My top three online dating nightmares

Being disabled, and funny-looking, people often assume that I am asexual, and not necessarily by choice. SPOILER ALERT! I am not.

You may also be surprised to learn, despite my uniqueness I actually get a lot of attention online dating. Toot toot toot.

But, some interactions are better than others. These are my top three online dating nightmares.

1.   Can I help you?

I once had a guy message me out of the blue, saying ‘I hope I am not giving you false hope, but I’d love to take you out for coffee to discuss your dating issues and see how I can help you.’ I politely declined. I don’t drink coffee.

Ironically, after receiving this message I had a look at his profile, and honestly I wouldn’t have given him a second look.  

Sadly, this is not a one-off. So many people (once discovering that I am disabled and thus, not a dating prospect), offer to ‘stay in touch’ in case I need help with anything. AS long as that’s all though!  

You’d think it’d be flattering. Funnily enough, it’s not. Nor is it genuine. Actually, it’s cowardly.

To be clear, I was on the site to find a relationship, not a carer!

2.   Can you help me

I was chatting to a guy, and once online became over the phone, I realised he was THE MOST BORING MAN IN HISTORY, (even with the lovely French accent). Plus, we had been chatting for more than a month, but he had no desire to meet (red flag!). Anyway, eventually he had to go on a ‘work trip’ to the USA for six weeks (he’s a ‘Geologist’), and wouldn’t you know it, he lost his credit card in transit. Can you see where this is going? Of course you can, he asked me for $5000 (which he would pay me straight back) so he could finish his contract. I said no, and I never heard from him again. I wish I knew why, that budding relationship seemed so promising!

3.   Curiosity.

  Then there are the guys who think they spot my disability immediately, (well done Sherlock), and hit me up for what I once heard described as a ‘fascination fuck.’ Indeed, I even had someone message me to say he’d never slept with a disabled person before, but I could be the lucky lady. “I’ll bring protection,’ he charmingly added. Maybe I should be on Only Fans?

Needless to say, there are also the trolls who get their jollies from insulting my appearance and intelligence.  Lest I forget the smooth guy who sent me the message simply saying “what’s wrong with you face?” Amazingly, his incredible wit and immense bravery, not to mention excellent grammar 

 didn’t win me over either.

It’s not all bad though. There are also some lovely people to meet online too.

Never-the-less, thank goodness that part of my life is over!


When they say “ take a picture, it will last longer”…

So I was out with Simon, minding my own business and admiring the installations of the Rio Tinto Christmas Lights trail in the Perth CBD last Saturday night, when something very weird happened…

A guy told us (actually he told Simon), his wife wanted a photo with me (note: I said told, not asked), and I assure you it wasn’t because she was a fan of my blog!

Being there to enjoy a festive night out with my boyfriend, I just wanted to get this very awkward situation over with quickly, and seeing as how the wife had already crouched down and put her arm                             around me in readiness, I let them have the picture.

Afterward, I felt a bit violated, and if I’m honest, it virtually ruined my night.

Now, you might be thinking “you could have just said no,” and you’d be right. But remember, these two people were strangers, and I was just going about life like everyone else. So, I’d argue that apart from being weird, it was rude, and even ablest for them to ask. What were they planning to do with it? Create a ‘hilarious meme, or tear jerking piece of inspiration porn, with me as the subject? No thank you!

Perhaps they just wanted it as a momento of ‘how lucky they are?’ Or worse, a testament to their benevolence.

Either way, it’s  not cool. Nor is it in anyway flattering, so don’t even go there!

If I had declined, (remember that the wife was already posing), It could have caused an argument, and thus, a scene. Ironically making me the unreasonable one.

Yes, I was out, and yes we were taking photos of each other, and together. as couples are prone to do.

Is this still an oddity? It shouldn’t be!

Contrary to what seems to still be popular opinion, ‘people like me’ do not ‘appear’ in public to make everyone else feel better about themselves. To quote our former Prime Minister, “that’s not my job.”

Further, if you feel entitled and make assumptions, you’re an ass.

“But hang on, Nina, aren’t you assuming the worst about these people’s intentions?” I hear you cry.

No, I am making an educated guess based on my lived experience.

What about you?



PS, if ever you come across a derogatory meme or post about a disabled person on social media, including those that seem inspirational or helpful. Please do not share them, they only perpetuate disability as a spectacle.

Are you there Santa? It’s me, Nina

Dear Santa Claus,

I know we haven’t spoken much this year, but Father Christmas, I thought you would appreciate my greetings. Given how you are so often overshadowed this time of year by that other bloke who some people associate with the season. It’s shameful. I mean, Rudolf works for you, doesn’t he!


