Na na na na na, I'm Not Listening....

I have the face that people want to tell their life stories to.

Seriously, I had a Wal-Mart employee once tell me all about her daughter and her drug problem, the kids they were trying to get custody of and how tired she was… I was just trying to read ice cream labels.

How do you respond to that anyway?

I just awkwardly nod my head, say “I’m sorry” and try to inch my way down the aisle, fuck ice cream, I need to GO!

But, I did listen… she needed it.  I hope she felt better.

So today, I get a text from my ex.  “Call me when you get the chance”.

Fucking hell.

So I text back “Is something wrong?”

The return text includes these statements:

I’m sick.

I consider you a great friend.

How do I get someone to love me?

She hates my family.

How do I get in the position to give advice, LOVE advice, to someone that I went through literal hell with?  And, in what alternate, fucked up reality, is this somehow expected or normal?

I’ll say this, I don’t hate him… I don’t hate, it’s not what I do… I let all of that go when I let him go. 

And let’s be real here, what in the actual fuck do I know about getting someone to love anyone?  It’s not like I have my life so together that I can actually school someone in the art of getting theirs together. Sheesh.

I actually got up in a good mood today, after being awake most of the night… now this.

I am trying to be the bigger person; I am an ordained minister after all.

Swimming with Schlongs

Aaaahhhhhh, the online dating world.

People that have never had to resort to shopping on the interwebs for their next paramour have no idea how much amusement, confusion and abject terror it can stimulate.

I sort of apologize to SJ for the next few paragraphs… but I told him that he should not give me fodder for the blog.

BRAGGING.

I know, I know… it’s not bragging if it’s true, right?

WRONG… if you HAVE to tell people… it’s totally fucking bragging.

And, honestly, it’s not sexy.

If you feel compelled to tell someone that you HAVE to wear “magnum condoms” before there has ever been a discussion about intimacy… well, there’s a very strong likelihood that I’m never going to want to find out.

“That’s a lot of information.”

I have to confess that the turn of this particular conversation with SJ was completely my fault, because I mentioned my “casting couch” post… so I opened myself up for it.  When will I ever learn? Probably never…

C said that men like this must “come from some chivalrous place, like the ghettoverse.”

I fucking love “ghettoverse”.

Anyway, I think a lot of guys do this because they don’t know any better.  They think if a guy has a large schlong a woman will not be able to contain herself.

I’m gonna be honest here guys, large schlongs aren’t that rare, seriously…  I mean if that’s all you’ve got to offer, you really need to step up your game.  I hate to be crude, but it really has to be said.

I am not the foremost, leading expert on schlongs, I’ll admit that, but from my limited experience my previous statement is entirely true.

So, boys, my advice is to keep that little (or big) tidbit to yourself.  Let it be a happy (or uncomfortable) surprise!

But what do I know?  I’m sure there are some ladies that totally go for that kind of thing…

It doesn’t necessarily mean that these guys are automatically bad, but it makes me tread lightly, if at all…  it’s like if you have to tell someone how cool you are, you’re probably not cool at all…

Ok, I’m going to be a little nice here for a minute.

Dating is HARD… ridiculously hard… and, it’s really difficult to know how to do it.  I’ve been at it for a minute now, and I have no idea what I’m doing.  It's like swimming with sharks, while wearing a sausage bathing suit.

"Poke the shark in the eye" they say... BUT WHAT EYE?!?!?!

I know that guys are programmed to think that women want certain things, “big shlongs” being one of those things.

So, when you’re trying to sell yourself you’ll, understandably, want to play up your assets. 

What realtor says “tiny, virtually unusable backyard”?  They’ll focus on the “recently renovated kitchen!”

So, it makes sense that a guy would advertise that he is the cockinator and downplay the fact that he has an aversion to bathing or difficulty maintaining employment… focus on the positive!

SJ did say “What am I going to say? That I’m small and bad in bed?”

Of course not, sometimes it’s what you DON’T say…

Even knowing all of this, it still turns me off.

Flirting and innuendo is fun, but too much, too soon… TrippyBeth No Likey…

Does that make me a prude?

