Extreme Measures Part 2

It was back at the medical center yesterday — to discuss results of the non-fast blood test and my gut issues.

I opted not to employ the extreme COVID protection measures taken at the last visit, because I’d read a woman wearing a similar mask had so frightened others that the police got involved.

That may be because the woman wore a skull face mask. I have a few of those as well, but know enough not to wear anywhere other than a cosplay event, surrounded by other likeminded horror characters.

Checking in with the receptionist at the medical center, I saw a box of surgical masks at her desk and learned us patients could have one for the asking.

I didn’t feel I needed one at the time, but you never know about later. The price on those masks have skyrocketed to hundreds of dollars, so I took advantage of the freebee.

Later, in the exam room, I had an interesting conversation with the doctor’s nurse.

While she was gathering information about nature of visit, I mentioned my food choices are now so limited that I’ve actually been bargaining with God, saying “I’ll give you a year of my life to once again be able to eat this … another year if I can eat that”.

The nurse thought it hilarious and, at the same time, frightening saying, “You’re brave. I’d be scared to talk to God like that”.

How interesting is that … to be afraid of God.

I guess it depends on what kind of God you have, what your concept of God is. I explained to the nurse that God and I have a close relationship. That even as a child, I always talked to God, felt like God was a friend, an actual presence that I could talk things over with.

I’ve never thought that to be strange, something others did not feel/do … that is until the nurse brought it to my attention by saying she’d be scared to talk to God like that ... be so familiar with, less worshipful I'm guessing.

Interesting, but doesn’t change my approach to the Infinite All. After all, it’s worked pretty well for me.

At any rate, after the office visit, while in the elevator heading to the pharmacy, I had Pokémon GO open and was collecting Poké Balls — because the center is a Poke Stop. So involved in the game that I was unaware of others in the elevator until I heard a voice say, “Oh, you play too?”

Turning, I found a young lady standing behind me, wearing one of the free COVID protection masks. She too was in the game.

We had a brief discussion about our level, how hard it now is to level up, and that was that until I saw she too was in line at the pharmacy. Something prompted me to introduce myself, find out her name, shake her hand.

After placing her pharmacy order, she sat next to me. We didn’t talk, just continued to play, until suddenly I remembered a challenge I’ve yet to complete.

There is a character in the game called The Professor … Professor Willow to be exact. He’s uber handsome and gives us quests to complete for extra points.

A quest I’ve been unable to complete thus far, among others, was “Find three new friends”.

Finding and adding friends lets you build relationships in the game world that enables you to gain extra Premier Balls for Raids, attack bonuses for Gym battles, trade Pokémon, and receive Gifts containing items.

Though you don’t necessarily have to have real world contact with those friends, I can’t imagine finding other players to friend unless you do know them and know they play the game. What few friends I have are two former coworkers, their children, the Archeologists, her son and daughter. No one around here plays, no one in my family plays, so finding one new friend seemed an insurmountable task for me, let along THREE. The quest has been stuck in the queue for over a year.

Remembering it, I turned to the young lady and asked, “Do you want to be friends?”.

She did indeed, as it would also benefit her in the game, so I coded her in.

That’s ONE!

She asked if she could share my code with her brother-in-law and another acquaintance of hers.

I did and, by the end of the day, I had the required THREE.

Other than interacting with her avatar in the game, I'll probably never run into her again, nor get to know the other two individuals outside their avatars, but what a serendipitous elevator ride.

It’s back to the medical center in two weeks for a consultation with the specialists. Hopefully this is the road to once again being able to eat the this/that I was bargaining for. I’ll gladly hold up my end of the bargain … give up a year or two or three.

Residents’/Management Meeting

Plan for this past weekend was to take advantage of the perfect weather we’d had all week, head to the college, collect Pokéballs, log in some walking miles.

Plot Switch … a change in the weather, to cold and drizzly, put me into a coma. I slept the weekend away.

Waking up this morning, tuning into Court TV as I prepared for the day, I found the verdict was in on the Harvey Weinstein trial ─ guilty of two out of five counts.

