Should I Be Mad?

This story may take turns, chances are – like most of my posts – they have improper grammar due to the fact that I’m really bad at editing myself. I’m writing this without any preparation – yet again like the mass majority of my posts. If I’m talking about one thing but then the drunken train conductor derails the train into another topic, don’t be surprised.

As you might know I was born with a physical disability that is rare and hereditary in nature. My disability is known as, or called, Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia or otherwise referred to as HSP.

My mom gave the disability to me, her mom gave it to her, I gave it to my son. My uncle, her brother, also had it. I don’t know much about how my uncle was effected, but what little I did see him he was better than I was but worse of then my mom; he was able to walk like I could when I was around the age of 23, couldn’t walk without support but seemed to have the energy to do so. My mom used to play basketball in high school, she did not show any signs of our disability until she was 18 years old.

Me on the other hand showed it as soon as I started walking, maybe even before then. I took my first step at the age of 11 months, but I fell down right away and gave up. It was kind of like I said, “Fuck that shit, I’m not doing that again.” But I did, I started walking on a regular basis sometime around the age of 3.

My disability has the nature of getting worse over time, that being said I used to be able to walk and now I can’t walk without assistance. Those of us born with the disability are theorized to plateau at some unknown point in life. I can still drive a car with the use of my feet. Even when I could walk you could look at me and say, “That kid walks funny.” It was not easy to hide the fact that I was physically disabled, in fact it was almost impossible unless I sat in a chair my entire life.

If you did not catch on by now, everyone who has my disability is effected differently, while the University of Michigan is doing studies and found the particular gene in the DNA strain; everyone is effected differently and it is almost impossible to distinguish how person A is effected differently than person B without physically having communication with said people.

My son is currently 13 years old, his mom broke up with me when he was around the age of 3. After breaking up with me she got married to someone in the military and from that my son spent the last 9 years moving from Washington State, up to Alaska, down to Texas, over to Florida, and when he was 12 they moved back to Washington State due to his step-father getting a job offer in Seattle.

Last time I saw my kid was July of 2016 when my aunt took me with her to Washington State as a way of her visiting her sister; my mom. Both of her sisters do not have our disability.

From what I can tell, my son, who has my disability according to the University of Michigan, does not show signs of our disability. He does, but you would not know it at first glance. You’d have to wait until he was tired of walking, or just tired in general. I remember being at Mt. Rainier watching my kid walk towards the bathroom, I was not really able to see anything other than a very minor angular change of his foot when he steps forward with said leg.

So this is where the story breaks off into another direction.

A few weeks ago I was on Facebook and saw one my sisters posts, in said post she used the word retarded as a way of explaining her and her friend hanging out and being stupid. From there came comments that were trying to correct her on using such word in said fashion. I go onto leave a comment that said something along the lines of, I can’t find the post anymore…she deleted it. I said something to the effect of…

I think of it as someone calling me a cripple.

Over the years I’ve learned how to poke fun at myself.

Unless it’s me using the word against myself, or a close friend using the word towards me in a humorous fashion; it’s offensive. I would not call you a cripple due to the fact that you might be offended by that, and even then…that is not the correct way to describe an individual with a physical disability.

Later that night I was in the kitchen heating a pizza in the oven when my sister called and said, “Can you please delete that last comment that you made.” With a slightly confused look on my face that quickly turned into anger  I asked, “Why?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to know that I’m disabled.”

We got into a short fight afterwards and shorty after she said, “It’s not you decision to…” I hung up on her. Shortly after that I sent her a text message that said, “Don’t be afraid or who you are.” Which went straight into her asking, “Why did you hang up on me?” To which I said, “Because I was offended…”

My sister…we didn’t know that she had HSP until a blood test to try to find a cure was conducted, which is where the University of Michigan comes into play. My sister grew up showing no signs of said disability. She ran track, she was on the diving team, she did gymnastics in high school; she was a very active person. No one knew that she had it until we got word from the University of Michigan that told us otherwise. She didn’t show signs until she was….29, 30, 31; I don’t know.

It has been said that those who “develop” a disability much later in life have a much harder time coping with their new found lack of movement.

“I was offended…you’re more or less telling me in a round about way that you are ashamed that you are like your brother and that you just want to act like the whole thing does not exist.”

“No, it’s not like that at all; you just don’t have the right to tell my friends things about me that they don’t know.”

While I can agree with that, that does not mean that I was not offended. After thinking about it for the past few days I came to the conclusion that I’m jealous oh her.

