Annabelly's Flops

I have a new blog...so go there now.

2012-02-05T14:25:00.001-06:00

I decided to blog again, so I made a new one. It's way cuter. Go there now.

http://theresnostigma.typepad.com/theres-no-stigma-adven/

Blast from the (not too distant) Past

2011-01-20T18:52:00.002-06:00

And so, only three weeks into the new year, I have broken resolution number three. I have decided that is okay for the following reasons:

1. He's 27, so he's in his late 20's...which is almost thirty. And thirty is totally acceptable.

2. He has a child who is only 2 years younger than my child. My friend Tamara has an interesting theory: When calculating the age between two people, you don't count the years between the two of you. You should count the years between your children. She sets the age at which you become a parent as the onset of adulthood. So, according to Tamara, he is only two years younger than I am. He is 33, which is pretty damn old compared to my past dates. And totally acceptable. (I have no idea how Tamara calculates the onset of adulthood for the non parents. It probably has something to do with not bitch-slapping your idiot boss and knowing never to take your coworkers to that bar where you're known for doing body shots and Debbie Gibson karaoke.)

3. I saw a couple recently with a much larger age span. Dear ladies, you should never attempt a bare midriff when you are old enough to draw social security. Anyway, I remember thinking that her son (sitting next to her) must be appalled. Apparently, not her son...and not appalled. The make-out session was vomit-inducing. So, if Midriff Mawmaw can date 20 years younger, then I can at least contemplate dating a man 8 years younger. Moral relativism: I gotta say, I'm a fan.

The story: I call him BB. It's short for Baby B(insert last name you're not allowed to know). We went out a few times last spring, but then he took a job out of town. It was never anything serious, but he was sweet and fun...and very affectionate. While he was away, he contacted me a few times and asked me out...but I was knee-deep in the Muscles fiasco. Last month he moved back. He met me at Christmas party, and then I accompanied him to a Christmas party. We talked a few times. Last night he asked me to dinner. I said no because I am sickly at the moment. His response was, "Then I will bring you soup...and a hug." I told him I wasn't hungry, but that maybe we could have dinner next week when I was better...or that he could come visit me at school and we could have lunch where the cool kids eat. He said, "Aww...so you don't wanna see me, cause that 'sometime' was vague...if it's an actual invitation, like 'how about lunch next Tuesday at noon' then I'm there. Now how about just the hug? I'd like to see you and waiting until next weekend (when my kids are gone) is kinda far." Of course I said yes. He showed up, not with soup, but with a Diet Dr. Pepper - this is basically my crack. Since I was feeling icky, I wasn't looking my best: pajama pants, tank top, pony tail. His first words: "Awww, look at you. You're the cutest thing I've ever seen in pajamas. And no heels! You're so cute and little. Now gimme a hug, drink your dr. pepper, and we're gonna watch Top Chef cause I know it's your favorite show."

And so we did. He watched the show with me. He pretended to be jealous over my crush on Fabio (Top Chef Fabio, not the but-tah guy). He offered to make me dinner when I was better to prove that if accents and cooking skills were what I wanted, then he would make crawfish etouffe while attempting his very worst Cajun accent. He made me eat saltines. He rubbed my shoulders. He held my hand. When I told him he was going to get sick, he said, "I read some fancy medical article that said that cuddling builds antibodies. Now snuggle up next to me and feel better. I won't kiss you...well, maybe just the top of your head."

Now, I dare you to NOT find that charming.

I'm not sure how I feel about this situation with BB yet. I'm still a bit wounded from the Muscles dealio. But, we shall see :)

Peace, My Lovelies

Annabelly

Happy Screw Year!

2011-01-02T19:00:00.002-06:00

Listen up, Peeps, cause this is how we do it, do it...in 2011.

Annabelly's Resolutions:

1. I will lessen my addiction to Facebook. This basically means that I will stop cyber-stalking my dates/ex-boyfriends/ex-husband/booty calls/and any such potential variations of the aforementioned. To show you that I am serious, I have temporarily deactivated my account - a little test to see how long I can resist. Yeah, I'll probably see you there on Wednesday.

2. I will lose 14 pounds. Yes, I am aware that 14 seems like an arbitrary number, but therein lies the genius. Stay with me, people. Every year I say that I am going to lose 15 pounds. This never happens. I always work diligently for at least a few months, then I step on the scale, utterly convinced I am 15 pounds lighter, but NO - I am still far from my goal. Then I give up and eat my weight in cookie dough/hot tamales/french fries/margaritas. I have deduced that the problem is not me; it is 15. Fifteen is daunting. Fourteen, I have decided, is manageable. And let's face it, if I don't do something about my weight, my favorite skinny jeans will be a thing of the past, and I will have to say hello to the As Seen on TV "Pajama Jeans." The Great Holiday EatFest of 2010 was not kind to the waistline.

3. I will not date men under the age of 30. After the whole Muscles debacle, I have deemed it wise to date men closer to my age. Yeah, I know what you're thinking...and to be honest, I'm skeptical, too.

Bite it, 2010,
Annabelly

P.S. I reserve the right to amend resolution #3 at any time. Especially because after making said resolution, I found out that the really cute coach at the high school, who I think is around 28, broke up with his unfortunate looking girlfriend over the break. Don't you just love it when wishes come true? For me, obviously, not her.

So I Read a New Book . . .

2010-12-27T19:37:00.002-06:00

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:

2010-12-02T21:10:00.002-06:00

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.

2010-11-28T11:10:00.002-06:00

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

2010-09-29T15:45:00.002-05:00

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

2010-09-21T20:53:00.002-05:00

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...

2010-08-28T15:50:00.006-05:00

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...