Chickens have come home to roost, dude.

So there’s that, but I had no time to dawdle over news of the fallout this morning, because I had to get down to the Community Room by 10:00 for the Residents’/Management meet, prepared to duck out and head for the Pain Cave if not over by 11:20.

It wasn’t. So, I did not get to stay for everything discussed, but did bring up the smoke detector.

We’d had a service power outage, 1:00 am thru 3:00 a.m., Saturday.

Ordinarily, I’d have slept blissfully unaware of the outage, finding out about it only when I awoke that morning to find the microwave needed rebooting.

That ordinarily would have been the scenario, except the outage caused the smoke detector to begin beeping, and it beeped the entire two hours.

After looking at several YouTube howto videos since deciding I need to put in a new detector my own darn self, I’m not at all comfortable with touching the wires, afraid I’d electrocute myself. Instead, I brought it up in the meeting, said it was defective, requested a new one.

”We’ll look into that” repeated Community Manager for like the umpteenth time.

Assistant Community Manager chimed in. “Sometimes carbon monoxide builds up. It would help if you had your windows open”.

Help who … the burglars and rapists, thought I. But what I said was, “You want me, a single woman, to sleep with my windows open?”

“You live upstairs”, said she.

What's one floor up going to do? What's one floor up going to stop? All I can say is ....

Milestones

Trainer happened to mention we’re coming on up a year of my working out, the first session being March 12, 2019.

I can hardly believe it.

Timewise, it certainly doesn’t feel like a year has gone by.

What’s left of my life is whizzing by way too fast.

I’m definitely stronger, move faster, breathe easier when walking upstairs than I did a year ago. My knees and lower back no longer hurt all the time, I even see muscles developing in my forearms, and though my measurements haven’t changed all that much, some of my tops no longer fit as snugly as they did. Probably because I've gone from a DD to a C cup, for which trainer apologized. LOL. I assured him THAT was a good thing, as there's still plenty remaining that I can do without.

Some tops are hanging so loosely, which I prefer tight, that I’ve removed them from the closet and placed in the “donate” container.

Fortunately, my many pairs of leggings (all 38 of ‘em) are of a fabric (spandex) that stretches out if need be, hugs the body if need be, therefore can handle the few inches I’ve lost, and what little weight-loss there’s been.

Did you just put out there that you own 38 pairs of leggings, you ask.

Why yes, yes I did. As to why, there is no rhyme or reason except the internet keeps sending me notices that it has found something it thinks I’d like, and it’s a cute pair of leggings and I can’t resist.

In fact, just this week I received such a notice and saw these.

Way cute, and 30% off. I can see myself wearing these with boots and a black tunic top, but managed to talk myself out of the purchase, because I need another pair of leggings like I need a whole in my head.

"Talked myself out of it" that is ... until 11:30 that night when I couldn’t sleep for thinking about those leggings, got out of bed, logged on and ordered two pair ─ so I’d have a backup once the first pair wore out.

Hopefully that’s the end of it, as I have more leggings than I can possibly wear out in this lifetime.

Back to weight loss ... I don’t understand why so little ─ only 6 pounds in a year. Trainer has lost more weight than I ─ 34 pounds, and he did it in a matter of a few months to meet the weight requirement for a boxing competition.

Working out so hard, clean eating ─ because my gut won’t let me do otherwise, and so little weight loss hardly seems fair, but I’ll keep at it because the dam has to eventually break.

Another milestone is, after two years of ownership, I’m almost at the first 10,000 miles on the Jeep ─ having purchased it February 24, 2018.

Do I need to drive more or what? LOL.

Friday the 14th Part 2

You could have knocked me over with a feather when I opened the door yesterday and found a Valentine Card.

I stand by previous comments about not being into sending cards and not caring about receiving any, but I’ll take this one because it’s from my buddy Apache, and was filled with cute Star Wars themed notes (he knows I’m a fan).

