Goings on

I very nearly had a "hetero moment" on Thursday night. It was, alas, not meant to be: the fates saw fit to prevent it by providing sub-standard bedding.

But I am getting ahead of myself here.

Compared to the marathon day I endured on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were considerably less exciting or blog-worthy. They were spent, for the most part, simultaneously watching The OC with Lala and drooling of my favourite bad-boy, Ryan.

On Wednesday we made a trip to the plaza to get Lala a new top and pants to wear to the big day out (just call me the Queer Eye of the relationship). I won't deny that it was a long and arduous trip; we were both glad to get back in the car and see the back of the plaza in the rear-view mirror as we drove off. I borrowed a motor-scooter for the first time. That was an experience. I'm still undecided as to whether I prefer using a wheelchair or scooter in the plaza for each has its own pros and cons. The wheelchair is more compact and thus easier to manoeuvre however it either requires someone to push me (meaning I have no Independence whatsoever, which isn't great because I hate not being in control of where I am shopping) or that I wheel myself around (which is great from an independence perspective but leaves my arms fairly lifeless for several hours after). The scooter, on the other hand, reeks independence. It lets me go wherever I want to go at the push of a button. It is, unfortunately, large, bulky and unmanageable.

One thing I've noticed is the sharp contrast in the way I am treated by staff and members of the public. When in the wheelchair, staff go out of their way to help me: they get items of shelves and talk in a kind voice; other shoppers move out of my way and smile in that "I'm looking at you but not for too long so that you don't feel self-conscious" kind of way. In the scooter staff are either impatient or totally ignore me when I ask them to get items off high shelves; other shoppers do move out of the way but they do so with an air of "this is such a chore and you're lucky I'm so helpful, aren't you?" kind of way. Obviously the different behaviour is rooted in their perceptions of my life, formed in the instant they see an otherwise young-and-healthy and mildly attractive (lol) man in a wheelchair/scooter. Wheelchairs conjure the perception of a finite limitation: either I am in the chair all the time (which they perceive to be a terrible hardship) or I am in the chair for this shopping expedition, not to get out of it until I return to the car. Scooters, on the other hand, conjure a perception of something less finite. At one end of the scale, they may perceive that I am a total faker and don't deserve their help and/or compassion because I obviously don't deserve the scooter and should just get up, walk, and stop making a nuisance of myself. On the other end of the scale, I am not as crippled as your average wheelchair user as I am obviously able to walk to the customer service kiosk to hire the thing in the first place. This is all conjecture on my part, but it reflects the reactions I've got when using both modes of transport.

We ventured into General Pants Co, Lala on her two legs and I in my skooter. She looked at tops, I looked at their rather limited range of wallets. Once Lala had chosen a top that she wanted to try on, I scooted over to the general vicinity of the dressing rooms. I became "parked in" by a few customers and a staff member (who, incidentally, looked ridiculous: she had brown, black and blond hair, in a pony-tail, with a very bouffant teased fringe and all the hair on the right side shaved off, compete with very large black triangles painted below her eyes with eyeliner). I had to back out and said "excuse me" but no-one moved. I tried reversing and, after a rather grueling 10-point turn, managed to turn around and get the hell out of the shop. I didn't think too much of it until I was told by Lala that she saw the ridiculous-looking girl roll her eyes when I said excuse me. I wonder why? (and I say that in all seriousness; I have no idea whatsoever. It's just plain rude.

On Thursday I had the house to myself as Cal and Lala went to the Big Day Out in Sydney. Roxie and I enjoyed a morning of madly cleaning the lounge room, followed by the two of us curling up on the sofa to catch up on all my friends' blogs that I have neglected to read while away (I am almost up to date). I snort laughed and startled Roxie, she barked in her sleep and startled me.

At 3 or so, Liz and Aramis arrived. Liz had some stuff to do on the coast and was staying with us at Lala and Cal's that night. We hung out, played monopoly (I won: very rare) and watched as young love developed between Aramis and Roxie. They were totally gaga for each other, although I suspect Roxie was slightly more gaga for Aramis than vice versa. I tried to explain the concept of playing hard to get to her but she either didn't understand, or chose not to follow that particular ethos of relationship ethics. The picture shows the two young lovers.

Night fell and Liz and I decided to go out for dinner. After a very delicious Thai meal we returned for more of the Aramis-Roxie courting ritual. It was exhausting to watch. We went to pick Lala and Cal up from the station and they promptly went to bed upon arrival in the house. Liz and I stayed up to watch a movie, Final Destination 3, before retiring ourselves.

This is where the almost-hetero-moment comes in. Lala and Cal have a double futon that I had been calling home for the past three weeks. I was to share it with Liz as there are no other beds in the house. Being that Liz and I have a very much brother-sister relationship, despite what some may think (although why they think that is totally beyond me, I am gay after all), the decision to share a bed was merely one of logistics. I admit I was a little excited at the prospect, simply because of the novelty value of being able to blog about "sleeping with a girl for the first time". But, as I said, it wasn't to be.

Liz got changed into her pjs while I had a smoke. I walked into the bedroom to see her lying on the bed frowning. "Do they have any other bedding?" she asked. I thought she was referring to the fact that I had made the bed with a sheet and a blanket only and that she was enquiring because she thought she might get cold in the middle of the night. "There's a quilt around somewhere," I said, "but it's a winter one and way too hot for tonight." She frowned further. "No, it's not that, I was thinking I'd sleep on the lounge because we're going to keep rolling into each other and my back is already starting to hurt anyway." I was a little disappointed to not be able to say I slept with a woman. But, being the gracious and hospitable host that I am, I obliged, content to be able to say that I almost slept with a woman. If I was ever to sleep with a woman it would be you, Liz.

On Friday we travelled home. There's something totally depressing about the end of a holiday. Especially the point where you start to recognise landmarks as being part of home. I didn't want to go home despite a strong and inexplicable feeling of homesickness. I guess I'll just have to deal with it. At least until I win the lottery and can buy a place up there with Lala and Cal.