Anyway St Nick, I can’t honestly say I have been a good girl all year, however  on a scale of Keanu Reeves to Vladimir Putin, I figure I come in somewhere in the middle.


Therefore, Kris Kringle, please allow me to evoke my inner Dudley Dursley for a moment and tell you what I’d like for Christmas 2022. A Lego Hogwarts Castle.



I know I ‘should’ want world peace, an end to global famine, and possibly a cure for cancer, Babbo Natale. Please be assured that I do indeed desire these things, but I know that’s not really your forte, so perhaps we should leave it to the kid in the manger. I here he’s big this time of year too.

I also know it’s better to give than to receive, so you’re welcome!


Not sure when we’ll get a chance to chat again Kanakaloka, next year’s looking very busy. But I’ll be sure to drop you a line next December. I know how you long to hear from me.


My love to Mrs Claus, and all the Elves.




Great, I’m 38!

Today is my 38th birthday, and what a difference a year makes. !

As I write this, I am in a very different place to where I was at the stroke of 37, both figuratively and literally.


Earlier this year I took the plunge and sold my little shoebox, in favour of a much bigger apartment. I am not an overly sentimental person, so I didn’t anticipate the separation anxiety that came with the move. I had only been there for six years, but I guess I underestimated what that six years had meant for me.


It was my first home and foray out of the nest, not only living independently, but also completely alone (at least at first). I did a lot of self-discovery and maturing from that.


It was also where I lived with Damion, the first man I can truly say I loved, and who loved me equally and unconditionally in return. I learned my worth and my true value from that.


Of course, it wasn’t always a picnic. In my little piece of paradise I experienced the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows. From this I learned that with some time, persistence and patience I can do and/or overcome most things. Further, my instincts are good, if I follow them I will be ok. Sadly, I had to learn this the hard way though.


I have a roommate in my new place, and to be honest, he’s a real pussy! I adopted four-year-old Tommy the short-haired Tabby in November.

He came from Cat Haven, where he had been surrendered in May, by a couple who moved overseas.


Before now, I would not have said I was a ‘cat person’, but for Tommy I will happily make an exception, (even if he did destroy my headphones as soon as I got them).

FOr a myriad of reasons I have been feeling more ‘disabled’ than usual this year.

Being able to take care of Tommy and receive the odd head-butt in return, makes me feel needed, useful, and capable. Feelings I have been severely lacking lately. We seem to look after each other, and now he thinks he owns the place.

Most surprisingly of all, this year I found love again. It has brought me back to life, and I didn’t even realise I was dormant.

I say ‘surprisingly’ because for a while, I had lost any hope that genuine nice guys even existed (stay tuned for ‘Nina’s dating nightmares’ coming soon).

Simon is amazing! He’s a Kiwi, which is I think why he is so laid back. We are very similar in many ways, and different in others. Which means, we have endless fun teaching each other about the finer things in life. He’s taught me all about Rugby (league and Union) and I am trying to convert him to AFL.

Apart from being good-looking and exceptionally tall, Simon is such a gentleman, I sometimes wonder if he’s actually accidentally stepped out of a fairy-tale. It would explain how lightning has managed to strike me twice.

We are taking things at our own pace, and have big plans for the future.

Happy birthday to me!!


Can I read you a story?

One of my biggest regrets as an Auntie is that being legally blind, I can’t just pick up a book and read it to Dave and Diana, when they shove one in my face. Especially now that Dave (3) knows exactly which story, each book contains.

Once upon a time, I could just hold a book in front of me and make it up, or even better, recite one I knew by heart from childhood, and he would just lap it up. But alas, now he’s on to me. 

I am also a big fan of audiobooks and documentaries, where the documentary maker narrates the story  as it goes along. Louis Theroux and the great Sir David Attenborough are particular favourites.

Narrating an audio book, a documentary, or even voicing an advertisement for radio or TV, has always been firmly on my bucket list. However, just like being an extra in a movie or on TV, going to the moon, and seeing my Beloved Fremantle Dockers win a premiership (three more games to go…),  it was totally ‘pie in the sky,’, so I never actually thought much about  doing it.

Then ‘Zach’ came into my life…

I promise no spoilers, but Zach’s Game Plan, a children’s book by Ewan Fowles. Tells the story of a disabled boy called Zach, who proves himself to be awesome, and incredibly useful (without being a token), just by  being himself. 

And thanks to Carers WA,I got to narrate the animated adaptation!