2010-08-28T15:48:00.002-05:00

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.

2010-08-22T00:10:00.004-05:00

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.

2010-08-21T14:40:00.004-05:00

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...

2010-08-16T21:10:00.002-05:00

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...

2010-08-16T17:45:00.006-05:00

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

2010-08-15T17:46:00.005-05:00

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...

2010-08-14T21:39:00.003-05:00

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...

2010-08-14T14:13:00.004-05:00

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...

2010-08-14T12:29:00.002-05:00

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...

2010-08-12T21:45:00.003-05:00

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...

2010-08-12T18:01:00.005-05:00

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!

2010-08-09T20:56:00.005-05:00

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...

2010-08-09T19:34:00.003-05:00

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

2010-08-09T17:20:00.004-05:00

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...

2010-08-04T23:47:00.002-05:00

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...

2010-08-04T15:54:00.005-05:00

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...

2010-08-03T22:06:00.004-05:00

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

2010-08-01T00:54:00.006-05:00

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

2010-07-31T18:06:00.003-05:00

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.

2010-07-30T20:13:00.005-05:00

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

2010-07-30T18:10:00.005-05:00

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

2010-07-29T10:10:00.002-05:00

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

2010-07-28T10:16:00.003-05:00

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...

2010-07-27T21:14:00.003-05:00

...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.

2010-07-27T19:59:00.001-05:00

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

2010-07-27T09:34:00.004-05:00

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)

2010-07-26T19:36:00.004-05:00

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 :)

2010-07-26T14:21:00.009-05:00

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

2010-07-26T11:22:00.008-05:00

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

Picture Time, Picture Time!

2010-07-25T11:43:00.013-05:00

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...

2010-07-25T10:14:00.006-05:00

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...

2010-07-24T18:15:00.002-05:00

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....

2010-07-23T09:30:00.002-05:00

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 ...

2010-07-22T23:34:00.002-05:00

...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...

2010-07-21T18:50:00.004-05:00

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

2010-07-21T14:45:00.002-05:00

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"

2010-07-20T18:03:00.006-05:00

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....

2010-07-19T21:16:00.008-05:00

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

2010-07-19T12:26:00.003-05:00

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

2010-07-16T11:19:00.005-05:00

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!

2010-07-15T20:06:00.006-05:00

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!

2010-07-15T14:16:00.002-05:00

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....

2010-07-15T13:46:00.002-05:00

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

2010-07-15T08:44:00.003-05:00

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

2010-07-14T20:06:00.003-05:00

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...

2010-07-14T14:16:00.010-05:00

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

Itsy (Part A): No one warned me about the weenus

2010-07-14T08:45:00.004-05:00

I have no idea why I'm starting with Itsy...because in any sort of line up, he would be dead last. He is a boy among men. A stubby little golf pencil among standard number twos. A cocktail weenie among those sausages that "plump when you cook them." In a world of pickles, he is a mini gherkin. Yes, my friends, he has a teeny, tiny penis. A weenis, if you will. Wenis? Weenus? I'm not sure how to spell that, and I really don't give a flying crap...I hope I never have to encounter such a sight again, much less have to tell you people about it.

Now, before you pervs get the wrong idea, I'm not promiscuous (that means slut, Sherlock), but I have seen a pickle or two in my day. I know what they're supposed to look like. We are not talking slightly smaller than average. We are also not talking about a "grower" (don't act like you don't know what the two types are - men are either "grow-ers" or "show-ers," except in Itsy's case, where he is neither.) For further proof that I am not a penis snob, I showed a picture of said weenis to two of my girlfriends. (Why on earth that dude texted me a picture of his defunct genitalia in hopes of raising my libido is beyond me...what it did raise was the remnants of my chicken-fried lunch). Anyway, girlfriend A said, "Oh...that's just sad...what's wrong with it?" Girlfriend B simply said, "Gross."

Now that we have established that Itsy's man-pickle is, in fact, itsy, we can continue with the story...

Except that now I have to go to work. I will post Itsy: Part B this afternoon.

Love,
Annabelly

Though I love her, Jane Austen is a bitch.

2010-07-13T20:43:00.001-05:00

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

Annabelly's Flops

I have a new blog...so go there now.

Blast from the (not too distant) Past

Happy Screw Year!

So I Read a New Book . . .

Things I Have Broken This Week:

I'm Back, Bitches.

Muscles Update Time

Vacay Part 2

Let's Talk About Vacation Booty...

Muscles: The Saga Continues...

It's Done.

I'm about to break up with my NONboyfriend.

Stupid Students...

So Here's What Happened...

Miller Time

Tonight Was Stupid...

Some Background Info...

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

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

We GOTS to Talk about Muscles...

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

A Brief Note...

Mister Mister

Things That Are on My Mind Right Now...

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

It Has Been Exactly...

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

Motorcycle Mister...A Preview

We're About to Wrap Teach Up, Yo.

Wow, I never finished Teach

Things I Have Learned Since Becoming Single, Part 2

Things I Have Learned Since Becoming Single, Part 1

So, A Friend and I Were Talking...

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

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

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

There's a Poll Now, Bitches :)

The Imaginary Casting Continues...with MainGay and Tamara

More Postings for the (imaginary) Movie of My Life

Picture Time, Picture Time!

So, I Went to This Wedding...

Another "After the Big D" Firsts...

Questions, Questions....

Tonight I told MWFHS ...

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

Help Wanted

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

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

Mailbag Answers

Teach, Part 2

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

Mailbag!

Yes, I do requests....

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

The Poll

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

Itsy (Part A): No one warned me about the weenus

Though I love her, Jane Austen is a bitch.