The bitch factor

I've had fun the past few weeks. Spent time with close friends, shopping with my sister and lots of cookie baking, with my parents doing the bulk of the work. Fun for me to supervise and test the goodies! The holiday season brings out the best in people, at least I'd like to think so.

I spent much of my time reflecting on the past year, trying not to be maudlin about the stuff that happened. I don't know if I'm going to make any resolutions for the year. Is a promise to yourself a resolution? When I was younger, Lent was a huge thing for me because it meant I had to promise to GOD that I was giving up something in His name. Now I don't want to make promises to anyone because it isn't always possible to honor those promises. I don't mean to break my promise but things happen, you know? Anyway, I've been thinking about this resolution thingy. I mean, I can resolve to be a better person, stop using the word 'like' in the wrong context (sorry, it's because I, like, live in Southern CA. It's an epidemic of, like, fantastic proportions - no age limit to, like, who will be infected) or maybe stop being such a bitch.

But I do the bitch so well. No one really even knows I'm saying something bitchy because I smile and use a perky tone. That's when the bitch factor is most effective. Unfortunately, I've noticed I'm a lot more bitchy, in fact, I seem to be bitchier every day. I make snide comments, shoot foul looks or contort my face to show my displeasure. Less perky, more murky. Have the past two years created such a festering wound to my spirit that I now spew poisonous comments without thought to pretense? I hope not.

The events of the past two years have turned me into a different person. Getting to know the new me (Scooter Girl part deux) is, at times, shocking. The old me was more impulsive, outgoing, full of energy and ready to go anywhere. Now? I'm more inclined to the conservative side of the road, less inclined to impulsive decisions, and definitely have my feet, such as they are, firmly planted. Should I resolve to find some of my old self? As I've said before, in order for me to move forward, I've had to let go of my previous self. It's simple, really. How can a person move forward if he/she is constantly looking back? I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking in the rear view mirror and miss the scenery around me. Enough of the metaphors. Honestly, I'd like to keep the bitchy new me. Maybe just dial it down a notch or two.

Back to the resolution dilemma. I have a few more days to decide my fate for the new year. I want to be sure whatever I do, I can stick to it for not only 2008 but the rest of my life. If you remember Lent, then you know when those 40 days and nights were over, you gorged on whatever you had given up (chocolate, soda, gum or TV). So really, your resolve had an expiration date. I think that given my circumstances, if I decide to make a resolution, I should be resolute without time limits.

Stroller Wars

I went shopping again today. I was quite successful in using my credit card, which was practically burned at the edges from all the sliding it did going into the credit card readers.

Today's events have led me to believe that geography has even more to do with the type of people you run into at the mall than most of us stop to think about while we're running around. Yesterday I ran into inconsiderate workers on lunch breaks, impatient well-to-do-I'm-better-than-you women, easy to spot with their large bug-eyed sunglasses. By the way, who ever thought this trend was attractive was waaaaay off base. There were obnoxious teenagers laden down with packages bought with their parent's credit card and groups of families walking about mindlessly, bumping into everyone as they gazed at the store windows instead of the human traffic jam in front of them.

Earlier this morning I encountered a different kind of wild beast - the Stroller Mama. Don't mess with her! She has three hours between feedings, wake-up, and picking up kid #1 to do her shopping. Her stroller is her weapon of choice, the battlefield, the shopping mall. I have never seen so many blasted strollers in one place except for at Disneyland when they're all lined up on the side of It's a Small World.

We arrived at the mall early because it was raining. Luckily, no traffic was on the road and we found a parking space right in front. I was lulled into a false peace before the first attack wave. It happened in the Nordstrom elevator. I had to wait TWO turns to get on board. Why? STROLLERS. They are the new giants. They make strollers nowadays in the same manner as fast food: regular, large and super size. By golly, the super size strollers are a country unto themselves! How much crap can a baby that tiny possibly need on a single shopping trip? I counted three diaper bags on one stroller - I know, because Mama was frantically looking for baby's binkey. I wanted to suggest that perhaps consolidating to one bag and a stroller that wasn't the size of a third world country might help - only I was afraid of what she might whip out of one of the diaper bags. Can you imagine the horrible stuff she might have in there? Ewww...

