthas,
Annabelly

Tonight I told MWFHS ...

...that there was a new man in my life. He was upset. He pouted. He demanded details. I gave him just enough details to piss him off. He asked if he was the guy in my new facebook pictures. I said yes. He pouted some more. Here are some snippets of our conversation. I like the word "snippets."

MWFHS: "I don't like this."
Me: "Of course you don't."
MWFHS: "I can't even bust on him...he looks normal...and better looking than the losers you usually pick. I hate him already."
Me: "Of course you do."
MWFHS: "Maybe your friends will hate him."
Me: "They won't. A few have already met him."
MWFHS: "Has Padma?"
Me: "No."
MWFHS: "Good. She's picky. Maybe she'll hate him."
Me: "She won't, and, for the record, she only hated you."
MWFHS: "Does she still hate me?"
Me: "Pretty sure she does."
MWFHS: "What if this is the one? The one where I lose you completely?"
Me: "Then Padma will probably throw me a party."
MWFHS: "I have a bad feeling."
Me: "I have a good one."
MWFHS: "I'm gonna lose you...I just know it. I can't lose you. I'm miserable without you...you know that."
Me: "You never fucking had me!"

and then I hung up..............

I'm sure I'll have a lovely email waiting on me tomorrow morning. Stupid MWFHS. I wish he still had his stupid white boy FRO from high school so I could make fun of it.

Peace and flowers and all that shit,
Annabelly

We Take A Break from Our Regularly Scheduled Programming...

We must take a break...a MWFHS break. Yes, I know I haven't discussed him yet, but here's what I received from him yesterday. Oh, and just so you know, here's the quick scoop on him:

We went to high school together, basically never spoke, different crowds...blah blah blah. We reconnected on facebook, and soon we were talking every day. After a week or so he confesses that he has a live-in girlfriend. He's been with her for years. He plans on marrying her. YUCKO. We continue anyway. We get close. Too close. We don't go a day without talking. One day last fall he visits Stupidly Small Town. He comes to see me at work. We kiss. Weeks later I get a drunken call where he confesses that he's in love with me, but that he can't leave his girlfriend. I finally tell him that I can't continue with this. We "break up." It never sticks. We have broken up 7 times over the past year. Yes, it's been a year. Yes, I am a moron. Anygay (haha - typo, but I'm leaving it), yesterday, probably because he deduced that I am seeing someone, he sends me this:

MWFHS:

"I'm infatuated with you. I won't bullshit you and say love, though I think it's possible...probable, cause you got pissed at me last time I said I loved you. I know love takes time. No doubt I could love you though...you're the most innately lovable person I've ever met. The way I feel...I know it's not fair to you...but it makes me question everything. Everything. I am living my life...always, always...a decision and a plane ride away from you. From showing up at your door( which I still Google Earth and stare at, makes me feel closer to you), scooping you up, and starting this life together that a big part of me thinks we're destined to have together, ordained, blessed by something bigger than us. Did I tell you I ran across our high school graduation program when I was packing some boxes this weekend? First thing I did was look for your name...just stared at it. And I miss you. I keep racking my brain...why the hell didn't we talk in high school? We could've had years together, maybe a lifetime. I think we could have been high school sweethearts. And now I'm across the fucking country. And I'm confused. And questioning everything. I miss you every fucking day. Every fucking day it is a struggle to keep from calling you. I miss you. I know you said that you had to move on and find someone that could actually have a future with you. Let me tell you something, Sunshine (that's his name for me) you will always be a part of my future because I can't go 2 minutes without thinking about you."

And that, folks, is one reason I am screwed up.

Screw you (not really, love to the little peeps),

Annabelly

Help Wanted

So, I have a fabulous friend. You may think that YOU have fab friends, but this friend is truly cooler than any you might have. TRUST!

Anyway, this friend said, "You need a FAQ on your blog. That would be the shiznet."

DONE.

You have a few days (so hurry, bitches) to send all questions (pertinent and otherwise) to my email address: annabellysflops@hotmail.com

Now get started. I don't have all damn day.

Love you muchly,
Annabelly

Random Updates: aka "I had the EFFING day from single girl hell"

Reasons I haven't finished the Teach story:


1. Real life is stupid, and it sometimes bitch-slaps me with things like "work", "responsibilities," and other such cuss words that deserve to be put in obnoxious "air quotes" (shout out to D.A. from my M List here).