Unlike her I was never able to hide the fact that I had a physical disability. I had a…difficult time as a kid. Other kids don’t fucking know, and they use your misfortune as a way to gain popularity among other kids who think the same thing. It took me a long time to figure out who I was, it took me a move to another state to understand that kids just make fun of you based on what they don’t know.

It took me awhile to understand that if you don’t give them the reaction that they are looking for (which is their fucked up way of gaining popularity) and you address, and explain, the elephant in the room people tend to be more inviting.

It took me a long time to understand this, and I’m currently in the state of mind where: Well fuck it, I am who I am; if you don’t like it, I’m not going to try to be someone I’m not.

Part of  me being targeted by bullies in school was because I gave them the reaction that they were looking for. I wanted to be popular, but at that time in my life I kept trying to be someone that I was not just because I thought people might like me if I was different. That has also taught me something about girls!

If you’re a dork and you like the color pink, or whatever it is; own that shit, be proud of it. Girls love confidence, if you like to  eat eggs with ketchup, fucking own that shit; don’t try to turn into someone you think she wants you to be, fucking be yourself and be proud of it! Don’t be an asshole, every relationship has it’s struggles which require compromise.

I’m just saying…if you like rap music, expand your musical tastes because she is a fan of heavy metal, don’t stop liking it because she doesn’t like it. However if she, I don’t know…stops having sex with you because you like rap; you might want to reevaluate the person that she is.

I have to understand that my sister is on a different life path, her perspective is not the same as mine. She grew up with me, in the same house, going to the same school; she saw what I went though. Or did she? She saw it, but I don’t think she fully understood it.

From my perspective hearing her tell me that was the same as, “I saw what you went though as a kid, and I don’t want that to happen to me, so I just going to Donald Trump this bitch and act like it doesn’t exist.”

Which makes me wonder, “If we were not related would she have been one of those who made fun of me in school?”

So, I understand that her perspective is different than mine, but I’m jealous that she got to do something that I was never able to do.

There are a lot of people that can do things that I can’t, I’m not jealous of them; they did not grow up with me, they do not have the same disability that I do, and they were not able to hide that disability for about a third of their life.

She has a hard time coming, and the longer she is afraid to tell people that she is disabled the harder it is going to be on her.

I understand not letting people know that you are disabled. There have been people I talked to online who have no idea that I’m disabled, I understand not letting people know. But the moment where you’re afraid to let yourself know is where my anger comes from.

Am I right for being mad at my sister for this particular issue?

How do I address it if she wants my advice? We are clearly looking at the same picture through two different pieces of glass. I can’t just look at her and say, “Shit happens, get used to it,” she wont see that the same way I do.

That’s like a mime trying to show you how to be a public speaker with the same audience.

Can You Be too Nice

I’ve been told many things by my father, he continues to tell me stuff all the time. As much as he says shit that makes me think, “Is my dad an asshole?” He also has many nuggets of wisdom he has dropped on me throughout the years, one of the things that had the most impact on me was, “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t force it to drink,” that has thought me that you can only do so much and if someone is not going to listen to you it’s going to be a waste of your time to try to get them to listen to something they don’t want to listen to.

Sometimes that person might even know that they should listen to you, but their emotions have tricked them to do the opposite. But this is not want this story is about, however I did mention a few times here and here if you care to read.

One of the things my dad had always told me was: “You can’t be mad at someone for what they don’t know.” But can you?

So I’m hanging out at home and Shannon gave me three things to do while she is at work: Do the dishes, fold the clothes, take out the trash, and “You can do laundry if you want to because it’s all in the bathroom.”

The first thing I do is listen to podcast while doing about a hour and a half worth of dishes. When I was done I used some of those clean dishes to have hot dogs and drink a Monster while watching part 8 of a video game walkthough on YouTube.

I usually don’t watch someone else play a video game, but it this case…I will never play Resident Evil 7, it dose not seem as scary as I thought it might. But part of my disability is hyperactive nerves and when I’m watching a horror movie I’ll find myself looking at the ground until that demon jumps out of the wall. That being said horror is my favorite kind of movie even if I jump two feet every time I see something scary pop out of nowhere, even if I see it coming form two miles away.

If I play video games like that I’m known to turn into the guy who stands in one spot and never ever beats the game because he doesn’t want to go out of that door, and I’m tired of knocking shit over and accidentally throwing my controller against the wall due to me jumping two feet over nothing.