They were everywhere. I couldn't turn without running into a stroller. Oh, and the worst kind? Stroller dates. Do you know what that is? It's when three or four Stroller Mamas set a date to go shopping and stroll about the mall. That's right, I said three or four, riding in one large horizontal baby brigade. All the Mamas chattering away, pushing their strollers past, through, into anyone in their way. Did you know they make strollers with three baby holders? THREE!! You can't begin to imagine the showdown when I meet up with a Stroller Mama going in the opposite direction(cue the whistling theme song from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly), neither one of us budging; unsuspecting shoppers darting around us nervously. "Excuse me" doesn't work when either party won't move. The "I was here first" theory doesn't really apply to Stroller Mamas. 'Cause they had babies - and doesn't that mean they should have special privileges? Look, I admire women that pop out their progeny. Good for them. But ferrying around the fruit of their loins in a tricked out stroller doesn't mean anything to me. Oh, unless it's a stroller made to spec like the chariot Ben Hur's opponent had in that great chariot race. I'd move then, no problem.

Stroller Mamas that let their 3 and 5 year olds push the beastly stroller (..."isn't it adorable when Nathan/Jordana pushes around baby Tatiana?")are even more dangerous. You wouldn't let precious Nathan/Jordana drive baby Tatiana around in your huge sports utility vehicle, would you, Stroller Mama? So why is it acceptable for Nathan/Jordana to push baby Tatiana in a crowded mall? And why shoot me the dirty look when I won't move for said "cute" kiddies? Nope. I'm not moving. In fact, I think there should be some kind of hot line at the mall to contact security. Dial 223-6262 (BAD MAMA) to report reckless stroller pushing. I mean, it looks like Nathan/Jordana had more than milk in the bottle, pushing baby Tatiana here and there, all around the square, in a drunken toddler waddle. There's nothing cute about that scene, Stroller Mama. I didn't move, I didn't asked to be excused, I just sat in my chair and waited. Stroller Mama had the nerve to ask me to move. I calmly told her that I was resting (I was parked along the edge, in front of a store window) and that there was more than enough room to go around me. She then huffed at me in Stroller Mama frustration. Stroller Mama fumbled around with her iced coffee drink, got off the cell phone (..."listen, Sydney. I have to go. I have a problem here at the mall. I'll tell you about it later.") and took the stroller from Nathan/Jordana then pushed baby Tatiana off into the distant store lights. Score one for Scooter Girl! I know, it seems petty, but there is a limit to my patience. The mere existence of a stroller is not room for rude behaviour, an expectation of special privileges or mall takeover. Stroller Mamas, beware!

Invisible me

Explain something to me, please. What the hell happened to common courtesy, respect and politeness? Today was not only a day that tried my patience, it ran over me again and again.

It started out a fine day. Blustery and cool. Great to be outside shopping. Now, being in a wheelchair is difficult during normal shopping days and during holiday shopping, it's downright suicidal. Or homicidal, depending on your point of view.

The first ding was at the restaurant. How many bloody times do I have to say "excuse me" before you move your ass? (This is directed to the four dudes in matching white button down shirts. No, you guys were not, "way cool"). I wanted a cattle prod to move these doggies along. Seriously. I had to practically yell out my request and then I got a look as if I was the one with the rude attitude. I know you could hear me, buckeroos. I was almost in your crotches trying to get you to move. Oh yea, on an aside, the view from my chair is not always a pleasant one. Directing my conversational requests to a strange crotch or group of crotches, is not as pleasant as one might think. On another aside, if a group of geese is a gaggle, what is a cache of crotches? Think about it, I know I am.

