If my life were made into a movie, if would probably have to come with this warning: It is recommended that you take a Xanax before viewing this film. No, seriously. It would.

My good friend, Claire, once dubbed me "a downhome Carrie Bradshaw.' I'm not quite sure what exactly she meant by this moniker, but she coined it one day after we'd had lunch together at our local diner. She later told me she saw me zooming down the street in my wheelchair, past the lagoon on a bright, sunny day, chatting away on my cell phone. I took the new name as a compliment; I suppose this puts me somewhere in the middle of a fast-talking, fall-in-love-too-fast power girl from Manhattan and a laid-back and hugely awkward girl from a small Midwestern town who owns an obscene amount of polo shirts and prefers Barq's root beer over cosmopolitans.

My name is Melissa Blake, and in 2008, I started So about what I said… as an honest attempt to chronicle my life with a physical disability (Freeman-Sheldon Syndrome), and its effects on my search for love. I'll be the first to admit I don't have much experience in the love department. At 28, I haven't experienced my first kiss or even gone on my first date.

I've often wondered why men can't see past my disability and see the real me. If men could just get to know me, seeing a woman and not just a disability, they might just find their soul mate. I know I'm looking for mine.

All too often, people with disabilities aren't seen as having the same wants, dreams and yes, desires as "normal" people (am I the only one getting sick of the term normal?), and in 2010, isn't it about time we squashed that misconception once and for all?

I don't have all the answers, but you can be sure of one thing: I'm never going to change who I am. In love and life, it's honesty all the way for me.

Who knows? Maybe someday I really will be the Midwest's answer to Carrie Bradshaw. Anyone up for a glass of root beer on the porch?

P.S. And no jokes about my oversized glasses, either. They're meant to make a bold fashion statement.

Melissa Blake is a freelance writer and newspaper columnist. Her work has appeared in Redbook, The Chicago Tribune and most recently, TheFrisky, where she chastised stupid boys who thought a guy would never be able to see past her disability. When she's not looking for Mr. Melissa Blake (are you him?), she can be found wearing colorful polo shirts, drinking Barq's root beer and adding to her ridiculously large PEZ collection. Follow her on Twitter or ask her a question on Formspring.