The handwriting looks like that of a child (or doctor), but the scribbles ─ for those of you who’ve not come across Apache’s history ─ lightly touched upon in earlier posts, is the result of a suicide attempt over a failed relationship, some years ago, that left him with dexterity issues in his arms/hands.

He can manage to clutch a pen, not between his fingers but with his whole hand fisted up, and etched out “Thank you for being a great person. Happy Valentine’s Day. Off to torture the Manager”.

Nice. That is except for the part about torturing the Community Manager.

So V-Day is out of the way and, ordinarily I'd be looking forward to Easter Egg Coloring. However, with the Baker and her great granddaughter bowing out over the hurt caused great granddaughter  (it was their inspired and hosted event), I can't imagine anyone else picking up the slack ... certainly not this girl.

During the week, I’d also learned the seniors had a special movie night. Screened was the Oscar winning "Once Upon a Time in Hollywood".

That movie is on my watch list, so I might have gone ─ not sure because it bugs me residents are having conversations about their dogs, etc., while I’m trying to listen to the movie. But, having been out of the loop for so long, I didn’t hear about the screening.

At any rate, the seniors didn’t like the movie. Said they didn’t understand it … it moved around too much … didn't make sense.

I’m still planning to eventually get around to viewing the movie and will let them know if I like it.

Next on the movie screening list is Joker, also on my watch list.

I’ll take a chance on not being annoyed by talking and go down to the Community Room for that.

I have a sense though that if the seniors didn’t understand Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, that Joker will be way too deep for them. Maybe not talk, but fall asleep during the viewing. LOL.

Friday the 14th

Also known as Valentine’s Day.

Been there, done that, learned my lesson(s), won't do it again.

Valentine Bingo, in the Community Room, was nothing more than regular bingo, but with the prizes all hearts and flowers themed.

Unlike the last time I entered the room, the vibe in the room was cheerful and everyone greeted me before I could greet them.

The Seer and Shadow were not present, so I think it’s safe to say it absolutely was the Seer’s dark energy that brought the room down that time.

I didn’t stay, didn’t take photos, just dropped off the ice cream Apache had stopped by my unit early that morning asking, as a favor to him,  if I’d pick up for the seniors, then headed upstairs to rest my poor tired body from what felt like a grueling workout.

If Valentine’s Day is your thing, have a happy one.

Extreme Measures

Arriving at 11:10 for yesterday’s non-fasting blood test at the medical center, I was assigned ticket No. 68, when the now-serving board indicated No. 32.

It was a busy day at the medical center. I noticed even the Pharmacy line was backed up ─ snaking all the way outside the Pharmacy and into the lobby area.

Watching the board for how fast the numbers counted down, I saw they didn’t. Four minutes later, the board still indicated No. 32. At that pace, I figured it’d be at least two hours.

Oh well. At least I had a good read with me ─ true story about a 102-year-old world record holder runner.

Before leaving the complex, thinking about the coronavirus and that new flu, I’d taken precautionary measures in case things looked gnarly at the medical center ─ if others in the waiting area were coughing and/or I saw a lot of folks wearing masks.

Only one woman had a coughing spasm, and she was seated way far away behind me, and I only saw a handful or so in masks ... mostly staff. That being so, I decided not to put into place my somewhat extreme measures.

What extreme measures were those you ask.

I’d slipped a buff on my neck. “Buff” being multifunctional headwear that can also be pulled up over the nose and mouth to protect one from bugs, dust, pollen ─ biker wear, like this.

At any rate, I felt comfortable enough to not go to that extreme. kept the buff pull down, and got some good reading time in. Eventually, the numbers began to move faster, and No. 68 was called to the Lab an hour later, at 12:04.

Everything moved quickly after that. I found myself headed to the car by 12:14 but, while in the Lab, I observed one of the technicians ─ an Alex Rodriguez lookalike, but with a beard, had dyed his beard blue.

“Bluebeard”, I blurted out, nodding approvingly and saying, “I like it”.

This made my lab tech, and her blue-bearded coworker smile. 

Then the story of Blue Beard flashed through my mind. I asked if either of them knew it.