I was so desperate to impress, (possibly hoping to be ‘discovered’), I was more nervous doing this than when I jumped out of a plane at 14,000 feet. I was also conscious that because I couldn’t actually read the script as we were recording, I’d be a massive burden, and need to be fed my lines one by one. So, I just memorised the whole script, because no one wants to work with a diva, do they?

For those of you playing at home, it took me three hours and  , in a flashback to my school days, I did it the night before the recording. Hooray for doing your homework at the very last minute. .

It turns out, I love being in a real-life recording studio.  However, that could be because the Sound Engineer and the Editor kept stroking my ego.  Even asking (after the recording) if I had ever had acting and/or elocution lessons. I haven’t, by the way. 

After a while, as I sat in the soundproof booth with the headphones on and the microphone  in front of me, which  obscured my view of the studio beyond, I began to really enjoy myself.

The lead in lines came through the headphones, and I actually had myself convinced that I had found my calling. This made me cocky, and so  I delivered my lines with a Nina-ness, (that I may or may not have practiced in front of a mirror to perfect), which was surprisingly not discouraged. This was not the austere environment I had envisaged.

To top it off, I asked the Sound Engineer who the most famous person to have recorded in that studio was.

His answer? None other than Sir David Attenborough. #Winning. 

Overall, the session lasted a little over an hour and I skipped out of there thinking (for once) I had done a good job. It was a weird feeling.

I’m still waiting for the call asking me to narrate the Australian Film Industry’s next big feature-length documentary though, but I think my phone might actually be on silent.



Keep your eyes on the blog’s Facebook page and/or the CarersWA YouTube channel for my debut performance. All offers for movie roles etc can be made via email. LOL! 


I identify as female, and my pronouns are she/her, which is fortunate, as I am also biologically a woman. I’m sure you can imagine my surprise and confusion then, when my podiatrist (who I have been seeing for many years), recommended I start taking Viagra.

Yes, that Viagra. The ‘little blue pill’ that helps men overcome their Erectile Dysfunction issues.

I found this a little weird. It’s true, I am incredibly flat chested, and at the time I was   extremely overdue for my regular waxing appointment so I may very well have had a visible beard and or moustache. However, I did have my chicken fillets in! 

Had he lost his mind? Maybe not. .

Let me explain…

In the past few years, my feet have been getting so extremely cold that once winter sets in, I become part Smurf. That is, my feet turn a delightful shade of blue. What’s not so delightful though, is the burning sensation and the pain that goes with it (feels like I am constantly walking on shards of broken glass).

At first, we thought it was cold-related Chilblains, but even after months and months of avoiding Jack Frost like an awkward handshake from Former Prime Minister Scott Morrison (sorry, if you’re not living in Australia that may have made no sense), my feet still looked and felt like ice blocks.     

“So, what does a man’s appendage have to do with your feet?” I hear you ask. Well, nothing specifically.  But Viagra is also useful in increasing blood flow, by widening blood vessels, apparently.

The latest theory as to why my feet are so down (blue) is that I have crappy circulation, so I am now taking Viagra every day.

I was slightly worried about the prospect at first. Would I need to go about sporting a massive boner from now on? OF course not.  It turns out Viagra only increases blood flow, not libido. Phew!

I have had an incredibly stiff neck in the past few days, and I am suddenly walking very upright though.

I was hoping this may increase my height by a few inches, but it hasn’tt happened yet. Damn!

 It’s still early days, and my body has had a job getting used to the new medication, but there have been changes. The temperature in my feet has gone from freezer to fridge so far, which is nice.

If anything else pops up, I will let you know. 


Did feng shui fix my hand, and did my hand need fixing in the first place? Part two

Previously on ‘Inner musings of a funny looking kid,’ I had my apartment “Feng’d” (with a bonus palm reading), where the Feng Shui Consultant prescribed a number of changes and additions that, if followed, would improve my health by 60 per cent. Here’s what actually happened… 

In the first month after the changes, I was knocked out in a Woolworths supermarket (I bet not many people can say that!), which gave me the opportunity to have my first ever ride in an ambulance as a patient. It worked out well though, I did not have concussion or any spinal injury, despite having fallen out of my collapsible wheelchair onto my head, and I was released from hospital the same day.

I did return to hospital a week later with a face so swollen it could have presumably blocked the sun, which resulted in a tooth extraction and a course of antibiotics. However, the two things were unrelated; the latter was an infection (for a change).

When the consultant returned to my apartment to check that everything was set up properly, she immediately remarked that the energy was “so much better” than since her last visit, and asked me how my hand was. Grrrr. 

I replied that it was exactly the same, adding details of the two adventures above. All she said was, “Oh well, it takes time for the bad energy to drain away.”  I feel another eye roll coming on.

