Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Okay, Google! What Day is This?

Waking up this morning, thinking today was Thursday, not realizing today is Wednesday until almost noon, I decided that’s how I’m going to have to begin my days from now on — grab the phone and ask Google, especially since I did the same thing last week.
I went ALL DAY last week thinking it was Thursday until, channel surfing that night, I saw RuPaul’s Drag Race was on.
That’s interesting, thought I. Drag Race is usually on Friday. This must be reruns, but this show never gets old or boring, so I’ll watch.
It wasn’t until it got to an episode I’d not seen before, and it was announced to be the final and a new Drag Queen would be announced that I realized OMG today is Friday! … thinking today was Thursday, I almost missed Drag Race!
No more news on the resident who tested positive for Covid but, having not seen either of the maintenance men on the property since the announcement, I’m wondering if the both of them are isolating for however many days it is when you’ve been around someone testing positive.
I saw a strange woman (probably a family member) bringing Head Maintenance Guy’s two boys home, from wherever they were today. The woman was not wearing a mask, the two boys were mask less AND the woman was carrying a newborn.
I have no words for how stupid that seemed to me.
I was heading to the mailbox when I saw them and, since they were heading in the same direction as I, because Head Maintenance Guy’s unit is over the mailbox area, instead of following behind, I took the long way around and, when it got to the point where our paths would cross, I stopped, stayed waaaaaay back and waited until they were off the path and heading up the stairs.
There was a package from Mask Guy in the mailbox — the new blue-black leopard mask he just came up with, and that I just had to have as I thought it would gel well with my leopard leggings.

Not an exact match, but close enough.
I already have Mask Guy’s regular leopard print in my collection and, super nice guy that he is, he sent me a little blinged out air purifier to match.

Even though Twin 1 had said, "He's rich mom", when I told her I felt bad that he was sending me masks for free or not charging me shipping costs, I did not want to take advantage of Mask Guy's generosity and insisted on paying full price for the blue-black mask. Lo and behold he couldn’t help being generous and threw in the purifier for free.
Until a month or so ago, I’d envision Mask Guy as just some kid — a friend of Twin 1 who had a little business. However, seeing his name pop up in an article I ran across, I followed the thread and learned Mask Guy is “an Emmy award winning costume designer who has been designing costumes for over ten years and is one of the most sought-after designers in the business. A former Australian champion athlete he now calls Los Angeles home and with a celebrity client list that includes Cher, Mariah Carey, The Spice Girls, David Lee Roth, Janet Jackson, J-Lo, Natalie Cole and for the last six years Lady Gaga."
"Rich" he is and no wonder his masks are so awesome. Can't wait to see what he comes up with next — hopefully a camo one.

