Fellow Wheeled Queens and Kings,

This is an official proclamation to declare our liberation from the ambulatory constraints, and point out all the ways we're awesome in our own ways...

(Of course, this is nothing against our Standing Brethren, but, as every minority group has before us, we must, at some point, establish some identity of our own.  No hard feelings, Ambis...)

I just did something that no right-minded Ambi (Ambulatory Person) can, or should, do... I tattooed the bottom of my foot.

Why? you ask...because, well, because I can.

How many Ambis can say they'll be off their foot for long enough to keep out infection, dirt, and cat hair?  How many women can proudly state that they can go round their daily activities with a wee, bleeding, gaping, inked-in heart on the sole of her foot without fear of covering it with calluses, destruction by improper aftercare, or wear and tear from cramped shoes?

We few, we proud, we wheeled...that's who!

My baby-soft feet are often confounding for those who have never encountered a Regina (or Rex) in Rotis, as our walking counterparts struggle with bunions, calluses, and fallen arches.  We get to roll through life with beautiful, soft feet, and get marked where and when we want.  We don't fret over the exact sizing of a shoe, nor worry how a five-inch stiletto will feel after an 8 hour work day.

Instead, we cover up for cold days to keep our inert knees and shins safe from the cold and, if you're a para, potential frostbite.  Or if you're like me and have a myriad of issues, including internal metal hardware and Reynauds...well, frostbite.  We have little blankies that we quickly shed and try to hide as soon as we cross the Holt's or Bloomie's thresholds, and stock up on those disposable "Hot Hands" packets every time they go on sale.  We try to hide our frailness and, if you're anything like me, tuck the ugly-but-soooo-warm Tractor Supply suede gloves behind you before anyone can see how the yucky brown utilitarianism clashes with her mink jacket.

But, once inside, I have the distinction of gliding silently through the halls, stopping only when a pretty item catches my eye, and dodging through low, tiny holes in crowds.

This past New Year's Eve, I was in Niagara Falls, Ontario (of course), watching O.L.P. and Simple Plan to ring in the New Year, and while with my hubby and Eliza, I had to school them a bit.

"As you always state, my darling, one cannot go faster than the person in front of them," my husband, Cheyn said calmly, as I prepared to pass a slow-moving family.

"Au contraire, mon amour," I countered, as we attempted to negotiate through the ridiculous crowd.  "That rule only applies to cars on the street and mere mortals.  I'm a Regina in rotis.  I can 'bob and weave.'"

"Bob and Weave."  I have lived by those words in crowds for as long as I remember being on wheels.

So, we bobbed and we wove, and by the end, the three of us got a quite acceptable vantage point (with the aid of a few constables), and all kissed in the New Year happily.  And, thanks to the storage room in my chair, we were able to toast it in with respectable bubbly, too, though officially it was "non alcoholic."  (If the cops were interested in busting anyone at all, they would've gone after the, oh, thousand or few peeps sparking up doobs -- that *I* could see/smell -- for the Ball Drop.  I'm just saying...)

Since then, in less than a fortnight, so many things have happened to reinforce my role as a Disability Rights Advocate and public person that I can't even consider hiding behind my writing anymore, as I once did when I first started out as a wee author...I wasn't even legal to drink in the US when I toasted my first publication in America.

I'm in the current People Magazine, I was just on Entertainment Tonight Canada, and my husband is being exhibited in Niagara Falls as a prominent "Local African-American Artist."  I was recently named to the head editorial staff of the upcoming DisabilityNews.Net, I'm the Chairwoman of the Public Policy and Outreach Committee for ILNC, and the Vice Chair of the Niagara Falls Human Rights Commission.  I have an amazing husband who has joined our movement, the world's greatest Personal Assistant (recently hired after years of her consistent help), and the most supportive parents in the history of queer, disabled, zany history.  And I couldn't be prouder of my team...they're combining to allow me to not only write, but go into business for myself...

oh, and get a tattoo on the bottom of my foot.

To my dear Bothers and Sister on Wheels...smile.  How fortunate are we?  We can make jokes, always have our own seating, and never need strange, expensive insoles in our shoes.  We can either be footloose and fancy/shoe free, or strap into the sexiest shoes ever without fear of wearing them out or spraining an ankle using the loo.  We can't fall on wet floors, and when we dance, not only is it a thing of graceful, rolling beauty, but a thing of public "inspiration," and wonder.