Both looked at me blankly, so I simplified it as the tale of a guy who had a lot of women.

“That would be him, but he did it for a sports team” my technician said, looking over at her blue bearded coworker who seemed to be enjoying the attention.

”Google it. It’s an interesting story”, said I as I headed out the door, and added "But don't BE a Bluebeard" I said to the blue bearded tech, because what I hadn't mentioned was Bluebeard is infamous for marrying young women, killing them, hanging their bodies on the basement wall.

That interaction got me to thinking why it is I so keep to myself. Why it is so difficult to connect, in a meaningful way, with those around me. It's because we don't speak the same language. I bring up a topic and no one knows what I’m talking about, so I mostly listen, rarely speak or share with others, except here in blog land.

Judge Judy had a similar situation a few weeks back in an episode where she referenced Rip Van Winkle.

Both plaintiff and defendant had a blank look, so Judy polled the audience ... “Show of hands if you know who Rip Van Winkle is”.

So few hands went up that Judy gave her head a sad shake and said, “Time to die”.

I hear you girl. We’re dinosaurs.

Seniors Behaving Badly

The seniors had a Valentine’s Potluck on Tuesday, hosted by Activity Director.

After yesterday’s workout, I popped in.

Walking through the Community Room door, greeting the room with a hearty “Good morning folks”, I was greeted in return with dead silence.

Brrrrrrr.

Making my way around, snapping photos, I greeted folks at individual tables.

Still nothing, lol.

I don’t think it was personal, had anything to do with me. Folks were either deep in conversation, deep in stuffing food into their faces or the vibe in the room was down because The Seer was present and sending out bad energy.

The Seer can bring a room down with her always looking angry, since hooking up with Shadow, and her thinking and sometimes saying out loud that she hates everyone in the complex.

She may be particularly aggrieved at the residents because one of them was rude to my little 12 year old friend ─ The Baker’s granddaughter, at last week’s bingo.

The Baker tells me someone in the room yelled at my little friend saying, “Why are you here? You don’t belong” and that my little friend was so hurt that she won’t be coming back and Baker is so hurt that Thursday’s Valentine Bingo will be her last involvement in helping the Residents Volunteer Activity Committee host events. Which probably means ─ no egg coloring, no community breakfast, no cupcake or cookie decorating events in future.

The Baker said she doesn’t know who in the room said it, but I can’t believe no one stood up and called the speaker out. Baker herself should have read the room, saying “I don’t know who said that but BLA BLA BLA BLA!” given them the riot act but said she didn’t because she was afraid of what she’d say.

That’s bull. Instead, she’s walking around upset with plans to do one more bingo ─ because she’d already purchased party supplies, then she’s out. 

I’d be petty about it ─ bow out of bingo immediately, leave the seniors high and dry, toss the party supplies in the trash because you don’t reward bad behavior, and the entire room behaved badly by not challenging someone being rude to a child ─ especially a helpful child who, along with her GG, have done so much for the residents here.

I can see how knowing this would further alienate The Seer.

Back in the days when The Seer was nice/interesting/fun ─ before she hooked up with Shadow, we’d talk and she told me of how lonely she was when she first moved in ─ had no friends, no one talked to her. She said the Baker was the only person to reach out and befriend her, so the Seer is grateful and protective of the Baker.

The way I see it now, things have regressed to The Baker once again being the Seer’s only friend, other than Shadow who’s brought the Seer down, chased everyone away.

At any rate, for whatever reason, the vibe in the room was brrrrrr.

I stayed just long enough to take photos and get caught up a little, but forgot to ask Apache, who was present, why so much moving out/in activity because the Baker blew me away by not only telling me what was done to hurt my little friend at last week's bingo, but also saying Apache got a lap dance at the bingo before last.

That’s right. You read correctly. He got an unsolicited lap dance.

That new resident I’d blogged about making, at the decorating party, what I was sure was meant to be an X-rated cupcake, got up from bingo and danced in front of and on Apache’s lap.  

So obviously I read her correctly at that time.