Tuesday, July 28, 2020

Bubble Burst

I’ve been thinking, last few days, how fortunate we are here in this complex/here in this area because, while the world around us is in chaos, we seem to be in a protective little bubble. Every day looks like a regular day in the neighborhood — that is except for that one night when the local strip malls were looted by opportunistic rioters. Fortunate in that we’ve had no protests in the area, no reports of Covid-19 at the market or in the complex.
I have noticed more street type people travelling through the area. Coming from where, I do not know. Going where, I also do not know. And we're having more and more sightings of intruders IN the complex late at night.
So there is THAT.
I can understand why the homeless would choose this property, rather than the adult building next door to crash. Here is safer than sleeping on the streets FOR THEM, safer even than the adult building next door where there are tough guys who might hurt them. The pool area next door is inside a building, while ours is out in the open — easily assessable, I’ve learned, by climbing over areas with fencing isn’t high enough to keep them out, and there’s the shower and jacuzzi. So, I can understand why us and don’t mind, so long as they don’t try to break into the mailboxes or damage cars BUT it’s getting to be not all that safe FOR US because some residents have reported someone knocking on their doors late at night — to gain entry we’re assuming.
I hope everyone knows not to answer the door at night. Heck, I don’t even open my door during daylight hours — without first looking through the kitchen blinds to see who’s knocking. And, ever since as a young woman I woke up to find my landlord standing in my bedroom door, staring at me, I always put security thingies on doors and windows at night.
Apache tells me The Seer phoned him the other night to say a guy was sleeping on her doormat.
“SHE DID WHAT? Why’d she call you? Why didn’t she call her boyfriend (Shadow)?”
“I don’t know. I was wondering myself why she called me. I don’t know what’s going on with that (‘that’ being The Seer and Shadow’s relationship), but I went over and escorted the guy off the premises.”
“YOU DID WHAT? After the way she’s treated you last few years? She doesn’t even talk to me anymore and I’ve not a clue as to why”.
“She treats everyone like that now”, said he.
“All the more reason to have told her to go F herself when she called”, said I.
Apache is just too nice.
At any rate, apart from this property having become a hotel for the homeless, I felt we were fortunate, in a nice cozy bubble — away from it all until management posted a notice to our doors this morning that a resident has tested positive for Covid-19.
The bubble has burst.
We’re in it now.
Of course management can’t violate the individual’s confidentiality — tell us who, where they’ve been in the complex, who here might have come in contact with the resident, but I knew the knower of all things in this complex would know … I called Apache.
It’s a resident on the other side of the complex. A resident Apache says I probably haven’t come in contact with because she doesn’t get out much. Which begs the question — if she didn’t get out much, how’d she catch it? Did someone bring it in to her?
I don’t want to get too confident that our paths have never crossed, but I do know I've been distancing myself from EVERYONE and taking the proper precautions when heading to the dumpster and mail box.
The only time I’m around people is in the market, and I’m careful not to get too close to anyone there as well.
I did run into Younger Sister in the market a while back. Greeting each other at a distance, I learned she’d spent the 4th of July in Los Angeles with family.
She doesn’t drive, so I knew she’d taken a bus or buses to get there, was around others when she got there so, when she got in the checkout lane behind me and, being a little too anxious to put her items on the conveyer belt, stepped in too close, I had no problem saying “You’re getting too close”.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead now because she gave me such a look. LOL. As if I cared and wouldn’t have hesitated to repeat myself more forcibly if she hadn’t moved back to the x-mark.
What is it with people not following the rules and then copping an attitude when confronted?

Thursday, July 23, 2020

The Day After

So another Dooms Day has come and gone. We’re still here ... or are we? Maybe this is all an illusion, a dream or ─ depending on your experience, a nightmare.
At any rate, dream, nightmare or illusion, I did what I normally do, which today was a run to the market.
“I miss seeing lipstick”, said the cashier as I was checking out. “Everyone is wearing a mask”.
Well thank goodness for THAT, thought I. Everyone in the market wear masks and, as far as I know, we’ve had no incidents of a Karen or a Ken causing a ruckus over having to comply with the simple request.
As far as her missing lipstick, I went on to say, “I still wear mine. Even though no one can see it but me. It makes me feel good to know it's there and when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror (at home)”.
“I just do my eyebrows, my eyes and leave everything under the mask alone”, said she.
That’s interesting, thought I. I wonder how many faces I’m looking at are only half done.
Every morning ─ even when I have no plans to leave the unit, I go the full nine yards ─ SPF skin protection, followed by Bobbi Brown repair moisture cream, then Derma Blend cover cream. Then it’s on to applying lipstick, penciling in eyebrows, polishing it all off with Derma Blend setting powder.
I generally do not wear eye makeup, because I don’t see the necessity for it, but I do spritz myself with Estee Lauder Cinnabar perfume after which I’m locked, loaded and ready to seize the day. Which now days consists of moving back/forth from the couch to one room or another. But at least I look good and smell nice doing it. LOL
While at the market, I spied an oddity.

One of these things is not like the other

Did you spot the oddity right away? You'd be surprised how long it took some to find when I posted on facebook.
I almost bought it, just because it was different, but opted to stick with a regular dozen.
Also at the market, my coin purse came in handy, when the bill rang up to $100.04 ─ and if that seems excessive for one person, you’re right ... it is. But that’s the reality when one can no longer lower one’s food costs with simple meals like peanut butter and crackers, or ramen noodles, a tv dinner, can of soup, etc., and instead must purchase healthy ingredients and cook.
At any rate, the casher questioned “You don’t have four cents?” and I was able to say “Why yes, yes I do” as I whipped out my coin purse and gave her four pennies.
My bib number and swag bag for the virtual DC Wonder Woman 5K, which I completed almost a month ago, finally arrived.

Most of the virtual races coming out are offering hair buffs (which I like), but this iconic 5K offered a tote bag, jacket, two wrist wallets and an awesome medal of course.