2. I spent the weekend having glorious fun with friends who, let's face it, put all you peeps to shame. Yeah, they really are that cool. We even have our own catch phrase, and NO, you don't get to know it.




3. Because laundry, like life, often makes me its bitch, too. Can this blog go ahead and make me some moolah so I can hire people to do crapola that, clearly, I am too good to do?



4. Forget Murphy's Law...We live in Annabelly's World. And this is HER law (part 1): As soon as you start to get over a man, he will then decide that he cannot live without you. This dude's been all up in mah bizness since yesterday afternoon. And he's all about the sweetness right now. Bastard.

5. Annabelly's Law (part 2): As soon as an ex flame , who used to drive you batshit crazy with want, decides to call you and tell you everything you wished he had said 6 months ago (see above), and you are just about to swear off men forever and start seriously considering the benefits of a life in a nunnery (I suppose there's no reason to shave anymore), another frikkin man from your past will also call you. This second man is one you never really fell for - but it always bothered you that he didn't fall for you, but now he's interested.

6. Annabelly's Law (part 3): Then, after all that crapshit, you will get a text from ITSY of all effing people. Yes, EFFING ITSY! Itsy will tell you that he looked at your facebook profile and saw pics of you with your current dude. He will tell you that you are beautiful. He will then say, "I think you're in love with this new guy. I've never seen you look happier or more beautiful. I hope he deserves you because you're perfect." Ex-squeeze-me? Effing Itsy thinks I'm perfect? Since when? Pretty sure my hymen didn't grow back, and that, according to EFFING Itsy, is the true measure of perfection. UG!

6. Annabelly's Law (part 4): After previous two phone calls (and a bag of Hershey's kisses with almonds later - don't judge, I had it with a diet drink), your sweet current man will call you. And he will be normal. And funny. And adorable. And THAT, my friends, is why we go through dating drama. Because there are a few men out there that really give you hope. While we waste our time looking for Mr. Big, there may actually be a few Aiden's around (Sex and The City reference for all you non-gay male readers). As for the others...well, is it too much to ask that they get one tiny venereal disease?

I would say I love you all, but I really don't love anyone tonight. Deal with it. I'm exhausted. I'll love you twice tomorrow. Mkay?

Annabelly

Teach: Where I Try to Finish the Story, but I Realize I am a Windbag, and I must Finish Tomorrow....

What's up, lovely bitches? I hope you're ready for some mo' story...but you're not getting it all, cause let's face it, yours truly is a word HO! So this is all your getting. Stop complaining and read already :)



So, let's begin with the second phone call I had to make. Tamara.


Me: "Big news."

Tamara: "Cool. Is it about a man?"

Me: "Duh."

Tamara: "BB or MWFHS?"

Me: "Neither. Both are old news...both are also probably ass hats."

Tamara: "Ass hat? Is that your new word?"

Me: "Yes. Get used to it. I got tired of calling people moron, douchebag, and dumbass. Now, they're ass hats."

Tamara: "Ass hat. Got it. So, who's the dude?"

Me: "You'll never believe it."

Tamara: "We've been friends since first grade. I've heard all your stories. Nothing surprises me anymore."

Me: "This will. And what makes you think you know them all?"

Tamara: "Damn. You have more? You should start a blog."

Me: "Maybe I will. Anyway...back to the story. Remember ninth grade science class?"

Tamara: "Wow - random. Yeah, I guess. Is it someone from that class? Cause I just remember you, me, and that girl who came back to school that fall with the biggest boobs we'd ever seen. Remember? She was Pentecostal and flat chested at the end of eighth grade, then NOT Pentecostal and definitely NOT flat chested at the beginning of ninth grade...oh mylanta, it's not her, is it?"

Me: "Oh good gravy! No. What else do you remember about that class?"

Tamara: "Just that the teacher said "orgasm," everyone laughed but us, and we both went home and looked it up in the dictionary because we were clueless. But I doubt that has anything to do with your dude."

Me: "It has everything to do with my dude."

Tamara: "I don't see how...unless you have a date with...oh, have mercy. You have GOT to be kidding."

Me: "Nope. Not kidding. I can't tell you yet if I'm hot for teacher (betting that little gem is lost on you younger readers. Pity.), but I think I'm gonna have a date with one."



So, after filling in the besties, I go about my day, all the while completely flippy-stomached about my inevitable conversation with my former teacher who thinks I'm cute (according to my sis). Finally, about 9:00, it happens.


