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Jun. 1st, 2014

OK, I'm Back! (Again)

It's a long story. It all started about one year ago when I was in the middle of multiple, profound entries when I was suddenly kidnapped and held against my will for one year...

Ok, ok, that's not true. Here's the truth: About one year ago, the spasticity and stiffness in my legs began to get REALLY bad. I’d better not hear of a guy complaining about morning wood again because I constantly had TWO stiff members that were also quite painful when they spasmed. The muscle relaxers I took did just about nothing to help, which made me turn to alternative therapies. One of them was poppy seed tea, which worked beautifully to relax my legs but was a whole lot of (tiring) work to make. Also a lot of money to buy the seeds, which had to be unwashed so that the opium coating could be extracted. That involved shaking the seeds in hot tap water with lime juice until a milky-yellow liquid formed on top of the seeds.

The result was relaxed legs and a fatigued Melly. But making the tea was worth it when the alternative— cannabis, relaxed my legs but gave me the munchies and made me goofy, and often, horny. Well, hornIER. Because I do still work as a freelance writer, I needed to reserve my sober mind for doing interviews and writing articles. That’s why I pretty much disappeared for a whole year. But now things have changed.

In early May, I had surgery to get a baclofen pump. It works by releasing a constant, steady stream of baclofen (a muscle relaxer) into your spinal fluid. Because it’s delivered straight into your central nervous system, it takes a much smaller amount to do WONDERS. My legs are as flaccid as a gay man’s cock in a brothel (haha, couldn’t help it). I don’t have to fight them just to put on a pair of pants and they don’t jerk up toward my chest when I do something like run over a threshold. I used to say that my legs literally marched to the beat of their own drummer. I used to request “leg wranglers” to hold my legs apart when I went to the gynecologist. I would yell at my legs and joke that if someone were eavesdropping outside my apartment door, they’d think I was a horrible mother who constantly cussed out my kids. I used to say that I felt like three people.

I am one person again! Well, maybe a Bionic Person because I now have a small computer that lives in my stomach and controls the pump. It’s small and joins the other hardware I have— a titanium rod in my leg from when I broke it. But my rod and my pump, they comfort me.

I spent three weeks in a rehabilitation unit in the hospital over in Pittsburgh, where doctors calibrated the pump so it would work perfectly for me and they weaned me off of my oral muscle relaxers. As a result, I have loads more energy and I’m not living pill-to-pill like I used to do. I can even spread my legs farther apart because they’re so much looser (BONUS!).

So my mission remains the same. I will definitely be posting to ThisAbility because, well, it’s the only meaningful thing I can think of to do with my life. And it’s a good excuse to get laid and write about it. It’s like, Sex and Spasticity. ;-)

Other than being in a wheelchair, I am still somewhat limited. I have general fatigue. My hands are quite clumsy when it comes to typing. And I do still work as a freelance writer, which has to come first in my day—to-day writing. But I take pills for the fatigue, soon I will have that Dragon speech-to-text software, and working on articles still leaves plenty of time for blogging. So please visit ThisAbility whenever you think of it.

I can spread my legs far and wide. Let the games begin!

May. 27th, 2013

(no subject)

You fell for it again, poor suckers! Hahaha, are your legs sore from all the pulling on them I do? ;-)

Ok, ok. I have to deal with fatigue, the passage of time at a speedy rate for people like me and the usually welcome but always begrudged story assignments. I have to do an interview at 11am tomorrow BUT it won't take and I've already writing the blog post!

All leg-pulling aside, I think it will be great

May. 22nd, 2013

(no subject)

Ok, when I said "daily," I meant starting today and a WHOLE BUNCH over Memorial Day weekend!

May. 15th, 2013

OK...I'm doing this!

Visit the following site. I will be posting either new entries or old LJ/Blogger Posts DAILY!!


Apr. 7th, 2013

Live the Life You Imagined...

...right after you recover from the torrents of shitty haze which is the reality.

