An Odd Interview Question

Hello again!  Happy July!  I hope my fellow Americans had a safe and wonderful Independence Day.  I also hope all of my Canadian friends did the same on Canada Day.  Anyway, about a week ago, I was searching through some of my old files from my Eastfield (community college) days looking for a particular poem when I ran across a list of interview questions I had to create for one of my classes.  One of those questions brought back some memories.  The question was “If you could transform into any creature (real, mythical, extinct, or otherwise), what would it be and why?”  For some reason, it always seemed to make whoever I asked stop and really think hard.  Even the teacher remarked that it was an odd and creative question.  Which was weird, because it’s the type of thing that I think about all the time.  Maybe it was because I didn’t set up any rules (no time limit, no information on whether the change is permanent, etc.).  I left everything up to the person being asked.  Or maybe I’m just weird.  But I thought I’d take the chance to answer the question myself, since I never have before.

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Or maybe I just spend too much time on the Interwebz.  Though, my question is broader and approximately 10 years old, so yeah.

So, if I could transform into any creature (real, mythical, extinct, or otherwise), what would it be and why?  That one has always been a no-brainer for me.  Of course, I would be a mermaid.  The “why” is a little more complicated.  I mean, aside from the fact that they’re awesome and Ariel was nuts to give up her fins for a man, what other reasons do I need?  Fine, we can get personal I guess.

First, and contrary to popular opinion, I actually love water.  I miss being able to go swimming immensely, not that I could actually swim, it was more of a vertical doggie paddle.  But yeah, I liked being in water because it gave me much more control over my body (I could walk, and move my arms, and stretch beyond my comfort zone without having to worry about someone assisting me and pushing me too far/breaking something, etc.).  So, the attraction to water led to an early love of mermaids.  Then came the whole gills versus lungs thing.  My lungs suck, so gills became even more attractive as I got older.  But I swear my attraction to mermaids is mostly because they are magical and gorgeous and so fecking cool.

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One of Amy Brown’s mermaids.

It’s not like I want to be a mermaid all the time, though.  So, the power to switch back and forth would be a must.  At least in the beginning.  Who knows, I might enjoy exploring the sea so much that I eventually never want to come back.  Or I might hate it.  Either way, I want the option.  Maybe I’d have a limited number of swaps (like maybe five or something; always an odd number so I’d be forced to choose human on the fourth or whatever try, but always have that lingering option to go mermaid forever) to make things more exciting.  I should probably write about mermaids more often.  Story idea: cripple turns into mermaid.  Must eventually choose between life on land or at sea.  Adventures and peril abound.  I could totally write that.

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Art by NanFe.  Plus, mermaids can be super creepy!

What about you?  What creature would you choose?  Is it a no-brainer or do you have to think about it?  And yes, staying human is an option as long as you explain your reasoning.  It doesn’t have to be a deep, thoughtful reason either.  Go with your gut!

See you next week!

Cripple Rant

Hi there!  So, you remember that post I made about three months ago, Murphy’s Law for CripplesWell, it’s been three months and nine visits later, and things still aren’t fixed.  They replaced the lift pump about a month after everything started (far too long), so that’s been working, but the new one is already clicking and catching and acting like it’s going to go out soon which doesn’t instill much confidence in the product.  But hey, at least they spelled “front” right this time!

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This will never cease to amuse me.

 The chair batteries, on the other hand, are still messing up, though not quite as bad as they were.  For the first month, month and a half, I couldn’t leave my room, let alone the house, because the batteries were dying so fast that I had to keep my vent plugged into the wall instead of the chair.  Originally, the excuse was that the company was using cheap batteries which they tried me on twice.  Batteries they KNOW don’t support a chair with additional functions (lay-back, vent support, etc.), but they use them to save money and because they have them in stock instead of having to order them.  But if you’re sending guys out to change them every couple of months instead of every couple of years, how is that saving anything?

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Then again, I’m not a business person, so what do I know?

 Eventually, they got the “good” batteries for me, but they still drained super fast.  Another check in revealed that the guy had wired my vent to them wrong (an honest mistake that he owned up to right away, so no bad feelings there).  The batteries were STILL draining, albeit not as fast, but faster than they’re supposed to, so they replaced them again figuring some of the cells had been damaged from the miswired vent.  Guess what happened?  Yup, the newest set are draining again!  But a least I can leave the house.  I did have to skip a few events because of the whole debacle though, so that didn’t make me very happy.

Anyway, this past week they decided to take the chair into the shop to tear it down so they could search for the real problem.  What did this mean for me?  Well, since my chair is one of the few things I don’t have a backup for (no place to store one), it meant that I stayed up all night on Thursday, slept all day Friday until they brought it back (they picked it up around nine, nine-thirty that morning and brought it back around six-thirty), then stayed up all Friday night and Saturday until around ten pm.  I haven’t done that crap since I was in my early twenties.  Needless to say, I am not twenty anymore.  But now, the problem is supposedly my motors.  They’re going out which is drawing more power from my batteries than usual.  Who knows how long it’ll take to get those changed out.  Hopefully not another three months.

But then, I woke up on Sunday, got on Facebook, and realized all my problems were insignificant.

