I know I covered the Barren Spinster thing, but I didn’t as yet cover the dating with a disability thing. Until now.
After a few years of being single, I tried consciously to do the online dating thing.
Sweet Jesus! The Millennial’s! Can we blame them for that?
I mean, I did the clubs thing back in the 90’s, I was out there, I had exposure and nothing. Most of my 20’s, single.
Can you think of the top three questions you get asked doing the online dating? Please imagine my profile mentioned I did not drink, imagine it was something akin to personality. I wasn’t looking or interested in a quick sleaze. I wanted that eventually, but not from someone old enough to by my dad.
Right!
Question 1, What do you do? I tell them I’m retired. (to avoid catfishing, I quickly follow with retired, but poor) and I do advocacy for people with disabilities. Let me tell you what they want? 1. A quick shag, almost on order like Uber Eats. Cringe!
Older guys want Jennifer Aniston, wearing a tiny bikini while lying on the beach drinking a beer.
Are these men A-Grade specimens of man? Deserving of a Jennifer Aniston? Don’t be ridiculous.
R.I.P. last Friday, I lost one of my favourite carers. They are all my favourites they just all bring something different to the party. This carer I will likely write about in a future post. I’m going to refer to her as FP, I only had 5 minutes notice before she arrived for her last shift. I would have FP up to 8-11.5 hours for 1 week every month and often mistaken as my daughter. She has not passed on but merely gone to study for the next stage in her life. I had, had her as my carer for three years! I mean, I had just gotten her trained. She could accurately read my mind, finished my sentences and I got to feed her.
I’m a feeder! I love to send my carers off with something to eat on their way to their next shift. I used to ask FP if her mother questioned me feeding her and the response was this. “If I go home and eat my dinner she doesn’t need to know” I believe this is exactly how she put it. I think she might waste away and her mum might wonder why, I might need to prepare her a care package.
Now, Autumn has arrived in Melbourne and I’m never happier than when wearing full black. It’s a rather strong Melbourne trait and it doesn’t hurt, it’s very slimming. I was down in Cliffy Hill yesterday to see my GP and he loves to encourage me to get on the scales. I fight him every time! It’s been good to catch up on some blog writing, as I will do again today over lunch.
Today’s lunch is the brain grain salad, because sometimes I need all the help I can get and medicine!
After another long day I’ll have to go home and give Mika to sit her down and give her the talk. You know, the one about how one of her favourite people is now gone from our lives.
Being one handed, the most important thing I can recommend in order to survive is, learn to adapt.
It’s the day’s I go to the city and I do some hunter/gathering, that I push myself a little more and while it exhausts me, I notice how my physical body adapts.
My standard trips to the city meant a lot more steps and carrying. If I can’t carry it, I can’t buy it. So, I’ve gotten creative.
Yesterday, I bought two novels and a box of envelopes. Not heavy, just cumbersome and sharp corners. These day’s I travel with one of those fold up grandma bags. (Not a slur) but you can carry it around until you need it. It weighs nothing, takes up no space, but once it’s got two novels and inside it, I usually ask someone to help me put the handles on my left arm above where my cuff and collar sits, just on my elbow. The bag swings along my side and doesn’t hit my left thigh.
My next stop I collected comics, they are flat and not very heavy, so they go in my bag that sits on my right glutinous maximus. Slap, slap, slap.
Then I stopped at a chemist and picked up a few things. Definitely the weightiest purchases of the day. I might even have behind packaging to save or bulk. At this point I’ve reached my maximum density.
I’m starting to feel weighed down and I’m walking a little sideways and bumping into people. Or it could just be people on their devices not paying the least bit of attention to where they are.
After a quick pee break where the bag on my left arm stays there to save needing to put it back on. I walk not far to the tram or Bourke Street Mall and I get on the tram.
Waddling like a pregnant lady now, I try to get two seats near a door facing forward. I might start with one seat and the bag sits on my lap, the straps digging into my shoulders. My right leg in the isle making people brush against me. The bag on my left arm is beside me digging into whoever didn’t think to offer me both seats.
• I’ll just point out here I’m not bigger than Texas. I’m just a wide load by this stage.
Thirty-Five minutes later, I’m at my tram stop (Maybe I was able to spread out for the last 15-20 minutes) I stand up on the tram, readjust my bags, the strap on my left shoulder. I carry my walking stick with the wrist strap between my teeth, so it doesn’t bang all over every piece of metal known to man.