Back side of the medal is even more awesome than the front.

What a difference a year makes. Last year the DC Wonder Woman Inaugural Race had me staying in a fancy hotel, and having tons of fun at the race site with thousands of other participants. Crowds and cheers and excitement at the finish line. This year it was me, all by myself, alone, trying to avoid Knife Guy and ultimately having to call the cops so I could get TO the finish line (home).

Wednesday, July 22, 2020

Radio Silence

I have friends on facebook that I’ve unfollowed in a way where they can view my activities but, not trusting what they post to be appropriate, their activities do not show up on my page and I forget they’re even there — that is until and unless they leave a comment.
One of these friends is a former coworker I became close to at my last place of employment. Beautiful woman, married to an obnoxious minister, with whom they share a now adult son — who is making a name for himself as a comic. This friend is the one who taught me how to make tamales.
During the last election, she came out guns blazing for No. 45 and took quite a lot of heat for it being as how she herself is Hispanic — which tells you why her posts do not appear on my page.
She’s certainly allowed to her opinion, but I didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to hear it because I like her and was afraid what she was proffering would cause me to lose respect for her. So, it’s been like radio silence as I no longer saw her postings appear on my page, and hadn’t bothered to check her page in ages, though she checked in with me last year to get together for lunch. I would have liked to, but didn't get together because I came down ill the day we were to meet.
Fast forward 1279 days since 45 took office, and all that has occurred since — relating to her culture, i.e., kids in cages, deportations, going after the Dreamers, the Goya controversy, with nothing else to do today, I decided to check her page to see if she now felt differently.
She did not.
Clearly on board for 45 in 2020, she also stands with no masks because “It’s not the government’s job to protect my health. It’s the government’s job to protect my rights. It’s my job to protect my health, and when you trade liberty for safety, you end up losing both”.
As for the pandemic, she didn’t say it wasn’t real — well not exactly. What she said was its God’s judgment for the state of "immorality in our world", i.e. sin. "The line between right and wrong having slowly been erased by society".
Again … she has a right to feel about No. 45 as she does, she also has a right to believe the pandemic does not require her rights being violated by a requirement to wear a mask. Some folks have to learn the hard way — Covid has to touch her or her family for her to get woke. However, she’s crossed a line when preaching about immorality, right, wrong, sin because, when we worked together, while she was married (still is), she was carrying on a relationship with one of the guys in that KKK group that was giving me such a hard time on the job.
Her paramour himself, even though racist, didn’t dislike me. It was just that he was following orders to try to find ammunition to help the CEO get rid of me.
He couldn’t and, like others whom the racist CEO had tasked with getting rid of me, ended up rather liking me — though he tried not to show it to the other klansmen/klan women.
At any rate, what my facebook friend had going on with — let’s call him C, was no secret at the agency, everyone knew of it. One swinging couple, both working at the agency, asked if my friend and C wanted "help" — when my friend and C were headed to a hotel after work. "Help" being a to do an all together thing. My friends response was, "No, we can do it by ourselves". LOL.
And yes, it was that kind of place.
In fact, the wife of that swinging couple threw me a line, evidently hoping to draw me in. She one day asked, “Do you find my husband attractive?”
Having observed her husband on multiple occasions, finding him to be skinny, skin always looking disgustingly greasy — she herself being fat and slovenly, and knowing what I knew of their activities — that they didn’t know I knew; the idea was so abhorrent that my reaction wasn’t what she expected or liked. It was a spontaneous “EWE!”
The stories I could tell of who was doing what with who ON THE PREMISES and where — the Rebuilt Room mostly, but once a janitor walked in and caught an early morning sex act going on in an office between a married secretary and her boss.
How do I know all this?
Innocent bystanders, who happened to see something, just had to say something and chose to confide in me because that’s what people do for some odd reason …. tell me things they can’t or won’t tell anyone else. Maybe people sense I don’t judge — not them if they tell me they themselves are doing something they don’t want others to know, not those who are passing on information about something they saw others do. I don’t judge, plus I do love some good gossip, and know how to keep my mouth shut. LOL.
At any rate, my facebook friend is among those who confided because she knew I wouldn’t judge, and wanted to talk about it — maybe brag. And I didn’t judge until seeing what she’s now posting about immortality, the sins of others — and I’m not judging her for cheating on her minister husband by sleeping with C (her husband was an ass, I didn't like him and it felt good to know she was making a fool of him), but I'm judging for her for being such a HYPOCRITE.
What’s that saying about “People who live in glass houses”?
I never asked her a single thing about what was going on with her and C. She’d just feel the need to enlighten me. Once, for instance, she and I were on the freeway, heading out to lunch. She pointed over to a hotel off in the distance and said, “That’s where C___ and I go”.
I don’t know what this says about me but, you can be a supporter of No. 45 and I’ll still like you, we’re still friends. We can go for coffee, for lunch — just don’t try to discuss your politics with me. You can cheat on your husband, and I’ll still like you, we’re still friends. We can go for coffee, for lunch. But if you’re a hypocrite, you become dead to me.

