Archive for August, 2013

I’ll preface this by saying if you are not feeling particularly empathetic today, just skip this post.

Having a chronic illness sucks, in sooooo many ways.

First, which I don’t even have to mention, is the fact that you have a chronic illness… it’s totally unfair and sucks royally (not in a good way).

Second, doctor visits. My doctor visit frequency has decreased since my diagnosis and since I refuse to go unless I’m afraid that I could possibly be dying a painful death. If I thought I was dying lost in some beautiful reverie, it is unlikely that I’d pursue any medical care.

Third, medication. I take what seems, to me, a lot of medication. A chemo medication, steroids, anti-inflammatories, anti-chemo side effect medication, stomach medication, vitamins, and some holistic stuff. It’s a pain to take all of this to stave off effects of my particular disorder because some of it has to be timed and you have to plan if you’re going places, it’s also expensive. Money I’d much rather spend at the thrift store or on booze…

Fourth, “you don’t look sick”. I don’t want people to think of me as “sick” really, but I also want people to understand that if I have to bow out of something, it’s not because I’m lazy.

Fifth, I’m fucking tired. Not ALL of the time. I try so hard to be the same girl that I was before I got sick. But who am I kidding? I am so much less active now. I still push myself to do the things that I like to do. I get out with the camera as often as I can and I would love to do more urbex (even though after I did my last solo urbex adventure I was sick with a fever for 2 days).
Today, I feel like I’ve been exsaunguinated.
And if I over-do-it I’ll get sick with some crappy virus or something that I can’t even quantify.

Sixth, pain. I’m tired of the random pain. While it’s not debilitating, it’s exhausting. I’ve been dealing with a slipped-rib fuckweasel malady for about a week… I’m so over it.

Today, I’d just really like for someone to wrap me in their arms and tell me that everything will be okay…

I’ve been called a Beer Snob and a Music Snob in the last couple of weeks.  I am not offended, it’s true, I am what I am.  I do not think that either of these monikers affect my ability to find a suitable mate, or even an unsuitable one for that matter.

I carry these titles with a little bit of pride, however, I do not brag, it’s not my style.

But, what is hindering me from finding an unsuitable mate, is the fact that I’m a little bit of a grammar snob.

Come on, I know I’m not alone.  I see enough eCards bitching about their, there and they’re to know that it’s a weeding out process that MANY of us implement.

I don’t AUTOMATICALLY judge based on a silly spelling error, everyone does it.  Poor spelling isn’t necessarily an indication of a low IQ, so I’ve heard.  I mean, I WAY overuse the ellipses.  My editor was always happy to point that out, but I’m stubborn and I love the ellipses.  “We don’t need to know when the writer pauses to think” he would say.  I think that you do.

I do have to say that a lack of the ability to use spell-check does indicate either lack of intelligence, lack of seriousness, lack of a give-a-fuck or an “I’m above trying” attitude.  None of that inability draws me.  Call me a snob.

Here is the messaging that inspired this post:

Dating site email:

Do you have a lot in common which is cool I was going get a tattoo down below that said noddy by nature lol do you like your tattoos very sexy reading your profile seems like you had a great personality an funny love that

My reply:
Lol well if you decide to get that tattoo, I’d spell it NAUGHTY or people will assume you can’t hold your head up… And if it’s downstairs, they will doubt your ability to obtain an erection… Just a word to the wise.
Thanks for the compliments btw…

His reply:
Oh my god that is too funny I don’t think they would care what it said lol if the horse was playing lol I think they would just want to saddle up in ride

Draw your own conclusions…

Come on folks, learn to spell!!!

Come on folks, learn to spell!!!

Hurry-Up Horror


I love fiction, I love being transported into someone else’s life, into another world, another time… I’ve loved books, madly, since I was a small child. Maybe, because I am an only child, the books were my playmates.

So… always looking for new things to read, I discovered Two Sentence Horror stories.

Seriously, do yourself a favor and check these out… I got completely absorbed in them.

I tried my hand at writing a couple. I’m not sure that it’s my “thing” I usually get really wrapped up in describing things, almost like giving inanimate objects human qualities.

Here are a couple that I penned… let me know what you think. Can you write one??

As they hiked to the abandoned asylum, she tripped over a pile of bricks, gashing her thigh open; the blood began to pour onto the rain soaked ground.
She looked up at him, panicked as he bent over and began to lick the blood from her wounded leg…

“It’s just contact dermatitis” the doctor said as she scratched away the top layer of her skin. She had faith in her physician until she saw the first worm make its way out through her broken skin.

”I can’t take another night like this” she thought aloud as she walked toward the room that held the screaming baby.
The baby grew silent as she walked into the nursery to see her husband holding a pillow over the baby’s face.

This morning, my horoscope told me to make a list of the things that I do well… take inventory, so to speak.