Have I mentioned, I can’t do stalker or stealth? I manoeuvre my way to a door, favouring my right side as that’s my better peripheral vision. All the better not to step on or bump into people and while holding on to one handle or another I manage to get to the right-hand door handle. Walking stick still in mouth.
Tram stops, door opens and I swing my left leg out and bending my right knee, step down. I don’t let go until both feet are on the ground. Hoping just hoping people have followed the road rules and cars have actually stopped at the back of the tram. Yeah! That does not always happen.
I then use my walking stick to walk to the curb. Right foot up, lift and swing left leg attempting left toes to clear the curb.
Fast forward to me getting inside my apartment. There have been days I’ve taken off the bags and weighed them and I’m surprised I’ve carried the extra five kilos home from the city.
But the biggest surprise to me is after I’ve unpacked everything and take my extra layers off (jacket, scarf, etc) I’m moving around my home feeling like I’m on a permanent tilt.
So, by gradually adding weight, my body compensates to do what I insist on it and when all of that is gone, my body still acts like it’s needing to adapt to carry the extra weight and that is today’s lesson.
You don’t know what you can do until you try. Do a little more on top of that and a migraine.
Okay, going full dark today and I’m not feeling depressed in any way while I write this. Quite the opposite really, but I will suggest I’m going to lose my male followers, before too long, much to their loss.
5, 4, 3, 2,
Most of my carers these days are older than me and a few of my friends. Which is great! Fine! Great, I’m not complaining because they bring a wealth of womanly advice.
And 1
Bet the guys are all gone.
Every month or so, the ladies and I get stuck on the topic of Crazy-Lady hormones.
Any guys still reading? Hit me with a like or a comment if you still are.
So, ladies this post is about sliding into the ‘Pause’ (yes Menopause) Apart from the irregular periods (shark week) and the heavy one month, light the next or the all-out ‘all the Crazy symptoms and a complete no-show of obvious. It came, no babies (said 1 young carer years ago)
One of my older carers and I used to share a conversation and you have all heard these stories.
Back in the day, picture the 60’s and theirs a couple chatting about their mutual friends. Two couples married around the same time, raised their children around the same time, holidayed together, worked together, did casserole night, you know, you get the picture. Then all of sudden, it goes full dark.
“Oh, I don’t know what happened, they were perfectly happy, married fifteen years, little ‘whoopsie’ was good at cricket (or whatever sport of the day) and then all of a sudden, he came home one day after work while she was cooking dinner and she just stabbed him to death. The Coroners report stated he was stabbed forty-seven times.
And now she lives in a mental asylum.
Scene end!
So, my carer and I share a look and a smile and this is the important part, if the guys kept reading.
Menopause SUCKS!
Here’s what the wife dealt with that day, the kids, the housework, the shopping, cooking, ironing, laundry, the crazy itching, the hot flushes one moment and then the cool the next. The kids. And then the husband comes home and complained about why was it so cold inside?
Read the room. Don’t mess with a woman who has limited control over what is going on with her hormones.
Well, you might recall I mentioned a busy social life last week? Yeah, went for Thai one night with my Boo! (My Boo is gay so don’t get too excited!) the following night, those plans fell over and will attempt a Take 2 later in the month. However, have been seeing more films. Monday night went to see The Gentlemen, a Guy Richie film. Or as I referred to it, Eye-Candy!
Really good. Watched a DVD during the day Tuesday. Saw Bridesmaids and gave myself a facial! Seem to come in waves does my social adventures. But takes great planning. So too does making sure I get down-time.
But, Wednesday dawned cooler than usual in Melbourne. Still summer but not complaining. Standard punchy-stabby day and a nice calm lunch!
Need my medicine not as strong as last week. Almost put hair on my chest! Yet, doesn’t manage to keep me awake! Today’s offering is a pancetta quiche with side salad and medicine! (I may be in a foodie rut?)
In some ways I am a shame on my Nona (and my Italian heritage), who I only have few memories of, as she died when I was around six years old.
But the memories I have are of great love and fondness. So, in a sense I’m a shame on my Italian heritage, because I barely understand garlic. I use it on very few things because I try to make my Nona proud “But chilli?!” Like, sweet Jesus!
WFT! Who can I blame this abomination for this? I’ve just had some at a café and my lips are numb and I feel dehydrated.