Afterwards I was rolling around my house looking for a sweatshirt so that I could take the first of two trash bags outside. A few posts ago I mentioned that my house was up to A.D.A. regulations. That being said…every house in our neighborhood that looks just like mine has a small patio leading into the front door and in order to get onto that patio you need to step up two concrete steps. Unlike the other houses, my house is on a hill, oh wow, look at that; Nebraska actually has changes in elevation!

The owner of the house has made a ramp that allows me easy access from the driveway to the front door or vise-versa. That being so, I tied the trash bag, put the trash on my lap, opened the door, went outside, turned my chair to the side so I could reach the door to close said door, and closed it just to start using gravity to roll me down the ramp that turns the other way when you’re at the half-way point.

Just as I’m doing this I see two kids outside walking past my house via the sidewalk. I look up to see one of these two kids putting a piece of pizza in the other hand just to take the trash bag from me as he walks over to the outside trashcan to throw it away.

As he grabbed it I was slightly caught off guard as I say, “Oh…thank you very much,” as he replied with, “You’re very welcome.”

So I turned around and came back in the house to grab the second trash bag, but instead of that I found myself thinking, “That’s a nice kid.” A few other thoughts are drifting around in my head such as, “When I was that young kids were not that nice.” As thoughts are drifting though my head I think, “Did he just help me because he assumed that I can’t do it?”

And that got me to thinking  about every time I go somewhere with my fiance and she gets back into the car while I’m putting my wheelchair in my trunk; watching people look at her as if they’re thinking, “Wow, she’s an asshole!”

As far as that goes, I have a system…I rely on that system, if anything fucks up that system…

If you see me standing at the back of my car disassembling my wheelchair to lift it into my trunk and you say, “Do you need any help,” I’ll always say, “No,” I might even finish by saying, “Thank you though.”

When putting away, or even taking out, my wheelchair I have a system of taking it out/putting it back and what parts need to be removed first, and how to balance myself against my bumper while I do it. I also know how to work my wheelchair, you don’t. If another body invades my space, it fucks up my whole world and makes me uncomfortable. That does not mean I hate you, I’m glad you want to help, I understand that it is not your intention to upset me.

I just don’t like turning around, finding a new way to balance myself, and making you feel like you’re doing to whole thing by yourself because I can’t be in your way. I understand that you might attempt to know, but you really don’t; every time you move, I have to move in a way that I’m not used to it that situation. You might be able to move around other person, but I can’t, well I can…but if I try to I’ll most likely fall and try to grab onto your body for support…

And grabbing onto someone you don’t know, while I have an excuse to do so in said situation; it’s still weird. And you don’t know my disability, if I grab you you’ll grab me back, which is awesome; but they way that you assume is correct to do so just makes it harder for me to walk.

It’s best that I just stay out of your way, and then I need to give you instruction on how to assemble/dissemble my wheelchair as well as where to put the pieces because it’s the best fit in my trunk.

I think all of this when I look at you and say, “No, thank you though.”

And then I’m looked at like I’m weird for not wanting help. And Shannon knows this, I explained this to her. When we get done shopping she’ll just get in the passenger seat and wait for me. Other people must assume she is an asshole. She knows that if I needed help I would ask, but I don’t; so she sits there and looks like an asshole.

I do things by myself. Oh look at that, someone in a wheelchair who tries his hardest to be as independent as possible! Shannon isn’t always going to be there, neither will some random ass person; I got to learn how to do shit on my own.

Once again, I know you are tying to be nice, but it’s often not needed.

So…that all runs into, “Do they just do it because they don’t know any better? Are they assuming that someone in a wheelchair can’t do anything”

Not in a Wheelchair

I had a dream the other night. While I can not remember the specifics of said dream. I do remember that my fiance was in it. Tonight she was laying in bed with me asking…

Earlier that day I woke up and looked at my phone to see a text message from Shannon and I can’t really remember what was said, nor do I care to find my phone and go backwards in my text log to find out. But I do remember telling her that I had a dream with her in it, but it wasn’t the bed dream and I shortly explained.

We were laying in bed when she said, “So you had a dream about me that I was mad at you because you didn’t go on a hike with me when we were on vacation.” This lead to me explaining to her what little of the dream I remembered as she asked, “Were you disabled in this dream?” And this was after she said, “Well that just makes me look like an asshole.”