He is noticeably nervous. He is soft-spoken. He clears his throat a lot. He takes long pauses between sentences. Some people (usually people like me) would have been annoyed. I actually found it charming. He explained that he never did this - call women he didn't know, but that he decided to take a chance after reading my sister's message and seeing my picture.


Finally, he broaches the subject...


Teach: "So, the white elephant...Perky and Coolio inform me that you were actually in my class when I taught at SSTHS."


Me: "Yes, and I'm terribly offended that you don't remember me."


Teach: (after a long pause) "I apologize, Annabelly...trust me, I have racked my brain. I just don't remember. I'm so sorry. I can imagine that this is a big strike against me."


Me: (this should have been my clue. He really doesn't get my humor.) "Wow. Totally kidding. I'm actually glad you don't."


Teach: "Really? That's a relief. I thought it might be a deal breaker or something."


Me: "Heck no! Then you don't have some dorky ninth grade version of me in your head. I'm much cooler now."

Teach: (After a pause so long that I thought we had lost cell reception) "So...(another stupidly long pause)...dinner?"

Me: "I enjoy dinner."

Teach: (nervous laugh) "Good, good. What I'm saying is...for dinner...we could maybe meet sometime..."

Me: "Teach, I'd love to go out with you. All better now?"

Teach: "Much. Thanks (nervous giggle). It's been a while since I've dated. I guess you've picked up on that."

Me: "You'll be fine, Teach."

Teach: "So, what now?"

Me: "Wow, it has been a while. Pick a restaurant and a time. I'll be there."

Teach: "Great! (ridiculously, obnoxiously, starting-to-get-on-my-nerves long ass pause)...and, if you don't mind, would it be okay...I mean, if it's not I totally understand...but if it is okay...could I call you again tomorrow night?"

Me: "Sure." (Even though by the time he gets that sentence out, it practically IS tomorrow)

So, he calls again the next night...and the next. We talk every day that week leading up to the big date on Saturday night. By this time we've learned some things about each other. I learn that he apparently (or perhaps it was his ex wife) doesn't believe in birth control because they have a passel o chirrens. I also learn that the sweet, passive thing doesn't really do it for me. However, I learn that he is extremely brainy, loves his job, and is close to his many, many chirrens (children). I begin to look forward to this date.........................

More deets later. I needs my beauty sleep! I will continue tomorrow, where I promise I will finish this damn post...and be just a little more stunning than I am today.

Love you all muchly (though some more than others),

Annabelly

Mailbag Answers

There is SO very much to catch you up on...I had the most fab weekend ever. Please have patience while I try to recover and get all my blog stories up to speed. A little preview of my weekend - I partied it up in swank hotel suite with some old friends. These very lucky friends got to meet someone from my "M List" (my man list, duh). And, of course, they got to pass judgement on him, which was way fun.

But right now it's on to the first edition of "Mail Bag." Perhaps I should think about calling it the "Male Bag;" I love me some homonyms. Anyway, I present you with edition one. Here are the questions I chose to answer. If you sent me a question via email, and I didn't choose to answer it, well, boo-freakin'-hoo. It's my damn blog. Better luck next time.

Q 1 (from someone named diva38): "Are you currently dating anyone? Is he one of the names listed? And does he know about the blog?"

Answer: Dear Diva38, you ask a lot of questions. You are either superinterested in my blog, superbored, or supernosy. Luckily, I approve of all three. Yes, I'm seeing someone, but it's supernew. Kind of in that "I have no idea where this is going" stage. Yes, his name is on the list, but because he is current, you aren't getting any details, nosy. Well, except for this - he is absolutely adorable. Also, my Main Gay met him recently, and he approved, which says a hell of a lot. By the way, if you don't have a Main Gay, you should get one immediately. Hands off mine, though. As to your last question, do you think I'm batshit crazy?

Q 2 (from someone named MrMan): "Your stories are hilarious, but are they real?"

Answer: Dear MrMan, the last time someone asked me, "are they real," it was about my boobs, not my blog. The answer, to both, is yes. I'm glad my dating misery is affording you many opportunities for chuckles.

Teach, Part 2

So, I'm going to try to wrap up Teach's story and then tell you about my fab weekend plans. These weekend plans will, I'm sure, provide more fodder for the blog.



Back to Teach...