I didn’t learn what, if anything, was said by others in the room watching the spectacle, but Baker said, “If you don’t think THAT got reported to the office” and left it at that.

Before I exited the room I teased Apache with, “So, I hear you got a lap dance”.

He giggled.

“Did you have to pay for it?”, I further teased.

“No ...... she paid me”, said he.

ROFLMAO!

That resident, a married woman I might add, is making quite a name for herself as the rumor is she’s coming on to all the guys.

She’s not old and she’s not ugly so who knows. Just saying.

I’m off the laptop and outa here in a few minutes because the doctor has ordered a non-fasting blood test.

The wind is down today, and there’s no word of an outbreak of the Coronavirus in the area, so I’d better get going, get it done, while the getting’s good.

Goings and Comings

Noticed a lot of activity on the grounds recently ─ residents moving out/residents moving into the complex.

We only had one death that I know of ─ a woman who’s been here some 20+ years, so no idea why so many other openings, which appear to be quickly filled from the waiting list.

I’ll have to catch up with Apache and the Baker for an update as to why people are leaving/where are they going. LOL.

I do know the woman I saw moving out on Friday wasn’t happy here and had talked about getting out for some time. When speaking of her discontent, she never really explained to me WHY she didn’t like it here but, judging from her bourgeois appearance, and the way she tried to make us bourgeois, I think we were too slow for her, too normal ─ much like the complaints my next-door neighbor had the first few years.

How did she try to make us bourgeois you ask? 

Back in the day when we had Rummage Sales in the community room, she'd set up her table with fancy expensive purses, jewelry and dresses no one here could afford or would wear. That having failed, she set up a nail salon in a corner of the Game Room.

I myself never frequented her short-lived nail salon because, judging from the appearance of some of my neighbors ─ and I know that’s wrong to judge a book by it’s cover, but it’s also a safe way to live .... at any rate, I didn’t feel comfortable with the hygiene factor involved in her doing nails of other residents then doing mine. Others gave the salon a try but didn’t go back because her work was just too fancy, too ghetto fabulous for us common folks.

So she’s gone and hopefully management will at least paint and put in new carpeting before a new resident is pulled from the waiting list.

I question their doing so because, the unit where the long time resident died is visible from my bedroom window, and I never saw paint and carpeting happen before the new resident moved in a few days ago.

The February calendar shows a Residents/Management meeting on the 24th. If this is a session where we can ask questions, I might ask if they paint and newly carpet.

As for Next Door Neighbor, who also tried to bourgeois us up and, as a result got herself impeached as President of the Volunteer Residents Activity Committee, she’s still here and seems to have settled in nicely because she’s made a social life for herself elsewhere.

Next Door Neighbor (NDN) is socially conscious, has gotten herself involved in local politics and has turned out to be a far better neighbor than I.

The resident living downstairs across the quad, next door to Nosey, has declined considerably since moving in ─ bad luck and whiskey. First hit by a car requiring hip surgery, recovering, then breaking an arm due to a fall in her unit. When I saw her at the market last month, trying to juggle a grocery bag, her walker and with a cast on her arm, I gave her a ride back and noticed her shopping bag looked extremely light on food but heavy with bottles of whiskey.

She was having her groceries delivered, but I don’t know if the market won’t deliver whiskey and that was the reason she’d struggled to get there that day.

On Friday, I saw neighbor across the quad being helped out of NDN’s car.

”Where are you two ladies coming from?”, asked I.

”The market. I drove _____ to the market. I’m her uber”, said NDN.

That’s a nice thing to do, a nice way to be ─ better than I. Neighbor across the quad can call NDN when she needs a ride to the market.

When Nosey could get around, but appeared to be having difficulty, I’d stop by her place to see if she wanted to ride with me to the market, but I’d have felt put upon if I wasn’t planning to go and she’d called for a ride.

I’m feeling a little guilty at not being a better neighbor. I could ask Neighbor Across the Quad if she wants to ride to the store with me next time I go, but she’s got NDN to help with her whiskey runs, so I’ll stay out of it and live with the guilt. Should she ever ask, however, I don't believe I have the heart to say no. I'd suck up feeling imposed upon and give her the ride.