      After that though, things got a bit weird, (some might say coincidental).

Predictably, I came down with yet another ear infection, and one in my foot, which was a new development. My regular GP was away so I had to see a doctor I had never seen before, who apart from giving me antibiotics (again), referred me to an Infectious Diseases Specialist. Something no one had ever done before.

Long story short, I saw this specialist, she did some swabs that had never been done before either, and the culprit was identified and dealt with. I have not altered my routine in anyway, and I have not had any kind of infections at all since, (five months for anyone playing at home), which is a record, for me. In fact, apart from a summer cold, and what later turned out to be muscle strains from making up for lost time, I really haven’t been out of action at all.   Cue mysterious music swell.

However, the strangest development of all relates to my hand. It’s open.

Not completely though, the tips of my fingers are still slightly bent, but now it opens on its own and stays that way. I can hold and pick up things with my left hand now too, (sort of). It’s baffling. I have been doing gym and Pilates for years and obviously, we have worked extensively on my hands and arms, but it has only opened in the last six weeks or so, and it did so without any changes to my exercise regime.  Surely, it couldn’t be that bracelet, could it?

Ironically though, if I want to make a fist with my left hand now, I have to kind of squash it shut with my other hand. As a result, I have also had to find new ways of doing things to accommodate my new abilities. Plus, being open must not have improved the way it looks either. 

At the dentist last week, I was asked why my hand was so “gnarly,” and I assure you the question did not come from a stereotypical surfie dude from the 70s.

All this really does beg the question: Did Feng Shui actually fix my hand, and did it really need fixing in the first place?


PS, still no sign of Mr Right, any takers? 🤣

Did feng shui fix my hand, and did my hand need fixing in the first place? Part one

Usually my hand is ‘clawed.’ That is to say, it automatically   balls into a fist and cannot unravel by itself. It hasn’t always been like this, only since I was a teenager,

Contrary to popular assumption though, it has never really stopped or bothered me. It never even crosses my mind, unless a rude person brings it to my attention, labouring under the misapprehension that I must be embarrassed by it, and in need of advice as to how to fix it.

. Interestingly, the people most likely to comment or offer advice, usually   have absolutely no prior knowledge of me and my body, or of rehabilitation and orthopaedics at all. Funny how that never stops them.

In fact, a random woman once told me my hand was “like that” because of lack of food, which could be easily “fixed,” if I just ate more. She was not a dietician, and I hadn’t even mentioned my hand.  This made me roll my eyes so severely; they almost fell out of my bum.   

In mid-2021, I started listening to a podcast at random, and it introduced me to Fen Shui.

For those who don’t know, Feng Shui is a traditional Chinese practice, which by manipulating energy forces, claims to   harmonise people with their environment. Enhancing or detracting from your luck in health, wealth, love, and many other things depending on what you put where.

Long story short, as a result I engaged a Feng Shui Consultant to come and give my apartment a once over. Reasoning that if it didn’t do any good, it wouldn’t do any harm and if nothing else, I might get a blog out of it.

I had no particular issues I wanted “fixed,” but 2021 had thus far been plagued with ear and sinus infections a plenty (I was constantly on antibiotics) and I’d already had two lots of grommets put in under general aneasthetic. So as the consultant asked me to name a goal for the consultation, I chose to focus on my health. Giving the afore-mentioned reasons for my decision. However, she suggested we prioritise opening my left hand.  FFS!

Most of the ‘cures’ she suggested, seemed pretty standard as far as my rudimentary knowledge of Feng Shui could surmise:

Pop a few bells here, 

Add an ox and a dragon tortoise figurine there,  

Sleep on the opposite side of the bed where the health luck is stronger,

Place a tea set next to my kettle to purify my water 

Strategically arrange some Feng Shui coins about the place,

Don’t cook in my kitchen,

And keep my bathroom/ensuite doors closed.

However, when she said I needed to get a brown coat, which I should never wear, but instead permanently hang over the kitchen chair I usually sit on, I did start to wonder if she was having me on. I had similar thoughts when she asked me to keep my slippers permanently under my bed to appease a ghost.

Yes, I did everything she asked.

For those of you playing at home; my front door faces north, my kitchen is in the Northwest and my bathroom is in the Northeast. I sleep in the East and I work in the west.   The consultant uses the coordinates of my apartment and my birthdate to make her recommendations.

The only other thing I should mention is the bracelet that is meant to foster optimal health and wellbeing, which I now wear almost always. When I got it, I automatically popped it onto my right wrist, but the consultant made me switch to my left, because “That’s where you are sick.”

It has been six month since I was “Feng’d” as my friend Kevin called it, and what has been the result?