 I want the fun, excitement and discovery of a courtship… if everything is all out there; it takes the fun out of it for me…

Climbing on the Casting Couch

Here I am!

Thanks to those who missed me… it is good to be missed.

My weekend was uneventful; I have no tales of debauchery to entertain you with.

I stayed in bed all weekend, except for the couple of hours I ventured out to Spring Grove on Sunday.  You can see my Spring Grove photos here:  http://reflectionsuponmyreality.wordpress.com/2013/02/04/spring-grove-cemetery-revisited/

I mostly laid there and coughed and wished that I went to the grocery store on a regular basis.

I obviously didn’t starve to death, although at one point on Saturday night, I wasn’t so sure I was going to make it.

But, I survived on sweet tea and raw potatoes.  RP thinks it’s bizarre that I snack on raw potatoes, I guess it’s just something that they don’t do in the UK, but I think they’re yummy!

I did, however, get an interesting email on the dating site Saturday night.

I’m not really sure how to take it.

Should I be flattered that he thinks I’d be good in a porno??

I mean, who couldn’t use some extra cash??

I’m sure I’m the only girl he sent the email to… uh huh, right…

JG said that it sounded like “typical casting couch scenario”.

What girl wouldn’t be on board to “audition” on film, no less??  I’m totally sure this guy isn’t completely full of bullshit.

BD suggested that I agree, but say that I’m bringing my own costar.  Oddly, I feel like this guy would probably be ok with that too…

Anyway, I did not schedule an audition… call me old fashioned…

I did see my Rheumy today, and he thinks the pleurisy is being caused by my dermatomyositis.  So, we are increasing the methotrexate… OH JOY!  Maybe this increase will get me under control finally!

Unfortunately, with autoimmune diseases, treatment is a crapshoot.  And when it’s something as rare as dermatomyositis, well… treatment is even more of a stab in the dark.

I am soooooo much better than I was a year ago, so I’m optimistic that I can get even better than I am now.

Did you hear that? TrippyBeth is O P T I M I S T I C!!

Write that down…

Eager Head Banging

Excited VS over-eager VS weirdo

This is a line that I have no idea how to traverse.

If I like someone, I like them, that’s pretty simple.

But, at this point in my life, I don’t know the proper (acceptable) way to show it.

My mind is constantly running in excess of the speed limit, and the ideas sometimes come fast and furious and I need (ok, want) to share them.

Yet…

I don’t want to overwhelm anyone.  And thanks to truly BATSHIT crazy women who may have come before me, a lot of guys are gun-shy.

Understandable.

Just because I have a lot of ideas or a lot of things to say to someone, doesn’t mean that I have fallen madly, insanely in love.  I just have a lot of things to say… and if I dig someone, I want to say things to them.  That’s just how I gyre (a round shape formed by a series of concentric circles… see you learned something today, you’re welcome).

I have now gathered enough experience to temper my excitement and try not to do anything to frighten the elusive normal, available man away.

Am I not being true to myself?

I think I’m still being me, just dialed down to a 6 instead of all the way up to 11.

If someone ever truly likes me and wants to be involved in a relationship with me, they’ll accept that about me and maybe it will even endear me to them.

“Communication without filters” is a phrase that was mentioned to me recently.  I like that.  My filter is mostly nonfunctioning anyway, although I seriously try to keep things a little in check.  Really, I do!

I guess “Just be Yourself” isn’t bad advice… I’ll just keep the volume at a moderate level until I know that the listener is, indeed, a head banger.

Scratch and Dent

Don’t worry baby everything’s about to get heavy.

Thursday… I can almost see the whites of Friday’s eyes!!

I realized this morning, that I bitch a lot on this blog.  I don’t really think that I’m a chronic complainer kinda person.  In real life, I like to let things sort of roll off my back, when I can.  This blog, is just a tiny fraction of my life though, everyone deserves to be able to bitch a few minutes a day, right?

