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