So, to my beautiful, wondrous Brothers and Sisters in Wheelage...own it.

You're in it for life, so you might as well LIVE.

Good evening, fellow be-wheeled fashionistas!  I have a question for all of you: has anyone else wondered how to integrate all the cute little handbags popping up in stores with our somewhat, shall we say...unusual situation?  Well, I have an even more unusual solution to keep those purses safely in our laps, and maybe even help to carry shopping bags home from the mall!

But, I'll warn you, ladies...it's not for the faint of heart...

Once upon a time, I was given a set of "love cuffs" by a friend as a gag gift.  Naturally, as open-minded as I am, I was highly amused and not even a little bit offended, but I'm not exactly what some might call a, 'submissive,' kind of girl.  So, a perfectly nice pair of purple neoprene wrist restraints sat, gathering dust, until one day I finally figured out a more practical use for them.

I had been out earlier that night, dancing and having a few cocktails with some girlfriends, when I hit a bump and my *adorable* sequined clutch slid off my lap and popped open on the ground.  Lipstick, a compact, my ID, and cash all went flying.  Rather than looking savvy and independent with my chic little purse, I suddenly found myself scrabbling to find all my night-out necessities, with random helpful strangers bending to come to my rescue.  So not sexy.

As I got ready for bed that night, I found myself ruminating over my handbag faux pas, and wondering what, if anything, could be done to keep it from happening ever, ever again.  I examined the purse; there was a short chain handle that could be detached, so I began experimenting with places where I could hook it on my chair.  After a few unsuccessful, albeit innovative, attempts, I realized the chain was simply too short.  I considered the notion of buying a longer chain at the local hardware store and attaching it to the bar across the back, but the metal chain would eventually chip the paint and scuff it.  Not acceptable.  Luckily, my eyes slid over to my dresser and to where the love cuffs still sat in their box.  Perfect!

***

Step 1. Purchase (or repurpose *winkwink*) a pair of neoprene 'love cuffs' with adjustable Velcro fasteners.  If you're too timid to visit your local 'Adult Toy Store,' visit some places online, such as BetterSex.com, for more clandestine delivery.

Step 2. Wrap one end of a cuff around the back bar of your favourite chair and adjust according to the length you want.  (This is when these particular cuffs come in handy -- they're secure at almost any length thanks to the strong hook-and-loop closures.)  If you have a mini-backpack on your chair, as I do, be sure to wrap the cuff around the strap to keep it safe, too.

Step 3. If you find you need a little extra length, or you know you're going to want to carry other bags at the same time, add in a few additional carabiners.  (Available everywhere from cutesy accessories stores at the mall and sporting goods shops, to true camping and outdoors superstores.)  I got one to match the snazzy purple, but I've even seen them glittery, crusted with rhinestones, or emblazoned with your own name.  When you want to carry other bags, such as grocery sacks, just clip them into the carabiner

Step 4. Link the other cuff around your purse strap.

Step 5. Place your purse in your lap, make any final adjustments, and enjoy feeling safer and more secure while still rocking your sassy style!

About a year ago, I made the decision to venture into the Great Accessory Unknown.  Bags, shoes, and jewellery are all great ways of enhancing an outfit, but no matter how much adorable headwear I saw, I always asserted that, "I'm not a Hat Person."

Little did I know that everyone can be a Hat Person; it just takes the right piece of headwear.

Some women are best suited for cloches, but others rock the boho knitted toque.  Princesses have long worn tiaras and crowns, while screen queens once sported the mighty pillbox.

A sudden resurgence in millinery was obvious from runways all over the world.  In Toronto, designer Jason Meyers showed an especially delicious array of headgear from the elegant to elaborate for Spring/Summer 2010 that covered the spectrum and dazzled the onlooking fashionistas.