I am not good at bragging… I know, I know, it’s not bragging if it’s true. However, being overly focused on your own faults for a lifetime makes it difficult to sell oneself, even if it is, only, to the universe.

So bear with me…

The List of TrippyB’s Excellence:

1. Good friend. I may have sucked as a wife, a girl friend, at times as an employee and various other roles I’ve played in my life, but I am a great friend. If you are my friend, I will always be there for you, I will defend you (even if you’re kinda wrong) and I will take your secrets to my grave.
2. I’m a good amateur photographer. I even had one of my photos chosen for “Photo of the Day” at
3. I’m empathetic… which I think is a rare quality these days.
4. I can cook the fuck out of some meatloaf, jalapeno mac-n-cheese and sour cream mashed potatoes… and various other things.
5. I have a great imagination.
6. I have a witty (most of the time) personality.
7. I’ve written some decent fiction.
8. My kisses are mind-blowing (there’s no shame in my game).
9. I don’t lie, even when I really, really want to.

The horoscope also said to include a list of things that I don’t do so well, but not to be overly critical of myself.

So, here goes:

1. I procrastinate. (I should just do this list later).
2. I’m not great with money.
3. I like booze… A LOT. (But I still manage to get all my grown up stuff done).
4. I tend to run away when things get a little rough in a relationship (consciously working on this one).
5. I swear excessively.

So, that’s the short list. I’m not really sure what this little endeavor was supposed to accomplish, other than making me feel awkward about myself, which incidentally is another thing that I’m good at.

Can you quantify your own list of pros and cons???

Once upon a time, I had a great first date.
I thought that this great first date would turn into a great second date… I could not have been more wrong.

The guy was about my age, tall, handsome, employed. He seemed normal.
We met at a local restaurant for drinks and appetizers that turned into dinner. We talked and laughed. It was good. At the end of the date he asked if he could see me again the next night, I excitedly agreed.

I drove home that night thinking that the online dating thing could really be working out, finally.

We met the next evening at another restaurant, ordered drinks and appetizers and I expected everything to be as great as the night before, if not better.

The laughing and chatting began as the night before, it seemed very comfortable.

Then, he brought up the topic of circumcision.

I promise you that I had not been talking about penises.

He began to tell me that he felt that he had been wronged by having been circumcised, the decision was made without his consent… I think he was more than a little resentful about the fact.

I laughed nervously and tried to change the subject, I was very uncomfortable… yet, he was undeterred.

He continued to tell me that he had DONE SOME RESEARCH ON THE INTERNET. Those 5 words are some of the most horrifying that you can hear on a second date, when the man sitting across from you is discussing his personal circumcision.

Again, I tried to change the subject. Again, unsuccessfully.

Before my mind decided to retreat into its safe place, this is what he told me…

He had created what I’d like to call a Faux Foreskin. Well, like is probably not the right word… but I digress.

With strategically placed surgical tape and string, one can create a certain amount of traction on the skin of a penis… AND after months of this, the skin stretches, eventually stretching enough to serve as a hat for his little head, maybe a scarf is a better word.


This little conversation detour left me at a complete loss for words, which is something that seldom happens.

I sat there silently, munching on nachos, wondering how someone who had, just 24 hours prior, seemed so normal and had so much potential, could turn into someone who was penis-obsessed and had HUGE mother issues??

I sucked down my beer and proclaimed that I had to get home; I had an early morning the next day, threw some money down on the table and left…

I know that this may have not been the best way to handle the situation, but I discovered in the span of 10 or 15 minutes that a Faux Foreskin is one of my deal breakers.

Please don’t mistake my aversion to a faux foreskin to mean that I have an aversion to the penis in its natural, uncut state, I do not. It doesn’t bother me at all. I just expect everyone I’m intimate with to practice exceptional hygiene… that is all.

When I recounted this story to my girlfriends, all that they wanted to know was “DID YOU SEE IT?”

I did not, although I think he was priming me, thinking that I was, in fact, going to see it that night.

When I got home that night, I did a little RESEARCH ON THE INTERNET. Apparently, Faux Foreskins are a thing. He isn’t the only one doing it.

Continuing to date only destroys what little hope I had in humanity…

The Rabid Wolverine

I once went on a date with a rabid wolverine… disguised as a man.


I didn’t initially suspect that he was pretending to be something that he was not; maybe I was too innocent at the time.


I don’t really have a physical “type” of guy that I prefer, but I absolutely swoon for intelligent men.  The man in question had 2 Master’s degrees.  Bingo! I was totally in.


He suggested we meet for dinner at one of my favorite pubs, not far from where I live.  I loved the suggestion and was genuinely excited.


We happened to be parking at the same time and walked to the pub together, he was a little shorter than his profile had indicated, but I’m 5’3” so it really wasn’t an issue.