Anyway…

I got an email from this guy (thanks to JG for pointing out the similarities)

I thought about including the screen capture, but I’ll let your imagination do the work.  It’s a photo of a middle-aged guy sitting in a lawn chair, unbuttoned shirt, protruding tummy, with a beer in hand.  The photo is captioned, simply “beer”.

Now, please, do not think that I expect men to jump straight from the pages of GQ into my arms, I don’t, I’m pragmatic if nothing else.  Honestly, I wouldn’t even want one of those guys.

I want personality! Quirk!  Not someone overly obsessed with a perfect line of facial hair or eyebrows more perfectly groomed than my own.

But, isn’t online dating about 75% presentation?

BAIT, people, that’s what it’s all about!

Granted, we can only work with the bait that we’ve been given.  This is my problem.  You can’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.

However, I do not post photos of myself taken first thing in the morning, or photos taken from a weird angle that makes me look like Jabba The Hut.  I am trying to sell myself, for crap’s sake.

I mean if you have a perfect, pristine can of green beans, and a dented, smashed in can, side by side on the grocery shelf.  Both are the same price, which one are you taking home?

I am trying really hard not to be the dented can.

The longer this pleurisy hangs on, the more like a dented can I feel.  UG.

Now that I am writing 2 blogs, I am learning a few things about the different blogging platforms.

This one, Blogger, is pretty simple and straightforward.  I like it.  It was the right platform for me to start with.

However, Wordpress, even though it’s harder for me to maneuver right now, gets your blog more attention.

And, truly, that’s what blogging is all about, ATTENTION!  Wordpress even automatically uploads my postings to Facebook!!

So, if you haven’t already, check out my photo blog!

http://reflectionsuponmyreality.wordpress.com/

I had a little life victory yesterday; they are few and far between, so I have to share.

I always remembered, vaguely, this movie that I saw as a child.  It was an old black and white movie about someone being trapped in a magical apple tree.  I have, on and off, over the years tried to figure out what the movie was, without success.

UNTIL YESTERDAY!

I finally Googled the right combination of words, and I found it!

"On Borrowed Time"

It’s the story of Death being held in the tree, and while he’s there, NO ONE dies.

So, once I discover the title, I go to Netflix… No dice.

Then, to Amazon.  THEY HAVE IT!  And guess what is on its way to me???

OH YEA, I see a movie night in the future!!

No Power for Zombies.

If you think that a kiss was all in the lips; come on you got it all wrong man…

Woke in the middle of the night to a raging thunderstorm, had to put my window down.

Ahhhhh spring…

Waitaminute…

It’s January!!

I have to say, I love Earth, and I try to do what I can to contribute to extending her life expectancy…

But…

I’m totally a fan of global warming.  At least at this point, I mean until if feels like we are living on the surface of the sun.  Then I will berate myself for every Styrofoam cup of McDonald’s sweet tea I consumed in my hedonistic life.

Anyway… thanks to global warming, cold fronts, warm fronts, barometric pressure and a PMSing Mother Nature, the storm early this morning knocked out my electricity.

Let me make this very clear… there is no way in holy hell I could live without electricity.  If the Zombie Apocalypse comes and the power grid is knocked out, I’m outta here.

I will not offer up my brains to the zombies, I am not nearly that generous, but I can see myself taking myself out in a manner than makes my brains inedible.  I'm thinking large caliber weaponry.

Speaking of the Zombie Apocalypse… I totally offended someone recently on Facebook by mentioning the ZA.

An ex bf of mine had posted something about the Fiscal Cliff BS, and this person (his fiancé) posted that she just wished that Jesus would come down and take her and her family to heaven.

That’s crazy, right??

Then someone else posted that they weren’t ready for the apocalypse yet.

So, I posted “Unless it’s a Zombie Apocalypse, I’m totally down with that”>

I was being silly, I mean it’s Facebook, there’s no state law saying you have to be serious, right?

So, I subsequently find out that this was offensive to her.

Sheesh, I don’t think your bible should be lodged in your ass, lady. But, hey, what do I know about it?