I go from a week or two of frantic work to about a week of boundless, unobligated freedom. Then I may have a doctor appointment in Pittsburgh, and at the mercy of public and shared rides, I wind up being gone all day and come home exhausted and rest for a day or so before a duck pond race story shows up with an outrageously pressing deadline that consumes my next few days.

I always say that my schedule revolves around doctor appointments and deadlines. Add a hearty dash of fatigue to the mix and you've got... my present state, I guess.

BUT, I wanted to post again so no one (including myself) thinks I've abandoned everything after waking up and writing castles in the sky.

I do have to go because I have two stories due this week, plus my leg is twitchy which means I need to take my meds. Know what else it means? That despite even fatigue, I sure can shake a leg! ;-)

Me and my optimism will be back soon!

Jan. 29th, 2013

I'm still here!

I didn't abandon my journal again! It's the same old story... dirty, disorganized, and deadlines piling up.

I am working on another entry to post but in the spirit of overcoming the "all or nothing" attitude, I decided to post something even though the new entry hasn't been finished, professionally proofread, and blessed by a holy man. So I'm posting my reassurance of impending material.

In other news, some spam robot has been posting comments and urging me to stop cheating on my wife and get my act together so I can take care of my daughter. Honestly, I wish robots would mind their own business! If Satan is trying to turn me into an evil man, it's none of their concern.

It's unseasonably warm outside (60 degrees!). This kind of weather really greases my wheels and makes me roll into action. That means, I get cleaned up and go outside in the hopes of attracting men. I do smoke but only three or four cigarettes a day and they're ultra lights! The way I see it, it's a good excuse to get outside and a cigarette is a good excuse to BE outside, so I'm not just sitting there with my legs splayed open and a needy look in my eye. Add a cigarette to that equation and everything else is justifiable.

This afternoon, I was outside during the lunch hour because 1)It's convenient to go outside then because the mail has gone by noon and I can check my mailbox on my way back in, and 2)there are more people (and some of those people are men) outside during lunch, especially when the weather is warm. So with my clean hair and slightly parted legs, I laid in wait.

Just as I was finishing up, a MAN walked by, presumably a lawyer because of the suit and the number of law offices in the area. He smiled and nodded at me and that's when I chose to unlock my brakes...

When I started rolling toward the apartment building door, he stopped in his tracks and asked if I needed him to hold the door open. I long ago mastered the coordination skills to ram myself into the door opener and spin ninety degrees to make it through the door before it shut. However, I had a MAN offering to use his manly muscles and hold open a door which is made of solid granite!

HA! I kid, of course. But with my limited ability to perform some everyday tasks, this only heightens my awe of the abilities of men. For instance, I'll often admire the long, purposeful strides of male passersby and when I order something that's being delivered by UPS or FedEx, I always note the package weight on the tracking page so I can stare in quiet wonder as the delivery guy effortlessly strides down the hallway with the box under his arm like some paltry tote. Sometimes I get worked up into a panic when I realize exactly why these everyday actions get me going, and then I'll have a panicked vision of the future in which I'm all strapped into my chair with a feeding tube down my nose, and quietly ogling an elderly man at the nursing home we live in. "Look at him...feeding himself!" I would think amid a haze of medications. "Are there no limits?"

So basically, a guy held a door open for me and I silently likened him to a Greek God. I takes 'em where I finds 'em! After expertly bracing the door with his broad shoulders, he tried to open the second door for me but I told him you need a key for that one and assured him that it would open automatically for me. He nodded, telling me to have a good day as he left and I thanked him again.

This summer, I'm going to keep a running tally of male door-openers. See why I want other women to know that they don't have to be so insecure? Seize every opportunity! When God closes a door, He sends a capable man to open a (heavy) window.

And that guy didn't even know that I'm a married man being led by Satan to cheat on my wife and neglect my children. Carpe Diem!

Jan. 13th, 2013

The Last Time I Wore Underwear: A Manifesto

Since I moved, I receive the weekly bulletin from my church. There is always an insert from some general Christian-publishing place with a "thought of the week" quotation. I’m not sure how long ago it was, but I saved the following quote and even hung it on my bulletin board:

“Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.” ~Vaclav Havel

I have ALWAYS clung to that belief—everything happens for a reason. And because the reason is for the greater good (I guess that’s the hope part), there is no senseless pain, no unlucky roll of the dice. There are only opportunities that seemingly negative things can be capitalized upon.