Second ding. A gentleman was nice enough to open the door to a store (yes, Virginia, there are nice guys out there. Just not the ones traveling in packs of four, wearing matching white button down shirts) and bam! I was halfway in the doorway when this lady (I use the term loosely, very very loosely) darted around me to get out. Obviously she was on fire and had to roll, roll, roll. I mean, how else could she not see me, my wheelchair, and my brother pushing me? Why, we must have been practically invisible because she said, "oh, I didn't see you there!" Since I left my special invisibility bra at home, there's no way she could have missed me. Again, a cattle prod could be used for this situation. I would have stopped her as she tried to move past me. Then she would have noticed me, right? I'm sure the view from the ground would have shown a lovely sight as my wheelchair rolled past her twitching carcass.

And finally, the sympathetic soul who has to commiserate with my "obvious misery". I wheeled up to the register and one of the women behind the counter exclaims in a tone of voice used for a cute puppy (which I'm not. Cute yes, puppy...uh, no. I'm completely housebroken except for that incident when...never mind), "oh my, you poor thing!! what happened to your leg?" Now, I know she's not being deliberately intrusive but there has to be a line that people simply should not cross. If I were pregnant, would she think it acceptable to put her hand on my belly asking in that saccharine tone, "when are you due, honey?" I think not. I glared at the interloper and said, "accident. bad. not good." It's possible I hurt her feelings since my tone of voice was one of hostility and the accompanying look burned even my eyes. She backed up quickly. Smart girl.

So, whoopee. Guess what I'm doing tomorrow? That's right, shoppers. I'm headed out again. Because I'm optomistic. I know that there are polite souls out there with consideration and respect. I still have much shopping to do. Presents to buy. A cattle prod to find. What, did you think I was kidding? Remember, I may not be on my two feet but that doesn't mean I deserve half your respect. I'll remind you of that - me and my pretty cattle prod. Happy shoppping!

Emotional filler

I'm not very good at letting go. Okay, I'll be more specific; I'm not good at letting go of things I know I should. Here's the rub - the harder it is for me to reach, the more I want it. Take for instance, men. Throughout my life I seem to have been and still am, attracted to what I call emotionally constipated men. Their ability to commit and love is all stopped up inside them (a gross description but so visually perfect!)yet I want to try because...well, frankly, I just don't know. The chase? The emotional drama? Having something to bitch about with my girlfriends? If I say yes to all three what does that make me? Perhaps I'm emotionally constipated and I choose these men because they're safe.

Lately I've been doing a lot of deep thinking which always leads to trouble. I had another surgery scheduled in January and I can't do it. The thought of death doesn't scare me, I've already faced that demon several times. What scares me is knowing I could lose the normalcy in my life that has taken so long to reach. Granted, going to the doctor or to physical therapy 3-4 times a week isn't considered normal in most people's lives, but for me, this is good. I've found a rhythm I enjoy, a defined pace that suits me. I feel even more like me every day. In the process of recovery, you lose parts of yourself because the person you were simply isn't there anymore. Everything changes, it - you must change to get to the next place.

Part of my mental housecleaning led me to my relationships with men. Great chemistry does not a relationship make. No matter how hard you try to stir the batter, if the proper ingredients aren't there, nothing will rise. Oh, I'm just full of metaphors tonight! So instead of trying to make something out of nothing, I let him go. Amazing. If you know me, you're sitting back in your chair and going, "uh huh, for how long?" I'm here to testify that it's gone. I also realized that perhaps the ex-boyfriend and I aren't destined to remain friends. He's moved on to another relationship, a whole new life and trying to stay friends with him is too difficult. I let that go, too. I know!! I did it!! Because as I said in the beginning, I don't let go easy. But you know what? When I thought about it, and looked at the reasons to stay, there were none. Not a single one. Why waste my time and energy on someone who clearly didn't want to be my friend? Yea for me!!

I took a big step forward and made the decision to start looking at websites designed for people with disabilities who want to meet other people. Dating is hard enough when you're an upright two-footer, it's even worse when you're on wheels. So, I'm trying it out. I'm talking to a few people, learning about how they adjust to life and deal with having a disability. But if I get one whiff of an emotionally constipated man, I'm outta there. I'm not hanging around trying to help push anything out of him (can I get "yuck" here!). Told you, I'm all about the visuals and metaphors tonight.

As I close this, I'm smiling. I feel positive about my future. Whatever it holds, wherever it takes me, I'm ready to go with the flow.