Monday, July 20, 2020

Nothing to See Here

My life is back to being quiet and uneventful, nothing interesting or entertaining going on ─ and I like it like this.
The latest needlepoint project ─ now 11 months, 1500 hours in, is coming along.

Progress: January - May
Progress: May - July

Other than needlepoint, it’s been cooking ─ which I hate to cook and cleaning ─ which oddly enough I don’t mind at all, probably because cleaning is like exercise, burns a lot of calories.
When I say a lot of calories, I do mean a LOT. For instance, the day I steam cleaned the bathroom, the fitbit tracker logged 3,577 steps, 1.7 miles, 1,348 calories. The day I washed kitchen cabinets, steam cleaned the tile floor, and shampooed the carpet, fitbit logged 2,859 steps, 1.3 miles, 1,274 calories. I even managed to log in 1.5 miles, 3,161 steps, 1,125 calories just grocery shopping. Probably because of walking up and down the stairs to/from the car, unloading, then putting groceries away.
And I need to burn as many extra calories as I can right now because, following the Gut Specialists orders to “Eat gluten free and low Fodmap” I put on a few pounds.
I don’t need a Specialist to charge my plan $1700 for one session and a follow up phone call to gain weight, as I can gain weight all by myself ... for free. Plus, the Specialist tried her hardest to set me up with a Dietician. No telling how much that was going to cost ... and she tried so hard to get me to sign up for it that I began to wonder if she was getting a kickback.
At any rate, after enjoying gluten free eating ─ and I did enjoy it because I was able to eat cereals, pasta, cake, etc., so long as it was gluten free or I myself made it with gluten free flour, but I didn’t enjoy loosening the belt on my fanny pack ─ twice. So I took what seemed logical from what I learned on Fodmap, dropped anything having to do with gluten free, and became my own Dietician ─ with good results, as I’m having no gut episodes of late, slowly coming back down on the weight side and don’t feel hungry all the time which, I learned from the experience, was another offshoot of gluten free eating.
During that last telephone appointment with the Specialist ─ the one wherein she tried to get me to sign up with a Dietician, she indicated she’d check back with me in a few months to see if I was ready to sign up for it. I think she knew following her instructions was going to cause weight gain, resulting in getting more money out of me with a Dietician, but the joke is on her. I’m good now. Don’t need either of them. So, I’ll not accept the telephone appointment.
Speaking of appointments ─ deciding that if the world did not end on the scheduled Dooms Day of Wednesday, July 22nd, that early morning dental appointment on Friday was going to be too much of a hassle. So, I called the dental office and asked that my 7 a.m., with D on the 24th be scheduled to the next available appointment at a more reasonable time of day.
“We don’t show you with an appointment on the 24th and we don’t have a D”.
“That’s impossible. I just scheduled it. This is Dr T’s office is it not?”
“Yes, Dr. T is still here, but your hygienist was M and she’s no longer with us.”
Long story short, after much confusion as to who my hygienist was/is, I did get a rescheduled appointment and a new hygienist, but you can’t imagine how upset I would have been had I pushed myself to get up early and to the dental office by 7 a.m. only to find out I had no appointment.
If I don’t get a card from them verifying the rescheduled appointment, I’ll be sure to call the day before ─ just in case.
Living to 76 years of age, I’ve seen three well-liked hygienist move on with their lives through retirement. I’m surprised Dr. T ─ whom I’ve referred to in the blog as Dr. McDreamy because he’s a silver fox, hasn’t retired. On the other hand, he probably can’t retire because he became a father late in life. He’ll probably have to hang on until his son, now about 15, gets through college.
So along with outliving three hygienists, if the world does not end on Wednesday, I will have also made it through three End of the World predicted Dooms Days.
There’s probably been more, but I only remember one when I was in my early 20’s, another back in 2011 labeled “The Rapture/Day of Judgment” when “the chosen” were to be lifted.
Pranksters got a good laugh out of that one.
Living in Long Beach at the time, where I’d interrupted my retirement to relocate so granddaughter could have a place to live and finish school after her mom ─ deep into her lost period, had gone off the deep end, deserted and left granddaughter on her own. A move I came to deeply regret as granddaughter, instead of blaming her mom, took it out on me ─ spurred on by her mom, unable to accept responsibility for where she found herself in life, would call granddaughter, instill blame for the way she’d screwed her own life on me, furthering granddaughters cruel words and mistreatment. After all I'd been through and was giving up at that time, it was the unkindest cut of all and cut so deep that it broke me emotionally, mentally and darn near financially to where I had no choice but to Let Go and Let God with the both of them in order to survive.
I relocated to where I am now and divorced myself from family for a number of years, until I received an apology from granddaughter through Twin 2. Twin 1 never ever apologized because it’s not in her to do so ─ at least not to me because she sees the past differently than I do. Instead, she invited me to Thanksgiving in 2017. She'd had an awakening of sort, was on a more positive path, and Thanksgiving was her way of mending fences  to go on with life as usual, pretend as though nothing happened. LOL.
At any rate, it had taken years for me to mend, but I felt it was time, give the family thing another go and reconnected to where I now have a decent relationship with granddaughter and her mom. However, it will never be what it could have been had I not had the experiences I had with them. I wish I could forget, but some wounds won’t heal, so I play lip service to it all, play the game, go through the motion of giving a damn, act as a mother should, a grandmother should, but I’m happy all by myself ... alone.
For a minute there, I got so off track that I forgot where I was going with this, which was I was living in Long Beach, out walking that Day of Judgment, and lucked up on the work of a prankster.