So, as far as that question goes; for those of you who do not know, yes, I am physically disabled and spend the majority of my day in a manual wheelchair. However I’m not disabled in my dreams. I never watch myself walk, I don’t sit there and watch myself walk. Mainly because I can’t walk as well as I used to, but also because it’s hard for anyone to watch themselves walk. So that’s where I think I get that from.

I know that I’m disabled in my dreams, I might even be in my wheelchair, but if I had to run from zombies I could get out of my wheelchair and run like I was trying to get the gold metal in the Olympics.

I remember having dreams where I said something like, “You can’t legally do that, I’m disabled and you can’t discriminate against me in the workplace; and by you taking those actions, you’re not telling me otherwise.” In that same dream I’d end up running the football better than Marshawn Lynch.

She asked me and it made me wonder, “How many people in wheelchairs view themselves the same way in their dreams?”

You’re Not Thinking

You ever lay in bed looking at your phone and you’re touching your phones screen with your thumb moving it up, as you are scrolling though your news feed you see a picture that either says, “Like this if you would like to party here,” or a picture of a large and/or unique house that says, “Like this if you would like to live here.” Well I’m going to give you a perspective that most of you honestly don’t think about.

You liking one of these pictures does not mean that you hate me, I don’t think that my friends who share this type of photo hate me. I know the majority of my Facebook friends. I’m not one of those types that has 900 friends on Facebook, but only knows 10% of them.

The large majority of my Facebook friends live in Washington State, and at one point in my life I was at a party with them, they were in my car, I lived with them, worked with them; you know those type of people who you actually know.

Then you got my extended family, and fuck…there’s a lot of them. The majority of them are either removed from my news feed and/or restricted unless I publicly post/share something. I don’t want them to see what type of shit I post. I’m known to do stupid shit, stuff that my friends might think is funny…but I don’t need them to know that their cousin, brother, grandson, or nephew can be that dumb.

And the mass majority of my extended family live in Nebraska where you must be a republican who believes in God, some who are more extreme than others. And let’s be honest; I’m an Atheist who believes that people are people and deserve the same rights as every other human being…oh, there is also the idea that I think drugs should be legal, some harder to get then others, but still legal and treated as a medical issue, not a criminal issue that rarely solves the problem.

Mainly they are blocked from my news feed because I don’t know when to shut up. I don’t want to fight with 3 of them who think that Donald Trump is the second coming of Jesus or some shit.

Anyhow…I’ll admit, these houses are cool as hell; I’d love to live there. That location is awesome too, having a party there would be awesome. But guess what? I can’t do either of those things.

You don’t think about a wheelchair, and I don’t blame you; that’s like me thinking about how difficult it is to run in two feet of water, it’s not something I do.

And yes, I know, I’m aware that these type of pictures are fantasies and the likelihood of either happening is very small. I would like to do that type of shit too, but for me that would be more work then it’s worth just to be like, “Hey, look where I live.”

I understand this is not your intention, but when I see my friends share one of these type of pictures I cant help but think…

“Okay, so you’re telling me that if you ever get the opportunity to do something cool you’re not going to take me. Why…because I’m too much of a hassle?  You must not care about me as much as you say you do, because to me you just seem like someone that only cares about yourself and how much fun you’re having, you know…I’d like to do it too, but you might not have as much fun because you have to worry about rather I can get from point A to point B, and when I need to move I might need your help to do so.”

Yes, I know I’m taking it too far right? None of these picture indicate to me that any part of these picturesque situations are handicapped accessible. So yea, I know that you probably won’t ever be in the situation, I get that.

Just think about how those of us in wheelchairs might see it. The situation might be different, but you’re more or less telling us in a-round-about way that if you get the opportunity to do something cool,  I’m going to be the last person you think of.

You just want to have fun right?

This is My Fuck You

And I hope you hear it.

To quote Peter Griffin may I say, “You know what grinds my gears? You America, fuck you.”

I’ve been pretty depressed the last few weeks and I do a fairly decent job at hiding it, mainly because…it’s my life and I have to get used to it, it’s what I know.

Over the past few months I’ve managed to gain a lot of resentment towards my past employer. They didn’t fire me, I was laid off. And yes, if I step into their shoes, and I could actually trust them…if you’re running out of money, you get rid of non-important assets, unfortunately sometimes that can be a human being that is relying on that job to live in a house.

I can’t just jump to another job like a lot of people seem to do. I don’t think people truly understand how hard it is for those of us with a mental and/or physical disability to find a job.

