Though I love her, Jane Austen is a bitch.

Trust me, I adore Jane. There is no more ardent Jane fan than yours truly. I read Emma in junior high, and by the summer before my ninth grade year, I had devoured her greatest work, and my personal favorite, Pride and Prejudice, several times. My well-meaning mother had introduced me to Jane's works...I think porn would have been preferable and more age appropriate. Think I'm crazy? Exhibit A: Mr. Darcy. At just the age when I was getting my first "official" boyfriend, Jane dangles the perfect paragon of a man before me...all via the pages of Pride and Prejudice. And I believed her. I believed that somewhere out there (cue Fievel singing), there existed a Darcy of my very own. Even more ridiculous than that, I believed I would find him. And to add even more insanity, I have held my breath and wished (really, really wished, like you did when you where 5 and you were breaking a wishbone with your annoying cousin at Thanksgiving) that each and every man to come into my life since the age of 14 would turn into my Darcy. Has it happened yet? In the immortal words of Whitney Houston, "Hell to the NO." Trust me...porn would have been less damaging.

Before we go on a little journey detailing my Jennifer Aniston-esque failed romances, a little background....

I am 35 years old. I have blond hair (with the help of probably harmful, very un-earthfriendly chemicals), green eyes, and a big ass. I'm several sizes from the plus sized department, but I could stand to drop a few. I drink alcohol in spurts, cuss more often than strictly necessary, frequent tanning beds too often, laugh obnoxiously loud, say "moron" a lot, and spend too much money on shoes. I also judge people for grammatical errors, bad teeth, and having the beer belly/bald head combo. Listen up, men: you can have a slight beer belly OR be bald. Both? Unacceptable. I read great literature written by dead geniuses, and I watch bad reality television written by soulless weirdos. I am complex. For instance, I am currently drinking a Diet Dr. Pepper and eating Cool Whip from the tub with a spoon. Not the Lite Cool Whip, the full fat kind. I am also half watching a documentary on Queen Elizabeth while I am recording King of the Hill. That's complex, my friends...or mental.

So, if you're still with me and haven't run away screaming just yet, here's the premise. I'm going to detail, under the assumed name of Annabelly, my dating woes...I'll give you the deets on the triumphs, too, if I ever get any of those. First, a little tease: Right here in this blog you will meet the following winners (sarcasm, people), who will all appear under false names:

A partial list (in no particular order):

The Birdman
D.A. (stands for Dumb Ass)
Softy McNoodle
Blondie
Muscles
Coach
Itsy
Teach
Vacation
Mr. Motorcycle
BB
Cable
Stalker
Lunchtime Perv
CrazyEyes
MWFHS
And, of course, DB, the ex-husband

It's no Pride and Prejudice, but it's a hell of a story. It should be - it was hell living through it. Now, as you've probably deduced, I am writing under a pseudonym. I've chosen Annabelly (the reasoning behind it is the subject of another blog) instead of my old fake name that I've had since college - that one was stolen from this idiotic fire baton twirler who, frankly due to idiocy alone, deserved it. If I'm going to be honest, I need some anonymity...so, if you know me, keep your fat trap shut, bitches, and just enjoy the freak show.

Love,
Annabelly