I would have never buckled down and lost weight if something huge and life-altering, like an MS diagnosis, hadn’t forced me to change my life. That was always my silver lining. And sure, it’s fun to play with my stomach when I’m deep in thought or even later in my MS journey, I started having incontinence issues and accidentally peed myself when I locked myself out of my dorm in college.

Even then I saw myself as effectively dealing with/magically overcoming those obstacles and becoming some sort of minister’s wife who emanated inspiration with an endearing cheekiness. I would gather together the young, adolescent girls of the church and be a sagacious mentor as their bodies changed with puberty. “Now remember girls,” I would say to them as they sat cross-legged at my feet. “You will soon start ovulating every month and your hormones will make you feel as though you want to lie with many men at once while someone breaks bread into your mouth.”

The girls would nod at this revelation before forming a circle around me and singing a hymn of praise while my hoop skirts swayed in the prairie winds. (I was obviously channeling my mother in hopeful visions of the future.)

When I moved back home my hopeful optimism continued. My legs got weaker and I started using a cane when I left the house, but I went limping in pursuit of my chiropractor. When I got hand controls put on my car, I stopped at a six-pack shop and got an ego-boost as three separate guys helped me in the door, get beer out of the refrigerator case, and then helped me back out the door. There was a summer when I would go to the movies with my cousin Maggie, and because heat makes me weak, two ushers carried a bench to the middle of the lobby so I could sit down.

But I always held to the hope that those experiences would optimize me…for something.

In the space of about six years, I have gone from meeting a blind date for dinner and seeing him wave politely to me from the sidewalk as I slid my handicapped parking sticker over the rearview mirror, to being fork lifted off the short bus for a one-night fling at Comfort Inn. And there was gawking and compliments (from them) each time. The aids for my disability were not important, they were the means to an end. And something I have learned is that I am a valuable end.

I get botox injections in my bladder twice a year for incontinence. I always wear some sort of protective brief for when the levees break, and this is a continuing problem in my sexual exploits. But who better to write about the time I left a pair of underwear at a boyfriend’s house, only to horridly discover that they were complete with a giant bladder pad still stuck to the crotch. I’ve been with a guy who would set me on the commode to pee, lift me off of it after I had removed my pants, then set me in my chair and wheel me into and then onto the bed.

If guys gladly put up with that kind of stuff for “wheelchair girl,” then why would any cute, healthy girl go out of her way and bend over backwards in the hopes they will attract or hold on to a man? Real confidence is being comfortable with yourself. Which is why I always joke when my clonus acts up in front of someone and my leg shakes/twitches for a couple of seconds. I usually say, “I may have problems with fatigue but I sure can shake a leg!”

My optimism has shown me that hope is not a passive futility. Life and its events can and will occur and you must “play with the deck you’re dealt” or not play at all. So in my case, who is better to write about the difficulties of using a vibrator when you must be wearing pants to use your transfer board to get into the bed and THEN deal with the all-important protective brief that may come off easily but takes far too long to wriggle back on when you feel the levees breaking.

They always say that comedy comes from some sort of pain. What’s funnier than a vibrant wheeled-vixen who has to be lifted onto the bed and slowly wriggles around before saying huskily, “Don’t you want to tie me up so I can’t get away?”

Yes, it would have been wonderful to limp through life, getting admirable smiles and come-hither looks from men. But who better to write about using marijuana medicinally, but then get riled and lonely enough to sit outside and absentmindedly hope for a gang rape? Or, hoping a guy believes that a tiny urine dribble is your “need for him”?

I have been optimized to live and write about the cards I was dealt. I hope this is the right conclusion and I’m optimistic that everything has a benevolent purpose in the very end.