When we left our story, my sister Perky had just informed me that she had given my number to my former high school science teacher.



Me: "You gave him my number?"

Perky: "Yes, he asked for it."

Me: "So...my former high school teacher who said orgasm in front of the class and who also doesn't remember that he taught me both physical science and the meaning of the word orgasm is going to call me?"

Perky: "Yes, that's it in a nutshell."

Me: "Lovely. How long do I have to prepare for this phone call?"

Perky: "I don't know. Probably tomorrow. He sounded pretty excited."

Me: "Interesting. And he has no idea that he was my teacher back in the day?"

Perky: "None. Maybe we should get Coolio to tell him before he actually calls you. Oh, and he's sending you a friend request on Facebook."

Me: "Of course he is. Good to know."



After my conversation with my sis, I sat and pondered Teach. What, besides the orgasm comment, did I remember about him? He was tall, thin, and blond. He wore glasses, which I've always kinda liked on a man, and he was intelligent. Not too shabby. Let's see...he'd be 45 now...man, I hope he still has hair. I usually dated younger men (which is a whole 'nother frikkin story), so it might be nice to date someone older. I wondered if the former teacher thing would bother me. Would I be very aware of the fact that I was having dinner with a man I used to say, "yes, sir" to? I decided on three things for the time being:

1. Get some sleep.

2. Check out his facebook profile first thing in the morning.

3. Call the besties from SSTHS - Tamara and Padma



(By the way, everyone gets aliases in this blog, even my friends. I have decided to name my besties after characters in my favorite tv shows. Tamara is from Real Housewives; Padma is from Top Chef.)

First, I check the profile. He's aged well. Still a head full of hair (thank the baby Jesus), though now the blond is streaked with gray - kinda makes it look taupe, which for some reason I dig. He's still thin; in fact, he's in really great shape. I make a mental note that if I decide to go out with him that I will choose an outfit that emphasizes the boobs and downplays my fat thighs. There's nothing alarming in his profile, so I proceed to the next phase - call the girls.

First, I call Padma, my best friend since preschool. Bless Padma's heart. The poor girl deserves a medal - or some sort of fabulous all-expense paid vacation. She knows everything about me. I can't tell you how many times over the past two and half years that I have called her to say, "I need to confess..." When I do something wrong (often), stupid (fairly frequently), or horny (not too terribly often), I always feel better after I call her to confess. She listens without judging (a rare quality), then she blesses me and gives me some sort of penance to perform. They are usually easy to complete and often quite fun, "Drink a margarita, eat some chocolate, have a cry if you must, and watch a stupid movie until you laugh so hard you forget the bastard." You may go to a priest in times of moral slip-ups, but Padma works for me. She is my best friend, my confessor, and my moral barometer. She loves me even when I screw up, but she does try to intervene beforehand and steer me toward the right path (said path often does NOT include some young twenty-something guy that I have sworn is "different" than all the other young'uns I've attempted to date.)

Padma: "What did you do?"

Me: "No, it's nothing like that...nothing to confess today."

Padma: "Oh good. So, what's up?"

Me: "Perky is trying to set me up."

Padma: "Interesting...she's never done that before. Who is he? Do I know him?"

Me: "Yep. From high school."

Padma: "Very interesting. Were we friends with him?"

Me: "No, I don't think we had much in common then."

Padma: "Ew. He didn't hang out down by the band hall did he, with those scary people who used all those bad words we didn't know?"

Me: "Nope. Pretty sure he hung out in the teachers' lounge."

Padma: "Oh. Oh my..."

Me: "A teacher."

Padma: "What grade?"

Me: "Ninth. Physical science."

Padma: "Was he the one who said that word that you had to look up in the dictionary?"

Me: "Yes, which, by the way, you were as clueless as me. You would've had to look it up, too."

Padma: "Point taken."

Me: "Yep. So, here's my question for you - morally okay to go out with a former authority figure?"

Padma: "Hmmm...yeah, I'm okay with it, actually. Nice change for you. How old?"

Me: "You always ask that."

Padma: "With you the question is always necessary."

Me: "Point taken. He's 45."

Padma: "I approve."

Me: "Groovy. He's calling tonight."

Padma: "Call me immediately afterward."

Me: "Of course."

Padma: "One more question. What grade did you get?"

Me: "A"

Padma: "Nice. Keep me posted."

My next step was to call Tamara. Which, sadly, I will have to detail for you later. I'm about to get on the road for a fun-filled weekend with friends.