I can’t run, jump, skip, or walk. And that right there my friends takes about 90% of entry-level jobs and throws them out the 90 story window. And then…when I do get a job interview I’m often negatively stereotyped, even though no one claims to do such a thing.

So this is my place as a white American saying, “Yes, discrimination in America still exists, and don’t try to tell me it doesn’t.”

So, for those of us who have a disability and are “unemployable” we have the government that gives us money to live, sounds good right? Yes, but no. SSDI pays more than SSI and even then a full time job paying minimum wage pays me more than they do. Even then a job gives my life meaning, a lot of you who have jobs are thinking, “Oh man, I would love to sit at home and do nothing.” Do you know how depressing it is to stay home and do nothing? It’s good for a few days and all, but if you don’t have a job and feel as if you’re not needed to contribute to society it’s actually rather depressing.

People tend to fall in love with me, even with this set back I tend to have an amazing personality that most people tend to be attracted to once they see it. I’m amazed that I’m not more depressed than I am.

So I live off of disability…I don’t want to…I want to have a job. Many would say, “Get off your ass and go get a fucking job.” So, give me a fucking job ass fucking hole. I want a goddamn job dude, and then when I go try to get a job…

I sit there staring at the digital job board and as I’m scrolling thought it and as I sit there I honestly think to myself, “Well I can’t do that job.” As 20 jobs are going up the screen I might find one that makes me think, “Yea I might be able to do that job with reasonable accommodation,” then as I’m reading the description for the next job I’m back to, “Well I can’t do that job either.”

Then after applying to 30 jobs I might be lucky enough to get a job interview. But when the hiring manager says my name I can always see them thinking, “Oh fuck, he’s in a wheelchair.” They do there thing, they give me an interview and claim reasonable accommodations but never call me back and then when I do call back I’m stuck with the famous excuses, “Don’t call us, if we wanted to give you a job we would have called you,” or “We don’t think you have enough experience to do this job.” Well you know what motherfucker, it’s hard to get experience when no one gives it to you.

Then you got those employers who are extremely honest and say, “We don’t feel as if you could perform this job.” You don’t fucking know me! You don’t know what I can or can’t do. And reasonable accommodation is a very slippery slope that most people just don’t understand.

If a employer has to spend $50 on a chair, okay fine. But if they feel as if they need to spend $1,800 dollars just for me to do a job that pays me $1,600, that’s a loss of $200. Then when they feel as if they might end up in court based on a work place injury, that might not ever happen….they just don’t want to deal with that.

So I get the short end of the stick…again…and I’m fucking tired of it. Many people, that frankly don’t know always say, “Don’t give up,” But that’s easy to say when you don’t see what I see. And you know what, you can claim that you understand, but unless you too have a disability you don’t fucking get it.

That’s like me telling some black dude, “Yea, I understand what it’s like to be pulled over by a cop based on my skin color.” I don’t, and it’s not right for me to act like I do.

I’m not trying out for the NFL you assholes, I would not apply for a job if I didn’t think I could do it. But when I apply for 300 jobs and only get 7 interviews and they all say no…

I’m fucking tired of it. And I don’t know if this will even make you understand my situation.

Then you got those employers who say, “This guy has two college degrees, if we hire him he will want a lot of money.” Don’t assume motherfucker, you don’t know that I’m moving to Oregon soon. You don’t know that I’m just looking for a part time job that pays me under a certain amount.  If you have a question…fucking ask.

And Donald fucking asshat Trump is not going to make it any easier for those of us with disabilities to find a job.

You don’t want me to live on government assistance, neither do I…they don’t even give me enough to pay rent + utilities, forget about food, car payment, and car insurance. But you won’t give me a goddamn job, so it’s your fault that your paying taxes to give me money that allows me to live in a subsidized house.

And Oregon…public housing there is a goddamn apartment in the middle of the ghetto where I got to worry about being robbed at gunpoint. So I’m expecting a $400 rent increase by the time I get to a state closer to my immediate family, my son, pretty much every friend I have, and my fiance’s family actually lives in Oregon.

So to you employers that assume, and a lot of you do, and yes I understand (Well I don’t) but that is a $1,600+ assumption you’re making. Person B is better than person A. Yes, alright. But person A is fucking tired of you being the 200th person that didn’t even give him a chance. So to you that assume without knowing anything about what I can or can not do…Fuck you, it’s your fault that I’m living on government assistance.