Today I am the photo that you see in the dictionary next to the word HIDEOUS.  Last night, I went to bed with wet hair. Oh yea, you should have seen it when I got up.  To quote my father, I “looked like I’d been dragged through a briar patch backwards.”  Feel free to use that little phrase if you like.

I present a briar patch, for those who are unfamiliar.

As a matter of fact, I kinda look like a zombie, before the complete transformation…

Kinda like this, only worse.

So, due to the fear and repulsion that I’m sure I will incite if I spend any time in public, I have declined all offers for activities after work.

Add to that the fact that the pleurisy still has me firmly in its grip.

Tonight I will peruse the interwebs in hopes of finding a totally kick-ass soup recipe for the SOUPer Bowl Saturday night at KS’s.  I love soup, but don’t make it too often.

So if you have any recipes, I’m open to suggestions!  I’m thinking some sort of mushroom soup, there weren’t any of those last year.  We shall see…

Insuring Ball Kicking...

There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain.

Fucking pleurisy.

It decided to flare its ugly little head again last night, just when I thought I had it beaten into some sort of submission.

How I wish I had the comeback ability of Rocky… I could just slowly crawl to the middle of the ring… jump up and pummel the holy hell out of pleurisy.

But, alas, I will just sit here and complain, sigh heavily and from time to time fight back some tears.

Then, today, we find out how much our insurance is increasing.

Where is Obamacare when I need it?

I really don’t know much about Obamacare, it just sounds good to me. 

Now, I get higher deductibles and less employer contributions.  All this, of course, isn’t a big deal if you don’t have any health issues.

But, I have a chronic autoimmune disease that requires frequent doctor visits and lab tests. Mo money, mo money, mo money…

I love it when people say “You work in healthcare; I bet you have good insurance.”

“You’d be surprised”

I hate insurance companies, I work with them everyday, and they are the ones that are ruining healthcare.  They totally control it.  If you support healthcare reform, insurance reform is where it needs to start, but it never will because too many politicians are in the pockets of the insurance companies.

It’s way cheaper for the insurance company if I just die.

Anyway, unless someone has an idea how I can better afford quality healthcare, I’ll move on.

I get a message on the dating site last night that reads like this:

“Random question, but have you ever kicked someone in the balls?”

I have to say that was a little unexpected.

Here is an excerpt from his dating profile, notice #6:

Okay, I totally get that everyone has their “thing”, I have mine, you have yours and as long as everyone is on board it can be a beautiful thing.

And really, I’m not judging his “thing”; I suppose I’m intrigued by it.

I replied to his query like this “Once in the fourth grade, a guy that was picking on me”.  His name was Harvey and he was really mean to me, I didn’t intend to kick him in the balls, that was just what happened.  I felt bad about it, but he didn’t bother me anymore after that.

How does one acquire such a “thing”??

Did some little girl with freckles and pig tails kick him in the balls in elementary school?  Has he been obsessed since, asking women to deliver a swift blow to his gonads? 

But, kicking someone in the balls for their uuummmm gratification… I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I couldn’t see myself just meeting someone, kicking him in the balls, then going on about my day.  I’m not a prude or anything, that would just feel too bizarre for me.

If I was involved with someone who, at some point in our relationship, asked me to do that, I’d consider it, I suppose.  We are, at that point, back to the “everyone on board” thing.

I am morbidly fascinated with the little quirks and fetishes that people have.  This one really piqued my curiosity.  But… do I ask more questions? I don’t want to somehow make him think that I have a level of interest that I don’t have.  I am not about leading someone on…

I need to ponder this a little bit, and think of a way to convey my curiosity without seeming to be “sexually” interested.

So last night, I was Florence Nightingale! I trekked up to Oakley and delivered some Gatorade to an ailing friend. 

Cincinnati through my rainy windshield.

I71N tunnel.

We sat there and watched episodes of “Better Off Ted”, great show that I’ve never heard of.

“I can’t believe you didn’t watch this” D said.

“I cannot commit to series television” I just can’t, its how I roll.  But, Netflix could open up a whole new world of entertainment for me.  I have Netflix, I just never watch it.

Ok, back to work… dammit.