And, yes, I know I haven't answered the mailbag questions yet. I will do that soon, I promise. Have an extra groovy Friday night, my readers.

Love you muchly,

Annabelly

And the winner (and our new victim) is...TEACH!

Excellent choice, dear readers! The story of Teach, though brief, is entertaining and penis-free. Not that Teach is penis-free (though I have no conclusive proof either way), but the story is penis-free. So, Prudes, this one's for you!

Our story today begins with my sister. A few things you should know about my sister:
1. No one wants to see me happy more than she does.
2. No one believes in love like she does.
3. No one gets more pissed off when I get hurt like she does.

Let's continue. I had recently ended my relationship with Birdman. My sister (let's call her Perky) , and especially her husband (let's call him Coolio), never liked Birdman. Actually Coolio hated him. Perky pretended to like him because she believed I was happy; Coolio was vocal about his hatred. More on this later. Anyway, one day Coolio was on Facebook. Perky was watching over his shoulder. And their conversation goes a little something like this (did you get a song in your head just now? Cause you were supposed to):

Coolio: (pointing at screen) "Look who I got a friend request from."
Perky: "OMG. He hasn't changed a bit."
Coolio: "He really hasn't. I don't think I've seen him since college."
Perky: "Click on the 'info' thingy. Let's see what he's been up to."
Coolio: "M'kay...he's still teaching. Not at a high school anymore; he's teaching at college now. Hmmm...couple of kids...and he's single. I didn't know that."
Perky: "Single?"
Coolio: "Did I stutter? Yes, single."
Perky: "Send him a message. We're setting him up with Annabelly."
Coolio: "Hell, no, Woman! I'm staying out of that crap."
Perky: "Send it! If you don't, I'll just wait until you fall asleep. I know your password."
Coolio: "Fine. But you type it. And sign your name. I want no part of this...unless they actually end up happily married...then it was all my idea. I give a damn fine toast at a wedding, you know."
Perky: "Shut up, I'm typing."

So, that's how it began. Perky sent Teach a message. She also told him to look up my facebook profile so that he could see my picture. You see, Perky thought Teach and I had never met...Teach actually thought that, too. They were both wrong...

I suppose you've inferred by now that Perky, Coolio, and Teach all went to school together. They all went to the high school here in Stupidly Small Town. Let's call the high school here SSTHS (Stupidly Small Town High School). Perky, Coolio, and Teach are 10 years older than I am. Naturally, my sis assumed I had never met, or at the very least, didn't remember Teach. She was in for a surprise.

Perky: "What are you doing?"
Me: "Well, the kids and I..."
Perky: "Yeah, I really don't care. Listen, I've set you up on a date."
Me: "What? Look, I told you that the overweight Ag. teacher does nothing for me."
Perky: "Not him. He's dumb. This is a new guy. You'll like him. He graduated from SSTHS with Coolio. He's smart, he's an athlete, he's divorced, he's perfect. We've set everything up."
Me: "Who the hell is this? This better not be Coolio's weird friend who thinks he's perfected his George Bush impression. I can't stand him."
Perky: "No, you don't know him. Get on your Facebook."
Me: "Tell me the name. I'm in bed. I'll look tomorrow."
Perky: "Get your computer!"
Me: "Fine. Did you get him to look at my profile already?"
Perky: "Of course I did."
Me: "Of course you did."
Perky: "He thinks you're pretty. I just got off the phone with him."
Me: "You talked to him? What if I see him and don't like him? No offense, but most of Coolio's friends from back in the day at SSTHS are potbellied and hairy in all the wrong places."
Perky: "He's different. You'll like him."
Me: "Doubtful. Fine. I'm on Facebook. Name please?"

And then she told me the name - the real name, obviously, which I can't mention here.

Me: "What? Repeat please."

Perky repeats name. I freeze my fingers above the keyboard. I know this name. After a stunned moment of silence, I type it in. I think, "Fairly common name...surely this isn't who I think it is...oh shit...it's exactly who I think it is."