Attractive Cougar

It was a Thursday, a Thursday that I will never forget. The aftermath of which came with positive and negative outcomes.

That Thursday around noon I was going to get in my car with two suitcases in the back and my lovely fiance in the front seat, sitting next to me as I drive 50 miles to and from the Omaha airport. But sadly, I didn’t even make it five miles into the one hundred mile journey before it all ended on a very sour note.

We got into the car and I backed out of my driveway after plugging my iPod into the car’s radio to listen to the new Red Hot Chili Peppers album. As I pull up to the three-way intersection at the end of my residential neighborhood I see something, something jumping onto my windshield.

But I can’t tell what it is, nor was I able to focus on it. So I figured two possible outcomes: I’m either seeing shit that’s not there, or what I saw was on the outside of my car and I didn’t need to worry about it.

A few miles down one road, turning right onto another road, and merging onto highway 77 which than lead me to travel east on interstate 80, I being a 46 mile drive before my GPS has me to something new. As I’m switching lanes to my left to get into the fastest lane of traffic my fiance says, “There is a cricket in your car.” It was over in the far lower passenger side of the windshield, I even saw it, it was not a cricket; it was a brown insect with six legs, it looked like a stick, but it was about three eights of an inch in length with a diameter of one sixteenth.

“I’m going to hit it, so don’t freak out.”

I keep playing that over and over in my mind, telling myself, “You stupid fucker, you had two…two changes to pull over, and if you did you might still have a car.”

She never hit the bug, but it did start crawling on my arm. The same arm that was holding the steering wheel. To put it short, after a series of over-correcting my wheels via the steering wheel I ended up slamming the side of my car into the concrete median that was separating both directions of traffic, which resulted in my side air bags deploying, which in all reality most likely saved my arm from slamming into glass and concrete at a fast rate of speed.

Afterwards my car got shoved the other direction, being unable to stop my car due to a loss of traction my car ended up going past two lanes of empty traffic. There were cars in each lane, but they were empty at the time that my car flew past. As my car wizzed by two lanes of traffic I headed down a hill and slammed into a fence that my car uprooted and slid under like a hot knife trying to cut thought butter and by the time I was able to stop my car I was in a wheat field.

So, my car is gone…I don’t have a car anymore. And now that I’m back in Nebraska I need to find a car that I can pay for and afford based off of what my insurance company gave me based on a total loss.

But this is not about the car accident but does lead into the next part of the story, which is the only reason I brought it up. So to wrap this part up, my car has a good safety rating and because of it neither me or Shannon had to go to the hospital. As much as I want to sit here and cry because I don’t have a car, I need to understand that a car can be replaced, a person can’t.

But that was two weeks ago now and it does not bother me that much, but now that I’m back home I need to figure out a way to get a new car.

My fiance’s flight to Portland, Oregon was the next day due to everything that happened. So at that point I was sitting at home playing Fallout 4, Madden 16, and watching porn; drinking whiskey, and sleeping until noon just to go to bed at three in the morning.

One night I was sitting at my computer, doing something…I can’t remember and my phone made a sound, a sound that I later changed. If you know of Dr.Dre you might know what I’m talking about. I hear “Deeeze Nuuuuts” from my phone and I picked up my phone to read a text message that said, “Your mom told me about your accident, I’m sorry but I’m glad you’re safe.”

I have an aunt who lives in Nebraska. My dad has two brothers and five sisters, many of those kids have kids, and my mom has two sisters which gives me some family on that side too. Not as much as my dad however, I have a large family; most of whom live in Nebraska or Missouri. I also have some family in New Jersey that I only know from Facebook. My mom, dad, sister, and son are the only family members I have on the west coast.

My mom has a sister, she was the one who sent me a text message and as the conversation continues I come to find out that she, her husband, and two kids are going to Washington State to see my parents.

“Do you want to go with?” At first I didn’t think I would be able to. My fiance is in Seaside, Oregon and I got pets to take care of. After a conversation on the phone with Shannon who said, “No babe, you can go, it will be good for you, I can figure out a way to get the pets taken care of for two more days until I get home.”

I spend the next few days doing stuff that I was holding off until the day before she came home. Taking the rental car back was the very last thing I did before they picked me up a few days later headed on a 1,600 mile drive that took 24 hours to complete.