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The Dallas skyline in support of Orlando.

Murphy’s Law for Cripples

Howdy, howdy.  Yesterday (actually, it’s today as I’m writing this) was (is?) one of those days.  It’s always nice to wake up to one of your key pieces of machinery (naturally one of the few you don’t have a good spare for) being dead (again).  Yes, the hydraulics on my patient lift (the thing that transfers me from bed to chair, etc.) decided it would be fun to go out in the middle of the night.  I was stuck in bed until 4:00, 4:30, which didn’t really bother me aside from zapping any desire to be productive.  And surprisingly, the medical equipment company sent someone out to look at it right away.

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Life rises to the challenge.  Always.

 

Bad news!  The hydraulic pump is dead (you don’t say?!).  I’ve had this particular lift less than four years and this is the third or fourth time they’ve had to replace the pump.  Normally, it gives us a little warning before performing a dramatic death scene, so we have time to fix it, but not this time.  Granted, I’d lost complete faith in this piece of equipment long ago (after all, at least two of the replacement pumps had the following sticker on them, so trust is an issue), but I have no choice except to use it (it’s like my relationship with elevators: hate/no choice).  Yeah.

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Front.  They couldn’t spell front.  How can I trust a company that can’t spell FRONT?

 

So, I was stuck in bed trying not to go down that “every bad outcome of this scenario” rabbit hole, and succeeding quite well with not panicking, when the “good” news came.  They (the medical company) had a spare that we can borrow until mine gets fixed or replaced.  The problem?  It’s electric, so it’s not great for me in the first place.  Plus there’re weird boxes that get in the way of my feet.  And I’ve never used one before, so it’s a little terrifying.  When I get nervous, I ask stupid questions and point out obvious problems and all of that, which annoys the person taking care of me (namely Dad) because he’s also trying to figure out how to make it work, which makes him snappy.  On top of everything else, we were both a little hangry.  Needless to say, issues arose.

But, I made it to my chair (which has also been acting up) without getting anything broken.  I tried to figure out some Medicare problems I’ve been having.  Then I wrote this.  I’m officially done with today (yesterday as you’re reading this).

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So done.

 

So, what does all of this mean?  Absolutely nothing.  I needed to rant and I needed a blog topic.  You can take it as a glance into cripple problems if you want.  Feel free to send me a rant since you’ve made it this far!  I’ll gladly listen to your woes since you paid attention to mine.  Fingers crossed tomorrow is better.  Have a wonderful week, everyone!

I’m Sexy and I Know It (Not Really)

Hello again!  Apparently people like reading about the lives of cripples (who’da thunk it?).  My last post crushed all of my others by at least three times the views.  Thank you for that.  It’s kind of creepy, considering I’m not all that interesting, but yeah… thanks!  Since I’m still out of ideas for writerly topics and have no pictures of food to share, I thought I’d continue in the more personal vein to see if last week was some weird fluke.  Rather than focusing on general cripple life, I think I’ll talk about sexiness!

Over the past year or so, I’ve read quite a few articles about crippleness and everything from fashion to sex appeal (usually from male perspectives).  Pile that on top of a ton of negative commentary on how males objectify females (but never vice versa which is total crap), and it spawns many an eye-twitch inducing moment, but I always manage to keep my mouth shut.

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Pretty much.

You see, unlike most of the females I know (and a number of the males), I’ve never had to endure wolf whistles and cat calls and all of that creeptastic behavior.  Why?  Because (biologically speaking), I’m undesirable as a potential mate.  When straight males look at me, that primal part of their brains that focuses on reproduction isn’t activated.  I know that, and over the years, I’ve come to accept it.  But because of this lack of being lusted for (yeah, I went there), it grates on my nerves when I hear how horrible objectification is.  Don’t get me wrong, when it’s creepy and makes someone uncomfortable, it’s B-A-D bad, but a random “looking good” from across the way isn’t.  Being constantly overlooked or not considered mate-worthy isn’t as nice of a thing as many people imagine.  Keep that in mind the next time you’re so disgusted with the person who whistled at you from the other side of the street.

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On the flipside of growing up without being sexually objectified (yes, there are other kinds of objectification I’ve encountered), it has forced me to learn how to look at myself and acknowledge the sexy bish inside since no one else is going to do it.  It’s exceedingly rare for this to happen, but it does.  Also, it’s a fairly recent development, so it still weirds me out a little.  I mean, I constantly hear about how you have to learn to love yourself and how you shouldn’t need the validation of others (which is theoretically true), but I wonder if people realize how much easier said than done that is!  It’s taken me near thirty years to accomplish it, and it’s still something I can’t admit in the moment.  Only when I’m looking back can I say “Damn, I was sexy there!”

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In my Sixh top and the pants I designed.
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Why yes, that is a riding crop in my hand.

Self-perception is everything, but it’s fed by public-perception, so the next time you’re walking (or rolling) down the road, throw someone a whistle or a “looking sexy” or “cute top” or “great shoes” or something.  Then, you keep going so you don’t make it creepy.  Yeah, some people might accuse you of being a perv depending on your statement, but you never know whose day you might make a little brighter.