"Lifted" right out of his clothes

Now here we are in 2020, with yet another Dooms Day End of the World prediction ─ this one with the caveat of a Second Coming.
I have my own theory about the Second Coming of Christ, which I’ll keep to myself, but I dare say that with all we’ve had to deal with thus far into 2020, and the possibility No. 45 might cheat himself into another win, some of us probably wish this really was the End.
Well, it looks like though I titled this post "Nothing to see here", I ended up saying quite a lot.

Monday, July 13, 2020


List of Closures Effective Immediately

While we were open, I managed to get my hair done but didn’t manage to secure a dental cleaning appointment so crap, crap, crap.
Not to mention this means the Pain Cave is closed again.
It hardly seems fair since the hairdresser and fitness centers were not the problem. It’s all these idiots refusing to mask themselves, having Covid parties, pool parties, drinking in bars, attending No. 45’s events without wearing masks or distancing from other idiots at the events — and maybe just maybe all those protestors in close proximity to each other as well. At any rate, because of whomever, I can’t workout or get my teeth cleaned.
I really don’t think the Pain Cave can survive a second closure, so crap crap crap as I was doing so well.
I’d just graduated from the little ball to the big ball.

My knees are so much stronger that I no longer have to be seated in a chair to work the ropes. I can do them standing and now have sufficient upper body strength to work the ropes correctly.

It just isn’t fair that those of us trying to do things right, must suffer because of the self-privileged few who believe the new normal does not apply to them and those who STILL think this is a hoax.

Sunday, July 12, 2020

Cash for Coins

After avoiding the heat by staying indoors Friday and Saturday, I had to venture out into it this morning, because the battery was too low for a reading on my little blood pressure monitor.
At the drugstore, the clerk asked if I had 4 cents, so she’d not have to give me 96 cents back from a bill, because they were short on change.
I would have liked to have helped them out but, unfortunately, my reply was “I don’t carry coins. All my coins are in jars at home”.
That’s when, what looked to be her supervisor, walked over and said, “If you want to get rid of those coins, we’ll buy them back from you”.

Didn’t sound like much of a buyback for, as she went on to say, “If you sell us $40 in change, we’ll give you back $41. However, it’s a much better offer than when I was last at the bank.