24 hours later I’m sitting at my parents house eating dinner and drinking a beer while looking like I was so stoned that my eyes were half shut. Sleeping in a 2013 Dodge Durango is not easy, and there were six people in it plus so many bags including a wheelchair. The car was packed and any sleep that I was able to get was a short little cat nap here and there, so I more or less have been awake for 21 hours by the time I’m eating dinner in Washington.

My son moved back to Washington due to his step-father getting a job offer in Seattle. They might have been some other reasons that I don’t know about, but regardless I was able to see him the next day. Last time I saw my kid was in 2011, and that was just because Heather was in town.

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I’m glad my aunt and others were with us. My son is too old to play Mega Blocks now. I didn’t want to bore him. He didn’t pack his Xbox One, like what are we supposed to do? I haven’t seen my kid in five years, I didn’t want him to be bored out of his mind.

Lucky for me my aunt including the others who have never been to Washington State decided to take a 44 mile car ride to the south to visit Mt. Rainier National Park. Every time I have been to the mountain, and this must have been my tenth time, I have never seen it that busy.

As I come to find out, Heather never took our son to Mt. Rainier. One of, if not thee most important landmark in Washington State. So I’m hoping that is a lasting memory for him. I hope he grows up one day to say, “Yea bitch, my dad took me to Mt. Rainier.”

So that was fun, but weird at the same time. I loved seeing my son, and I’m glad I got to, but seeing him go from seven to twelve in no time was a shock. It was awesome to see how educated he became, he even has a larger vocabulary than I would assume.

The next day me and my dad drive him back home, he lives in the same town where he was born, which is going to be easy for me by the time I move to Oregon.

After I get back to my parents house I have a few days to try to fit the most important of my friends into and I call my friend Mandy, who ironically has a lot of family in Nebraska too. “If you want to hang out with me now is a good time to do so,” which is what I said to her after I asked if she was working. Her and her boyfriend came to pick me up and after a few hours of hanging out at their house her boyfriend, Patrick, drove me to my friend Jay’s.

It was July fourth and Jay was having his annual block party, which was by far one of the best things I was surrounded by while sitting in my wheelchair eating a hamburger and drinking beer while I stare at houses surrounding a cul-de-sac as fireworks explode in the air and a line of evergreen tress on each side of the road stretch as far as the eye could see.

Jay is 46 years old and has a wife with three kids, I met Jay though my friend Eric (who I also hung out with before I left Washington,) they used to work together at the same manufacturing plant that my dad who is the lead engineer works at.

Later into the night as the grill is being put away and all the neighbors are going home another neighbor is just arriving, why? I don’t know. Everything was packed up and other than me sitting in the driveway with his oldest son drinking beer after beer, there was nothing going on.

This lady with blond hair walks up the driveway and waves at me before trying to talk to Tina, Jay’s wife, it would appear as if Tina didn’t want to talk to her…So this turns into her sitting down and talking to me and Jay Jr. and we drink and smoke.

It didn’t take me long to figure out how drunk she was, I mean I was drinking and I might have been buzzed. But in no way was I unable to understand what I was saying. By the third time she asked me, “How old are you?” I was like, “Okay this chick is fucked up.”

And she sang us a country song, which was fucking weird…good song though. As we were talking I was telling her many stories, most of which involve a wheelchair; for obvious reasons, but she kept trying to shake my hand every two minutes because I overcame the difficulties of being in a wheelchair.

She was super drunk, so whatever, generally that would have upset me; but knowing that she had no intention of being mean I just let it go.

Every time I started a new story it always was preceded with, “Wait…how old are you?”

Two or four times that night she kissed me on the cheek and at one point she told me how sexy I was.  Afterwards she even said, “You got to find me on Facebook, we need to hang out” to which I said, “I don’t live in this state.”

That didn’t seem to register as she said, “I could hook you up with some hot bitches,” to which I raised my hand showing a ring on my left ring finger as I said, “I’m engaged.”

On a side note, she was married, nothing was going to happen and we both knew it.

As the conversation goes on I come to find out that she is 14 years older than me, but still very attractive. She kept telling me that she used to be a cheerleader.

Being as drunk as she was and hoping that she would have gave me an honest answer I asked a question that most people would never ask, but I was curious and I was not going to take it any further so I didn’t really care what her answer was.

“If you were single, and I was single, and we met at a bar, would you actually give me the time of the day and take me home afterwards?”

To which she laughed and being in her state of mind totally forgot that I asked a question when she asked me, “Wait…how old are you.”