But if not, we should all have a lotta fun. ;)

Jan. 10th, 2013


I am a big proponent of medical marijuana. As I said in an earlier post, I have a lot of spasticity in my legs which makes them really stiff and necesitates my daily intake of muscle relaxers. At night, however, I prefer to use something with farther-reaching effects. Cannabis (to make it sound classy) relaxes my muscles in a way I have never experienced with regular medicine. Not only is it more effective and longer lasting, its effects are pretty much instantaneous by taking a small puff.

Most nights I get all ready for bed and situated with the electric blanket on warm and my pills ready for the next morning. With a few puffs, I almost feel myself melting into the bed as everything relaxes and I drift peacefully into a much-needed sound sleep.

Other nights, I get disillusioned with my annoying wooden legs and after several self-pitying puffs, I succumb to all the traditionak effects and wind up dry humping my chair as I bloat from my militant chewing of sugar-free gum to combat the munchies.

It is then that I write "High-Kus."

Last night the latter happened. Because I was foaming-at-the-mouth horny, which also happens in the first scenario, but because I have a hospital bed I put the rails up on both sides, effectively caging myself and leading me to rattle the sides with unfulfilled need until I am put under by my pills and fall comatose with a fist in my mouth and periodic pelvic jerking.

But last night I was loose and with pen in hand I tried to put in writing my true feelings and reverence for men. My brain foggy to everything but the most visceral, innate urge in all of us, I crafted three poems that attempted to touch on the most basic and common of human needs. Here they are in the order I created them.

Pruney, Saggy Sacks
The Lord went incognito
In the loins of man

When I finally propelled myself to bed last night, I laid awake in awe of the poignancy.

On Hard Ons
Blood spurts don't mean death
They are the hallmark of life
It's blood that hardens him

I feel like I should be saying "Amen" after each one of these. I tried to do a play on words in the title if this next one.

See Men Reap
The geyser of Life!
His seed must be conjured up
New life must be earned

Jon Stewart has a joke in his stand-up comedy routine that those who want pot legalized the most (stoners) are too preoccupied with the substance's side effects that they will probably never get around to organizing a strong enough campaign. I say it's because they, err-- ok, we have a calling higher than the earthly laws of man. Elevated to a higher consciousness, we can articulate the inner-workings of man.

Either that, or mindlessly humping the refrigerator in a pool of various body fluids. Just depends on the day. ;-)

Jan. 8th, 2013

What's In a Name? (plus a tangent on sex)

Long ago, my friend LeRoy suggested the blog name of "Wheeling and Dealing." I really liked that and have even purchased the domain name wheeling-and-dealing.com. But that doesn't mean I have to do anything with it. Afterall, in the movie Julie & Julia, she started her blog on salon.com and it eventually turned into a book and then a movie. So why can't I just use some free service like blogger or stay here on livejournal?

from my last post, I came up with Rolling Through Life, but that makes me think of that Limp Bizkit song, which is about ecstasy, right? Then I think of something like, "Rolling with the Homies" and perhaps have a play-on-words with that. The apartment building I live in is for the elderly and handicapped, but I can't really go with "Rolling with the Cronies." ;-)

And then there's "HorniCapped." That's probably more of a sidebar though, because I would like to write about disabled sex, which I have had and also tried to have (that would be a post filed under "What Not To Do When You're a Gimp but Your Libido Can Fly").

This is a nice segue into sex, namely sex in literature. Oh, alright I'll admit it-- I read all three Fifty Shades of Grey books (LeRoy told me to!). I read all three books again... and again... and I'm beginning to think that I won't stop. This preoccupation has also fueled my procrastination (that's almost poetic) and given me something to daydream about while occupying my frontal brain with a rousing game of Spider Solitaire (I kid). But now that the books are being made into movies, the hunt for information on how the whole process is going can be a fun passtime. I'm already subscribed to the nightly news summary via Google Alerts. For instance, tonight I read an article on the Vanity Fair Website about the movie's screenwriter and how she is guaranteeing that the movie will be NC-17. That announcement led to more daydreaming about the sex scenes and more importantly-- who should play Christian Grey? I am adamantly AGAINST Ian Somerholder, who is not even 5'10" and the book days OVER AND OVER that Christian is tall! Pee Wees need not apply!