Perky: "Hello? What's your problem? Did you find his profile?"
Me: "Uh...Perky? I know him."
Perky: "Liar. He and Coolio weren't that close. How could you possibly know him?"
Me: "You obviously lost touch over the years, right?"
Perky: "True."
Me: "You know what he does for a living, right?"
Perky: "He's a teacher, right?"
Me: "Yes, and back in the school year of 1989-1990 he was MY teacher. Ninth grade. Physical Science."
Perky: "You are totally shitting me!!"
Me: "I am not shitting you. I sat in the second row, near the back, right beside Tamara."
Perky: "Holy shizzle."
Me: "He obviously did not remember me."
Perky: "Obviously, but you remember him."
Me: "Not too much actually. I remember one thing."
Perky: "Spill it."
Me: "One day he was supposed to say 'organism.' He accidentally said 'orgasm.' Everyone laughed except for Tamara and me. We didn't have a clue what it meant. I went home and looked it up in the dictionary."
Perky: "Sounds like something you'd do. So, are you saying you won't go out with him? Because you should know that I've already given him your number."

And I'm stopping there for tonight, peeps. Tune in tomorrow where I will detail my phone conversation and eventual date with my former teacher who taught me (though quite accidentally) the meaning of the word 'orgasm.'

Love you muchly,
Annabelly

Mailbag!

This is sure to be great fun. I've gotten several emails from people I don't know, which is always fun, and to make it even more exciting - they are asking questions. Interesting questions. I enjoy interesting questions. I may not choose to answer them all (which is my prerogative, cause it's my damn blog, not yours), but I still enjoy them. I also, as Maximus knows too well, enjoy a challenge (see my limerick post for explanation), so here's the dealio, peeps - I will answer two questions tonight that I receive in my inbox: annabellysflops@hotmail.com And I will be honest. Do you win anything if I choose to answer your question? Hell no, what do you think this is - iCarly? You should be honored I chose to acknowledge your questions...that is present enough for anyone.

Love you muchly
Annabelly

Yes, I do requests....

So, one of you readers (my particular favorite at the moment) made a request. This reader requested a limerick; this reader also requested that I use the word "Nantucket." Naturally, I have complied. And, really, what great limerick DOESN'T contain "Nantucket"?

Though this is all in good fun, this may be a good time for any prudish readers to cover their eyes...



"My Limerick for Itsy"

Itsy, he came from Nantucket
Things he didn't know could fill a bucket
The penis was wee
I started to flee
Then thought, what the hell, I could suck it.

Thanks for reading, y'all! And if you would like another story, you must VOTE. Vote in the comments section or send me an email. The poll isn't working.

Much love,
Annabelly

To Start Your Day: A Haiku (or two) for Itsy

Good morning! Until I tackle dude number two, please enjoy the poetry. Also, don't forget to vote for the next guy. Leave your vote in the comment section - the stinky poll still isn't working.

mucho love,

Annabelly

Haiku 1

oh itsy bitsy
why are you so sad and down?
is it the pickle?

Haiku 2

I dig surprises
but not in men's underpants
must stifle giggles.

The Poll

Not sure what's wrong with the poll - just email your vote to me if you want at annabellysflops@hotmail.com. Or you could just post it here under the comments.

Itsy: (Part B) Where it starts to get weird...

So, to continue the Saga of Itsy (which, if you've read part A, is more accurately described as a mini series), I present you with Part B...where it all starts to get a little too weird.


I was asked today why I decided to start with Itsy. A legitimate question - as our brief "relationship" was neither physically nor emotionally fulfilling . However, he did call me yesterday afternoon, so I suppose he was on my mind. The subject of his phone call? Well, Itsy only calls for two reasons:


1. He's just gotten a mental picture of my boobs, and his mini gherkin has grown an eighth of an inch, or....


2. He thinks he's in love...not with me, of course, but with someone else.


Yesterday, it was for reason number two...he thinks he's in love...again. Because I am such a sweetheart (stop rolling your eyes), I ask for details. By the way, I am very, very good at faking interest. I ask pertinent questions, sound shocked and interested in all the appropriate parts, and even offer fitting advice. However, all the while I am repeating, "MORON" in my head, mentally planning my outfit for the next day, and walking my dog around the block waiting for her to take a dump. Seriously, Itsy's conversations about love are so deranged that I considered sniffing my new nail polish (called "Kiss on the Chic"by OPI) until I had enough of a buzz to make him seem mildly interesting.



A little background.....................