As for me, I'm still experimenting with the exact Golden Ratio that will lead me to Headwear Heaven, but I'm having a great time in the interim.  All women, disabled or able-bodied, currently have a rare opportunity to stock up on exciting, daring hats in innumerable shapes, styles, and colours to augment their wardrobes.  It's the first time in eons that women have been encouraged to adapt the age-old custom of donning head coverings, but as an avowed accessory junkie, I'm pleased to have yet another avenue to express the innate feminine fabulosity.

With any luck, this trend will stick around even longer than skinny jeans, though hopefully I'm not being too optimistic.  Though I've seen plenty of adorable lids for sale, I'm usually the only woman in a hat when I venture out and about.  It's a crying shame, too, because whenever I don one of my sassy, quirky toppers, I always receive a bevy of flattery.  People never fail to stop me and compliment my headwear.  It's different, it's fun, and it's something to make any woman stand out in any crowd -- no cleavage required.  Adding hats to your accessory wardrobe is easy and can compliment any age, figure, or complexion.

Honestly, I suppose it can be summed up thusly...

Hats are a no-brainer.

Part of the art of blogging involves revealing yourself to the masses through an anonymous medium.  Well, since I'm a relatively open, real person, it isn't such an incognito undertaking.  But we're all friends on OnSugar, so here goes...

I used to be a dancer.

Actually, I still am, but not like I was when I was younger.  I was born into a family of competitive, avid ballroom and swing dancers, and did them all proud in my tiny, formative years.  I was learning ballroom, latin, and swing dancing before most kids could walk, and could execute a decent cha-cha and jitterbug by grade one.  I loved dancing, and my parents, grandmother, and/or aunt took me everywhere they could.  I seemed on a fast-track to becoming a future member of the dancesport community.

That is, until my legs failed me the first time at age nine.

I was shuttled from specialist to specialist, only to find that I already had "advanced arthritis" in my lower limbs and a major bone deformity.  No one knew how to correct it, everyone was afraid to touch me at such a young age, and no one had a very optimistic prognosis.

I'll spare you the gory details, but umpteen surgeries and a world of hell later, nothing improved... except my outlook on life, that is.

When I was fourteen, the first full year I spent non-ambulatory, my parents took me to a swanky New Year's event that included dancing into the wee hours.  I spent the first chunk of time being surly, missish, and not really trying to do anything other than feel sorry for myself.  Suddenly, the DJ slid from a generic dance tune to one my mom and I had danced to a zillion times when I was a baby.  It was, "Heaven Must Be Missing an Angel" by Tavares, and as it relates to my given name, she would sing it to me while hugging me close to her, even before I could walk.  That song still makes me happy.

"Angel, c'mon, let's do this.  We'll kick their asses!" my Mom smirked, then grabbed my hand and pulled me bodily out onto the dance floor.

And we danced.

I don't know how she knew, or how I knew, but somehow we both just moved in synch, wheelchair and all, and cleared the floor amidst a standing ovation from onlookers.  We rocked it, and I have never once looked back.  I found out later that she had requested that song specifically, knowing I'd never deny my Momma a turn about to a song from my babyhood.

Now that I'm a grown woman, my husband is the one who usually takes me out on literal 'spins' around the dance floor, and his own dance background shows.  When he was a child, he took dance for fourteen years, including jazz, tap, ballet, and modern, but I've since helped him add disco, swing, ballroom, Latin, and goth dancing to his impressive repertoire.  And between the two of us, we can execute a perfect wheelie tango that would sex the pants off any standing couple.

And, most importantly, we're not alone.

Across the Pond, the Brits have done it again by way of progress and mainstreaming PWDs, but, this time, the Yanks aren't too far behind.

The American DanceWheels Foundation recently released an informative email to their members that featured their most recent accomplishments:

"Ballroom and Latin Dancers using wheelchairs will be featured in a new television series, Dancing on Wheels, debuting next year in the United Kingdom. News about this innovative and controversial dance show created a buzz in the U.S. and producers from America's Got Talent asked American DanceWheels Foundation to audition for their show."

American DanceWheels is a fantastic organization, and one of the many wheelie dancing orgs here on our fair planet, along with Wheelchair Dancesport USA, Wheel Chair Dance Sport Australia, Malta Wheelchair Dancesport Association, and B.C.'s Canadian Wheelchair Dance Academy.

The release goes on to include more local news...