I Got Nothing

If anyone has been wondering why so little blog updates from me lately, it’s because I’ve got nothing. With no fun 5Ks on the horizon, and not much going on around here at the complex, this dry spell is looking to turn into a dirt road in the desert.

This month’s activity calendar does indicate a Valentine’s Potluck on the 11th (“12 noon – 2:00 p.m., sandwiches, chips, drinks provided: bring your favorite dish or dessert”).

Never having been lucky in love, Valentine’s Day is not a favorite of mine, and these potlucks the seniors are so fun of are not my thing but, with nothing else on the horizon, I’ll pop in after that days’ pain cave workout — putting me there around 12:20 to see what if anything is going on.

Other than that, my life has been the pain cave, grocery shopping, cooking, needlepoint and Court TV — watching the Harvey Weinstein trial — or at least as much of it as I can handle before the prosecution witness testimonies gets so disturbing that I have to switch the channel to something else.

What was allegedly done to some of these girls against their will, and what other girls allegedly allowed to be done in furtherance of their careers is beyond gross.

Takes me back to a time when my career was thus impacted, and I wasn’t an actress, just a secretary.

I was singled out for promotion from secretary to legal secretary, with a huge bump in salary, contingent upon my accepting a transfer to a newly formed legal department, working for an attorney and a deputy attorney, learning on the job while taking certain classes.

With two kids to raise, I saw it as a great opportunity — accepted the transfer, took the classes.

Everything worked out and when time came that my attorney submitted a change in my title and salary to the council, the Director of Personnel (DOP) — who’d always tried to date me and whom I’d refused because he was ugly and disgusting, approached me and indicated he now had leverage. If I didn’t give him what he wanted, he’d make sure I didn’t get the title or salary.

When I reported him, told my attorneys and a member of the council I was close to what DOP had said to me, my attorneys said DOP didn’t have that kind of power. The council member as much as called me a liar with “There’s no way a professional man like him would say something like that”.

While the approval process was going on, DOP would do things like stop in the door to my office, swivel his hips suggestively or roll his tongue around his lips at me. One time he didn’t realize the law clerk was standing on the other side of the file cabinet when he did something disgusting.

“Did you see that?”, I asked her after he’d walked away.

She had a stunned look on her face and replied, “Yes. But if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d have never believed it”.

Still nothing was done about him, as the request for change in title and salary wormed it’s way through the council. The end result being I was granted the title, but not the bump in salary because, as the council member who I looked upon as a friend told me, the decision was made because he, and others on the council, “owed DOP”. He’d done favors for them — hired family members and friends, and he'd asked my title and salary not go through in return. Because the council wanted to please both my boss, who’d submitted the request, and DOP, who'd asked it be denied, is why I was granted the title but not the salary.

I told my boss, who was apologetic because he didn’t believe DOP could or would do it for the reasons I’d stated, that I was disappointed in everyone and, though it might take me months, I’d be seeking employment elsewhere.

I submitted my resume elsewhere, and was hired as a Legal Secretary with a nice bump in salary, in less than two weeks.

Some of the Weinstein accusers walked away from Hollywood, but some allegedly swallowed what happened to them and soldiered on for sake of their careers, while still others allegedly allowed themselves to be humiliated on a continuing basis for jobs in the industry.

I have a hard time with those allegedly allowing and figure the jury will also.

Believe it or not, the end of DOP came about as a result of my leaving.

My attorney was so angry at losing me that he, in what can only be described as locking the barn door after the horse was stolen, hired a private detective to look into my allegations.

The detective tracked me down in at my new job, said it was uncovered that DOP had a pattern of giving jobs to and withholding jobs from other women, contingent upon giving into his demands, and requested a statement from me to bolster the case building against DOP. I’d moved on, was happy with my new job, had put the whole thing behind me, had no interest in what if anything happened to DOP, so politely replied, “They didn’t help me when I needed them, so I’m not helping them”.

I later heard DOP was fired.