Itsy and I became friends about two and half years ago, right about the time I moved back to Stupidly Small Town following the separation from my exhusband, DB. Itsy had moved to the town for work. He didn't know anyone in town, so my sister and her husband sort of adopted him. He ate most of his meals at their house, washed his laundry there, and swam in their pool. This threw us together. At first Itsy didn't talk to me. He can be shy, especially around women. He was paranoid that if he was seen talking to a single woman, that suddenly everyone would assume he was dating her. So - he rarely spoke to me in public. Privately - well, that was another matter. I'm not sure when we began texting and talking on the phone, but it soon became a daily occurence. It struck me as odd that we would eat dinner at my sister's house and not exchange two words; however, as soon as he was out of the driveway in his maroon Chevy truck with the Ducks Unlimited decal on the back, he was texting me. The texting often lasted until 1 a.m. We talked about everything...but mainly our dating lives.

A few months into our technology-only friendship, we both began seeing people. Naturally, our correspondence dropped as we focused on having relationships in the flesh-and-blood, everyone-can-see world. I began dating Birdman (more about him in another entry), and he began dating a girl I'll call Spaghetti Legs. Spaghetti Legs was just Itsy's type...meaning, she was my polar opposite. Itsy has an obscenely specific rider in place for potential girlfriends. Physically, she must be, among other things: tall, brunette, extremely thin (but with an ass - yes, an oxymoron, I know), dark complexioned, with a small nose. To add to this, she must enjoy hunting, fishing, camping, and running. She must own camo, and wear it even outside the deer lease. She must not paint her nails. She must be under age 25. She must be a member of a specific religious denomination. She must be a .... drum roll, please...a virgin.

A little recap of my finer points, shall we? I am short blond with curves who thinks running is beneath me unless it involves a really fab shoe sale. Let's face it, no one looks their best while hurrying; it's vulgar. I would never, ever be caught in camo, and I am clearly neither 25 nor a frikkin virgin. I think spending the night in the woods sans air conditioning is certifiable behavior, suitable only for those on the run from the law, like escaped mental patients, serial killers, and the unibomber.

Itsy, by the way, is 31. He is extremely good looking, and he is well aware of this fact. He is shy, but sometimes surprisingly funny. He considers himself a "technical virgin." I consider him a "technical halfwit." More on this later.

As time when on, Itsy's relationship faltered around the time mine ended with Birdman. He had since moved about two hours away from Stupidly Small Town, but we resumed the phone relationship. At some point, it turned flirty. We decided to give it the ole college try.

We had a few dates...and a few kisses. We had more dates...and things escalated. I remember at one point saying, "You don't do this." His reply? "I do some of this." This was immediately before he dropped trou and a nickname was born. At that point, because I really, desperately needed something to say other than, "WTF is that? Or isn't that?" I remember saying, "So, if you do some of this - where's the line you won't cross?" His response was, "You'll see."

So, I'll spare you the play-by-play, and we'll skip ahead to the post-(almost)sex conversation.

Me: "So...the virgin thing...?"
Itsy: "Oh, I'm a virgin...never had sex."
Me: "But we just..."
Itsy: "That wasn't sex."
Me: "But oral sex is sex."
Itsy: "No, it's not."
Me: "Yes, it is. It ends in sex. It's in the frikkin name. That's like saying 'watermelon' isn't a melon."
Itsy: "Oh, are you hungry? Want room service?"
Me: "No, you moron! Oral sex is sex!"
Itsy: "No, it's not. It's making out."
Me: "It's not called 'oral making out,' it's called oral sex!"
Itsy: "Nope. It's different."
Me: "Okay, let me try this a different way. Do lesbians have sex?"
Itsy: "Gross! But, yeah, they have sex."
Me: "Okay, now we're getting somewhere...and what do you think they do when they have sex?"
Itsy: "I guess oral...dangit! You're not tricking me into this. We did NOT have sex."
Me: "Yes, we did. We had lesbian sex."
Itsy: "I cannot even believe that you..."
Me: "LESBIAN SEX! And, yes, I do want room service."

Well, after the sub par room service and this awkward conversation, we didn't talk for a while. And then one day Itsy called to tell me that he had fallen for me...against his better judgement. Yes, that's right. He had fallen for me even though I wasn't at all what he wanted. I was too old, too short, too chunky, too blond. I had kids, I hated camping, I wasn't his denomination...in short, I was all wrong, but he liked me anyway...against his better judgement. Are you effing kidding me???? How lovely. I listened quietly, then yelled "LESBIAN SEX!" before I hung up.

We still talk...so there will be more Itsy to come....

Love,
Annabelly