At that point her husband came out wondering why she didn’t go home yet. And to be honest part of me was worried based on the fact that she was hitting on me and I let it happen, I was not hiding the fact that I was engaged, but it also felt kind of good and was entertaining the whole time.

As much as it might seem like it, I was not trying to take it any further.

After about ten minutes I told her that I was going inside and she should go home.

Jay has three kids: Jay who is 22, John who is 18, and Chris who is 16. John has a friend that lives next to him, his mom was the one who hit on me.

The next day I’m sitting outside as she drives by and waives at me.

But man…she was hot. I love my fiance and would never damage that. I’m just saying…if we were both single I might end up having sex with someone 14 years my senior.

Kids Do Not Make You Disabled!

People are pissing me off today. And it all started with a memory that I thought I forgot.

I went to the store today, I went to go buy a 12 pack of Mountain Dew. When I pulled into the disabled parking spot, which I can legally do I didn’t notice this, maybe because they were empty at the time.

I pop my trunk, turned off my car, and grabbed my wheelchair. A new wheelchair by the way. I roll into the store and end up buying a 12 pack of pop as well as a single energy drink. Pretty simple stop but it took me an hour to do.

I wrote a post awhile ago about how I wish I could just run from point A to point B without taking an hour to do it. The store is not even a mile from my house. Going to my car to put my wheelchair in the car, driving two minutes down the road, taking my chair out to shop, putting my chair back in, driving home, and taking my chair back out takes longer than most people think.

By the time I was ready to drive back home with wheelchair in trunk I sat in my car for awhile staring at the two cars parked in front of me. They knew each other based on the fact that the passenger of the van went into the store with the driver of the Grand Am that was parked next to them.

But they didn’t go into the store first, the two of them had to bullshit with each other in the parking lot first, for what seemed like a good five minutes.

So I was parked in a disabled spot, the van that was facing me, nose to nose, was also in a disabled parking spot. This van had what seemed to be 7 occupants, 6 once the front passenger went into the store with the driver of the other car who now had one occupant.

Between the two cars was an empty parking space, one that is meant to be empty; outlined in yellow with diagonal lines though it. Both of these cars were parked in disabled spots and neither of them had disabled plates or a disabled sticker which only tells me that they are not supposed to be parked there.

By the time I got am employees attention to let her know she just ended up telling me, “I don’t know what to do, I’m not equipped to deal with this type of situation,” she looked at the cars and followed it up by saying, “Do you want me to get my supervisor?”

To which I said, “By then I’ll be gone, but yes it would be nice.” At that point the driver of the van acted like they were going to move and the employee said, “Look, they’re moving.” But they didn’t, they just wanted the employee to give up, which…lets be honest, she would have anyways.

As I’m leaving I flip off the driver of the van. Did it solve anything? Not really, she knew I was upset, but she didn’t fucking move. I just hope that someone who actually needed that spot didn’t show up and not have access to it.

Normally I wouldn’t have flipped her off, it would have pissed me off, but I would have known that anything I do wasn’t going to solve anything. And even if I called the cops they wouldn’t have shown up for another hour or more. And they would be gone by then.

But I was already upset about something that I thought I forgot about. You may know that my mind is random and I think about weird shit. My fiance learned not to ask what I’m thinking about. We’ll be laying in bed having pillow talk and a moment of silence will go by, when she asks, “What are you thinking about,” I’m liable to say something like, “How I’m going to lay out my next settlement on Fallout 4.”

So why this came into my mind I don’t know.

Before me and my fiance started dating I had a short conversation with this girl and I can’t remember much other than how it ended. I wanted to talk to her but didn’t know what to say. I most likely kept asking questions to find a common ground. Then she asked, “Are you slow?”

She told me that she was not trying to be mean, but how the fuck do you expect me to take that. At the time I don’t think I told her that I was disabled yet.

The next part of our conversation was something like this:

“Okay, so this is what’s up.”

“I’m disabled.”

“And I talk slower than most.”

“But I’m not a retard.”

To which she goes onto tell me that she wasn’t calling me a retard. How the fuck do you expect me to take that.

I was the disabled kid in school that was made fun of on a daily basis and was called a retard on many occasions, sometimes by adults that didn’t know any better.

So that has put me in a bad mood, Why? I don’t know, it happened a long time ago. But it made me feel like I was 13 years old all over again.

And that my friends is why I flipped some lady off in a parking lot who was parked in a disabled parking space. Being lazy is not a disability!!!