When we sit, he tells me to order anything that I want.  Very generous, I thought, how nice.


When the waitress comes around, she tells about the Happy Hour specials, which include potato skins.


Nothing unusual about that, you might say.  Right?  Most bars and restaurants serve potato skins, they are EXTREMELY common.


Well not to Mr.2masters. 


He stares at her quizzically,  “I’ve never had potato skins before.”


The waitress convinces him that he MUST try them, making some vague promises about their deliciousness.


I’m not a potato skin hater, they’re okay, however I do not consider them a delicacy.

The potato skins arrived, Mr.2masters enjoyed them heartily.  I like a guy that has a hearty appetite.


I ordered lamb stew and a porter, he ordered a club sandwich.  As we waited, he told me everything that was wrong with the American education system and various other societal problems as he saw them.


I started disconnecting.


The date began to rapidly slide down the slope of no return when he began to eat his club sandwich.  He held half of the sandwich in both of his hands and proceeded to bury his face in it, not coming up for air until it was gone and his face smeared with mayonnaise and little bits of turkey and lettuce.


I was hardly able to eat my lamb stew (which I love).  I finally pushed my plate away and focused on my beer.


When he took a breath between sandwich halves, he encouraged me to drink more beer, or anything else I wanted, maybe a shot? 


I declined and asked the waitress for some water, I think I saw my horror at his table manners reflected in her expression.


Once he finished assaulting the sandwich and inhaling the fries he says while looking down at his food-covered hands “I think I need to go wash up.”


I nod in agreement.


While he’s gone to the restroom, I briefly consider bolting, to my car? No, he’d spot me before I got away… to the vacant building across the street where I could be murdered in the darkness?  That sounded preferable.


However, I’m not that kind of girl, and I stayed.  In my mind, I thought, pay the tab and we’d part.




He returns to the table, freshly scrubbed, looking mostly normal, and begins to encourage me to drink more.  I was sensing a theme.


The restaurant was really crowded, so I suggested that we leave.  Once on the sidewalk, I hoped we would bid our farewells, when he suggests we walk to the policeman’s memorial at the end of the street.


My brain was telling me to just get in my car, but he had just bought me dinner and I didn’t want to be rude (yes, I know this is how people get murdered, because of politeness).


We walked down the street and he suggested we sit on a bench… I can’t even count how many mistakes I was up to at this point… so I sat down.


I’m a history nerd, so I started telling him what I knew of the policemen that were memorialized… trying to fill the awkward silence.

As I’m talking, possibly incoherently, he bends down, in what looks like an attempt to tie a shoe, and runs his hand up my bare calf, then sits up like nothing happened.


I am now silent.


Then, he takes his open palm and rubs my head.  If you’ve never had your head flat-palm-rubbed in some bizarre attempt at seduction, consider yourself lucky.

I quickly stood up, proclaimed that I was cold and tired (it was July) and I must go home, immediately.


He walked me to my car, gave me a hug and I thought that it was all over.


A few weeks without contact, I felt like he got the vibe that this thing would not work out.  Until, he texted me…


I said “I thought you also felt that we weren’t a good match.”


He replied “I was just interested in being intimate with you.”


“Uuuuummm…. About that…. No.”

Serial Killers Need Not Apply

If you’ve never done any online dating, I’m sure that it’s hard to imagine the sorts of emails that a person can get.  They run the gamut… from very polite and cordial, to vulgar; to… what I can only describe as serial killer-ish.  The following note is an example:

dating 7

Now… I’m not sure if his very generous offer was meant sexually or… if he meant with some fava beans and a nice Chianti…
This dude also drives a truck.  I don’t mean to profile due to professions, but everyone knows that truck driving is the preferred career for serial killers.  I mean he even put photos of his truck on his profile!  Should I add some images of operative reports??  Only the ones with rectal foreign bodies would be interesting… everyone wants to read about salt shakers in the ass (even if they won’t admit it!).
dating 9
I’ll admit that he could be a normal guy that’s appearing all sorts of creepy, but normal guys usually don’t offer to eat me in the introductory email.

JG was lamenting yesterday that things in his life weren’t going as he would like.  I said “At least you’re wanted, and not to sauté in some olive oil.”
I get the impression that the majority of the guys on the dating site that really want me, just want to chain me up in their basement… and possibly make some nipple beanies from my skin.
Or, I could be overreacting, maybe I spend too much time on, maybe my imagination gets the better of me.  But, DAMMIT, if I didn’t get messages like the aforementioned one, I don’t think I’d be thinking like this!
Word to the wise, if you’re a man who is online dating, PLEASE don’t send creepy, weird messages to girls!  There could be some girls who are into it, I know this, but I’d speculate the majority of women will not be.  At least feel a girl out a little bit before you fly your freak flag (not literally).  I’m just sayin…
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