Problems of a Gay Cripple Socialite: A Trip to the Movies

Those who follow my regular blog The Turtle Walks will know that I'm out of the hospital from yet another surgery. I continue to battle infections in my back which complicate my life to no end but for now I'm free. I did end up with a few added pieces of equipment from my stay: I have four drains coming out my back, near my tailbone. They're nothing but plastic tubes and small rubber balls but they do get in the way. The only way I can manage is to hang them from my jeans, leaving me with four plastic balls surrounding my hips. As my nurse joked one day, "Never let anyone tell you you don't have balls!"

You have two? Bitch, please! Now I've got 6.

I'm slowly recovering from surgery and one of the things I most wanted to do was go see the new Avengers movie. I've been looking forward to it since before I got stuck in the hospital and it was one of my first outings since. I got dressed up in my best digs, hid the extra four balls as best I could, and tried my best to gay myself up without the necessary 1-2 hour prep time (for full blast gay a nice 2+ hour window is always recommended).

The movie was amazing! I'm a huge action fan and this movie did not disappoint. I was hopeful for a little extra homoeroticism. There were fewer people men in tight suits then I usually enjoy in a superhero movie but Chris Evans ass always looks so amazing in those tight pants of his I figured I'd take what I could get.

There's always hope for the sequel, right?

Going into the theater I ran into one of the problems I've noticed repeatedly since my injury. The usher taking the tickets (and later helping me with the elevator down to the theater) was setting off my gaydar very strongly. A fauxhawk and tight pants are not always a dead giveaway but they are usually a strong possibility. If this weren't enough, his eyes stayed on me the entire time. Now here is the dilemma: is he just staring at the cripple, cruising, or a combination of the two? 

Faux-hawk. Tight Jeans. There's also a good possibility that the boy who's staring at you is straight but isn't it worth the risk?

Walking as slow and funny as I do I've attracted a few stares in my time. I used to rock the wheelchair, which attracted even more, so the staring doesn't bug me. It's not knowing a potential guy's intentions that's frustrating. I'm fresh out of the hospital so nothing was ever going to happen; it still would have been nice to know. Instead I'm left with the vaguely curious stare of the twenty-something twink. Who knows, maybe he just wanted a man with real balls.

Problems of a Gay Cripple Socialite: The Intro

Have you ever had a caste or had to walk on crutches? Suddenly find that you have been kicked out from your spot in the background? Everyone, including random strangers, is asking you details on how you were injured?

I thought by moving away from my wheelchair I was less noticeable but it seems I'm still out in public view. I had gotten it into my head that I was blending better because they were making fewer comments. It took one random comment to knock me back to the closeted kid in the back of my head, trying desperately to blend into the background. But I'm out in every sense so better get used to it.

What happens to fashionable guys when they stay in the closet for too long.

Anyone with a noticeable limp, wheelchair, whathaveyou, has gotten used to introducing themselves. And as much as I may gripe and moan I have. My friends have commented on it: the fact that I have introduce my accident, my recovery, my few years journey, etc. to every new person we hang out with. (It's an irritating social necessity) They've heard it so often that they can repeat most of it from memory.

If the times below aren't accurate, I blame this guy. He was supposed to be watching the clock.

2 second version: I was in an accident a few years ago and my legs don't work so well any more.

This is useful for those who don't really care but still are curious enough to ask. Such as the people who ask you at 2 in morning at seven eleven. What happened to getting you cigarettes, gas, and ignoring everyone else?

15 second version: I was in a car accident that broke part of my back. I was paralyzed from the waist down. A month later I got a toe wiggling and now, two and a half years later, I have a leg and three quarters working. So here I am.

So you are genuinely interested/concerned but are unlikely to meet me every again? You get the short version. Unless there is a pressing need to go over the grueling details (i.e. you're a doctor, you're family, you're a close personal friend, or you have abs of steel) you don't get to be my therapist and rehash the destruction and rebirth of my body and psyche. Thanks but no thanks.

 Um... yeah... I think I have a few minutes to tell you all the details after all.

I have this down to an art form, from the two second version to the hours/days version. I do realize when picking up a conversation my limp and cane is the most obvious thing about me. But isn't there a chance I don't feel like giving you all the same details I've had to tell almost everyone I've met for the last two and a half years?

I'm fairly new to this whole thing (relatively). Many of our handicapped/crippled/handicapable/differently-abled friends have been dealing with this crap their entire lifetimes. So please remember, the next time you see the pretty girl in the wheelchair: DON'T ASK HER WHY SHE'S IN A CHAIR! Ask her how her day is going, compliment her hair, or her eyes. She'll appreciate it a whole hell of a lot more.