"ADF highlights this past year included a three-page article in the Philadelphia Inquirer about our own Reesa Marchetti and husband Dan.  Reesa has had her own band for over thirty years and uses a power wheelchair to dance. She and Dan dance a mean Fox Trot and always bring the house down when they perform. You can read Reesa's story on our website, and yes, Reesa is as colorful on the dance floor as she is in life!!"

Their site is a great resource for those of us who still love to cut a rug on wheels, along with many other similar sites on the Web.  For people like me who remember when the notion of dancing without legs was as bizarre as disabled models, we're in luck.  Maybe we're catching up with the world; maybe the world is catching up with us, but either way...

We're taking the world by storm.

(Photos from my personal collection and New Mobility Magazine.)

This is a momentous occasion in my house.

Tonight, for the first time in my life, I'm going to schedule my night (or at least my DVR) around a reality show.

Some people may know that I'm not terribly fond of eliminate-y reality shows.  I don't care for the banal dialogue, pointless standing around, and overused pregnant pauses for dramatic license.  I also find it excessively irritating that to really appreciate the show, one must follow it religiously, much like a soap opera, but without as many any marriages to amnesiac evil twins who, in the search for their estranged fathers, discover they had four children whilst in a cult, underwent a sex change, and have been brought back from the dead...twice.  And, now that I think about it, even that sounds way more interesting than who can swallow a bug fastest or stand Flavor Flav the longest.

But, tonight will change all that.  The Brits have finally decided to export the coolest, most fabulous thing since Topshop... Britain's Missing Top Model.

The concept is basically the same as [Insert Country Here]'s Next Top Model, except these ladies are gorgeous, glamourous, and all disabled.

After doing some digging on the actual BBC site for the show, there should be a badass animated interloper to spice up the action named Disability Bitch.  I'm hoping she doesn't get edited out for the export, but if not, we can expect some seriously sassy gems like these throughout the show (from the UK site):

"Hi, I'm Disability Bitch. I'm disabled and I love it. Everyone should be disabled. Everyone should be like me."

"Mostly I use a crutch, but when I want to slip into a pair of high heels - which makes it almost impossible for someone with my lack of balance to even think about walking - I have a wheelchair to match. Of course, I'd prefer to be carried around on a sedan chair. Preferably by semi-naked men. But even I can't have everything, more's the pity."

"I love gossip, especially gossip about disabled people. Barely a day goes by when I don't find myself scanning the tabloids for news of Heather Mills."

"I eat doughnuts and I hate exercise. Quite frankly, I don't see why disabled people should have to do exercise in the first place."

DB will also be interviewing the models as they get the boot, one by one, so I'm hoping for some juicy, catty tidbits, but with as classy as these girls look, I may or may not get my wish.

The only thing I am a little confused about is the 'Missing' part.  I mean, I'm a disabled model, and I'm not missing.  I'm sitting right here on my tushy, typing out a blog.  I know a lot of other gorgeous disabled models, and they're not missing either -- they know exactly where they are and where they're going.  Professionally, I haven't really faced all that many issues, except maybe trying to explain to photographers that "just a few stairs" is NOT equivalent to wheelchair accessible, and no, I can't always move that way.  We already have a great network within the community, from runway shows to photography exhibits, but I can see that we are 'missing' from mainstream media.  Still, we're out there, and it's good to see we're finally being taken seriously by AB people.  And this..well, this is bloody brilliant, if you ask me.

The other bummer is that the BBC.co.uk page on the show is still up, and since this show was aired last season, I already know who wins.  Unless you want the ending to be spoilt, I don't recommend going directly there.  Instead, head to the BBC America page for the episode guide, intros to the models, and a little more about the show.  If you don't mind knowing who wins before the show even premiers, the UK page has tons more information.  There, you'll find quotes, downloads, message boards, extensive photo galleries for each model, and background info on the judges.  Even though I already know which of the stunning women makes it to her very own photo spread, I'll still be watching every episode as it airs.

So, if you're trying to get a hold of me tonight at 9 PM, it'll be for naught.  I'll be watching eight beautiful women as they attempt to break into the modelling industry and shatter stereotypes along the way.

(Hey, Canada, the US... where's our Missing Top Model show?!)