But, in one way I can never find an excuse.
IT IS NEVER OK TO PUT TOMATO SAUCE! NO! NEVER! IT IS NEVER OK TO PUT TOMMY K ON PASTA!
I got some very WHITE cousins and they are lucky I didn’t slap them.
Now, that is an abomination. If you can’t use a tin of tomatoes, throw in a few vegies (carrot, capsicum, broccoli etc) and some spices and make a quick lazy pasta sauce, you have bigger problems.
Many years ago, when discussing soulmates with a female friend, back in our 20’s when one of us (ME) still believed in soul mates.
I remember throwing the idea around with her, where was this soulmate?
We decided and wholeheartedly agreed. He was lost.
I may have mentioned this?
I suggested, did he need a Melway’s?
It’s the thing on paper we used to navigate Melbourne before Google Maps.
Yes, someone pointed out Google Maps said friend replied. My soulmate needed an inter-galactic Melways.
What I have found in recent years is a few old club male friends I never thought to date, I only ever saw them as friends, have reached out and wanted to ‘catch-up’ with me. One of those even had a medical condition all his own he had dealt with. (Now, 10 years in remission).
The difference being, he had a partner to support him. He had children he could still work; he could even continue to study. He told me he understood my disability and to call on him anytime I needed something. Have I heard from him again? No don’t be ridiculous.
Apparently, I’ve met my soulmate, he just has yet to work out that, that soulmate is me.
Good Mental Health Day
Well, I am in the middle of a crazy social week. Which is unusual, I don’t often have such a busy social existence but things kept getting moved around and it’s all happened or happening over the whole week.
Last Thursday I went to see Birds of Prey. With Margo Robbie. (She’s an Australian, just saying)
Then today, I saw another film with a different friend. This film I used a free ticket for giving one of my support agencies feedback, so we went and saw Jane Austin’s Emma.
And then I went to church! Well, not a real church but a place I consider my Temple. I love to browse; I don’t get to buy anything. But here are some beautiful pictures so you too can appreciate why I go. Even if I can’t afford to buy anything for have the room for more furniture. My red and white provincial doona cover is my summer pride and joy in my bedroom. It makes me so happy.
And that is how Ryan Gosling was ruined for me. Just Ruined.
What? Ryan Gosling (he is too young) and taken. But isn’t he the new Brad Pitt?
Oh, Brad Pitt is the new Brad Pitt since splitting from Angelina Jolie.
No, pass. Imagine co-parenting with that as your ex-partner.
Just NO.
I accept anyone I date now is going to have a past. Wise words from a gay guy friend of a gay friend is that:
This is the time relationships break up after twenty years and the guys come scratching around. I have a weird knee-jerk reaction to this, so if I didn’t want to date them way back then and they were interested in me back then, why didn’t I know about it? And did they just make do with whoever they have been with all this time?
Instead of me? Mmmmmm……….. more thought required.
I do know I don’t want to have regrets in life. I definitely don’t want to get to 65 and regret I didn’t make the effort to find him.
Then, for the first time really ever, I dated. I dated a guy, the emphasis on ’A’ and like usual, some bitch had gotten to him first and he was more Roadkill than anything else.
We did the date thing for whatever and I had, had my diagnosis of my AVM and didn’t know what life and treatment would bring, but I had hopes I meant something to him, more than nothing.
After a third date that was more about us being ‘friends’ and watching films at my house (because my house had a heater and a cat!) etc.
*Sidebar; Imagine watching ‘Blue Dress’ with a new boyfriend, awkward!
So, I set about solving the boyfriend’s issues, trying to be a supportive girlfriend, hoping he would do the same with my treatment and recovery.
Let’s do a stocktake: –
Alcoholic – fixed that. 🗸
Separated, not divorced. 🗸
Permanent Resident in Australia. 🗸
Support him parenting his daughter. 🗸
This is starting to sound really bitter, which I’m not. In reality, he had his plans and I had mine and his did not include me.
It wasn’t until after we broke up and he was moving out to interstate for work that I learnt his mother did not even know I existed.
So, lesson learned.
If he had loved me, he would have still been here, with me and lord love that child, but not being a co-parent with the family make-up of that family, I dodged a bullet. Really!
I would have given it a red-hot go but I’m lucky I didn’t have too.
Hell onWheels/Life One Handed 