Tune in next week to find out.



Take everything in context

A note to the reader:

I am currently going through a ‘Jane Austen’ phase, having quite recently finished reading her complete works, (except Emma. Emma simply cannot engage me). Enchanted as I am by her turn of phrase and general manner of writing, I have devised a scheme (purely for my own enjoyment and to test my own prodigiousness) to compose this blog chiefly in Miss Austen’s style.

PS, I very much hope that I have used every word in this post correctly. But, if not I’m sure someone will be kind enough to advise me. 😝

 It may prove annoying to some, and a monstrous failure to us all, so pray omit this entry should it please you, while I get this out of my system.

I am at a loss as to why it has taken me more than seven and thirty years to appreciate Miss Austen’s work. However I shall not remonstrate with myself at length as I dare say that my ability to comprehend the turns of phrase as they  existed in the late eighteenth century,  may have proven somewhat irksome, if not entirely impossible for me, should I have made the attempt  any earlier.

As it stands, I have now the happy possession of a new favourite word, ‘blockhead,” a word liberally used by Miss Austen throughout her novels to describe a person who has caused offence or done something generally undesirable by common society. Someone I might have hither too termed a fuck wit.

Conversely, one term I shall not adopt within my own musings is ‘knocked up,’ at least as it appears in the novel Mansfield Park (my favourite of the Austen collection).

  I had been given to understand that this expression denoted  a woman who is with child. So I am sure you can imagine my astonishment and confusion in reading of how the extremely unfortunately named Fanny;

“Found herself to be quite knocked up, following a turnabout the shrubbery with her cousin Edmond. “

In an effort to remain sanguine, and in light of having read the entire book, I deduce that knocked up   must have at one time at least, also meant tired.

Perhaps my powers of comprehension still require some work. Along with the advancement of my maturity level.


Disability versus dating: it’s not what you think

I am not fond of those shows about dating. You know the ones, Married at First Site, The Batchelor, First Dates etc. Why the hell would anyone want to put themselves through that? Especially on national television.

Tis one perk of looking like I do, you never see people like me on shows like that, do you? Unless you’re watching ‘The Undatables’ of course.

Luckily for you though, my aversion to witnessing the love lives of others does not prevent me from supposing that every person and their assistance animal is interested in mine. Especially as I am asked with monotonous regularity, whether I can have sex.

Fear not, this is not to be a post dedicated to my sex life.

May I begin by attempting to debunk the myth (yet again) that disabled people can/should only date each other?

Disabled bodies (and the people who inhabit them), ARE attractive to some ‘normal,’ people (just like redheads, people with blue eyes and Eagles supporters), and they don’t have to be fetishists. 

Further, disabled people can/do work and play just like anyone else, and live fulfilling and independent lives of our own.   I.e. we don’t need you, we want you, there is a difference!

Even further still, relationships between able-bodied and disabled people exist the world over, without the former wishing to defraud their partner, endure enormous self-sacrifice or display admirable benevolence.

I accept that yes, there are people out there who fit this bill, but they are not normal, they are fucked up, and should NEVER be celebrated!

Too often do I field questions like ‘what kind of disability does he have?’ or ‘is he blind too?’ if I happen to mention I am dating someone. This is a ludicrous question and is not akin to asking what he does for a living.

Once, Damion surprised me by picking me up from lunch so I didn’t have to take a taxi home. The friend I was with, who had heard about him but never met him was introduced. Even before shaking the hand he proffered she looked at him and exclaimed, “Oh you’re not disabled!” to which Damion replied, “Nope, but we can’t have everything.”

She missed the sarcasm, but I do not miss her.

I was listening to a podcast about Helen Keller the other day, which mentioned that she once had a secret boyfriend who unlike her, was not disabled. They had fallen mutually in love, and had gotten themselves a marriage licence, but her family violently forbade the marriage and sent her boyfriend, Peter away.

It should be noted that there was no suggestion that he had any malicious intent whatever toward Helen. Nor was she, (a widely acknowledged intelligent woman), supposed to have been hoodwinked by Peter. They were fairly evenly matched economically and socially, so one can only assume then that ableism tore them apart. Have we really progressed so little in a century?

I realise that even after this rant, some humans will insist upon underestimating and undervaluing the disabled and the quality of the lives we lead, still. However apparently not all of the world’s inhabitants take this view.

On a recent outing with a Gentleman, I was fortunate to be treated to a lecture about how difficult my method of manoeuvring was to him. Unfortunately for him though, he chose to seat himself beneath an umbrella in the beer garden, upon which a seagull was perched, who promptly crapped on him.

My sentiments exactly!