Now I'm really worked up! LOL! Ooh, I just had an idea. Maybe I can write a parody in which the character of Ana is in a wheelchair and the Christian character preys upon the disabled because of an abusive childhood in which his mother literally "caned" him. There can be a scene where the naive, virginal, and lame Ana gives in to the tireless pursuit of Mr. Grey and finally loses her virginity when she allows him to peel off her support hose and tie her up with them!

There we go! Disabled BDSM! Why, the possibilities are endless! Gait belts, ace bandages, beatings with the transfer board! Hell, one can be completely splayed out and tied in a hospital bed! There are those strap things that hold people to the bed-- shows like 20/20 have done investigative reports on nursing homes that tie old people into their wheelchairs. It can be Fifty Shades of Gray Hair!

Perhaps my mind is too overactive to be focused on one thing. For instance, I really need to wash my hair and transcribe tapes for an article that's due tomorrow. But instead I sit here, dirty, disorganized, horny, and riled.

There's my blog name!!! Dirty, Disorganized, Horny, and Riled... a brilliant vixen gets The Chair.com.

Meryl and Amy-- start preparing for the movie!

Jan. 6th, 2013

The Day of Redemption is Upon Us

I have always been an all or nothing person.

I'm also a procrastinator.

This is a deadly combination but I've always had the goal of overcoming it (sooner rather than later). For instance, I realized years ago that I shouldn't wait to live until I have the body of a Victoria's Secret model. The day I stopped wallowing in an amassed pile of food crumbs, wiped the grease from my mouth, and focused my food-coma crossed eyes was very freeing.

But that was yesterday and I also have to stop dwelling in the past.

If I could have looked into the future ten and a half years ago when I was first diagnosed with MS, and viewed myself now, I would have thought I succumbed to my diagnosis. Yes, I am in a wheelchair. That's something I always vowed would not happen to me. But breaking my leg three years ago changed things. I am, however, half the size I was when I was diagnosed. But my former "fat girl" tinted glasses was/is replaced with handi-glasses (hahaha).

But I am determined to live by the motto, "There are no obstacles, only opportunities." Therefore, I am seizing the opportunity to write about... my life. Namely, the confidence and worthiness issues that I have always had and although I'm still struggling with them, I have learned so much in this whole process.

What I'm getting at is that I am going to start a new blog devoted to my struggles with life as a young, handicapped woman. I see so many women who are gorgeous but have such little self esteem that it's a horrible shame. If I was them, I could rule the world with what I've learned. Guys still flirt with me, I have had to call the paramedics to come pick me up and put me back in my chair because I tumbled out and don't have the strength to get back in it myself but they don't think less of me because of it. The last time that happened, I said something like, "I could use you guys around all the time!" The younger one replied, "Well, I AM looking for a girlfriend."

I've often thought that only a small percentage of people are in perfect health with good looks and great bodies but nearly everyone is horny and seeking companionship. I've seen plenty of women think they're not good enough and bend over backwards trying to appeal to the opposite sex and that is just not necessary.

I'm posting this here and now to overcome the "all or nothing" thing. I've tried to think of domain names and choose the right coloir palette and fix everything up before making my triumphant return, but it takes so long to get a degree in web design. ;-)

For now, I'm literally rolling through life (another possible blog name). I (finally) moved out of my mom's house and am living on my own in nearby Washington. It's much more of a city than my hometown but much less than Pittsburgh, where I hope to eventually find new living quarters.

I will post the link to my new blog here when I get it up and going this week (I have to give myself deadlines). Until then, I am still working steadily from home as a freelance writer and trying to ALWAYS choose laughter over tears (although a good cry is pretty cathartic). For instance, I have a lot of muscle spasticity in my legs and have to take muscle relaxers periodically throughout the day. However, my legs are especially stiff when I first wake up in the morning because the pills have worm off through the night. I've started calling this my "morning wood." ;-)

Unlike the last post I made in here three years ago, I WILL be back. And it will be better than ever... because first I have to find and marry a sugar daddy who will pay for a staff of bloggers to help me out...

Kidding, kidding. ;-)

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