The bank offered no incentive whatsoever. In fact, the bank seemed to make the exchange too much trouble by requiring coins bundled in those little coin wrappers.
At any rate, I’ll hang onto the bulk of my plentiful coins just in case there’s a bidding war. LOL.
In the meantime, I’m going to go old school ─ start carrying a coin purse once again. Instead of tossing coins in jars, I’ll toss into the coin purse and help the stores out with exact purchase price, so they don’t have to depart with what little change they have.
IF the cashiers see my coin purse and asks if I want to exchange for cash, I’ll say “Make me an offer”.
Back at the complex, I saw I had a delivery at the door.
Thinking it was a pre-ordered book I’d been waiting for (not any of the new books about No. 45), I took it inside. Upon opening, I saw a shower curtain.
WHAT? I didn’t order this.
Checking the label, I saw it had been left at the wrong door ─ should have been delivered to the same address as mine, but in the F Building on the other side of the complex.
I wrote a note of apology ─ for having opened it ... because I thought it was mine, on the package, and back out into the heat I go to deliver to the correct door.
No one was home, so I left it at the door hoping the recipient isn’t a nut and my good deed doesn't end up biting me in the butt, because you just never know.
I once opened a file cabinet at the law firm and there, on the bottom was a credit card. I uttered out loud to my coworker, “There’s a credit card in here”.
When I read the name on it, she knew that as a temp who’d sat in that area, was still working jobs in the firm and said she’d give her a call to come pick it up.
When the girl came to pick it up, she gave me a look that would kill. She never said a word, but the way she looked at her credit card, then looked up at me, walked away, looked back at me, spoke volumes.
I told my coworker, “She thinks I stole it”.
Made no sense, but there you have it ─ ignorant people or people with mental issues that just don’t see things logically.
If I knew then, what I know now, upon finding that credit card, I’d have never said a word. Instead, I’d have run it through the shredder and gone about my business because that episode tainted me. It's still in me to do the right thing, but I try to be anonymous and always there's that worry it will somehow come back to bite me in the butt.
There was a thing on the news a couple years back, when a good guy found a cell phone and managed to contact the owner. The owner showed up to retrieve, accused the good guy of having stolen the phone and shot him dead.
I didn’t add my name to the apology for opening on the package, but the resident will know it was me because they had one of those little home spy cams set up in the window by the door.
Very creepy that. I just hope they’re okay people.
(Thanks Jan F. I’ve seen that one, and she’s still full of it.)

Friday, July 10, 2020

See Something Say Something

Just before the pandemic hit, we had a Community meeting wherein management passed out flyers instructing us to “See Something Say Something”.
I myself have been around the block a time or two or three and don’t fall for everything presented to me. But it’s interesting to see others continually fall into obvious traps of people saying one thing, meaning another or just paying lip service for one reason or another.
Like years ago, when I worked for a Big High Mucky Muck ─ a political appointee to a legal position, and he asked staff to set up appointments, tell me how you feel about my leadership.
The fools that fell into that trap ended up being handed their walking papers because, instead of the praise Big High Mucky Muck was expecting, he got realness.
And, of course, Big High Mucky Muck came up with a reason why those realists were fired, saying it had nothing to do with having shared their unflattering opinions.
No one believed his justification, but what could anyone do except learn from the experience of others.
There’s some advertisement running on television right now about how some are probably afraid to get Covid-19 tested because they may be illegals and are afraid the government will come after them later. The ad is telling those people they are safe, their information won’t be disclosed, the government won’t get involved.
I laugh every time I see that ad because, of course, the government will at some point get involved. Sooner or later, ICE will suddenly appear and deport the ones who fell for it.
Bring it all back into the here and now, I didn’t give management’s “See Something Say Something” disingenuous campaign a moment’s notice because of the multiple times Apache had seen something, said something, and ended up getting cease and desist letters from management’s lawyers and threats of eviction.
Okay, but others have to experience it for themselves and Apache, having experienced it, just never gives up.
Which brings me to trespassers being spotted in the locked up tight pool area.
And when I say locked up tight, I mean both gates are padlocked with the jacuzzi taped off.

Yet and still the word seems to be out amongst the homeless community that our pool area is open for service ─ their Club Med.
Trespassers have been spotted swimming in the pool, using the pool’s shower, and, one night, Apache spotted a trespasser AND his dog in the jacuzzi.
Is that even safe for a dog? Can they not get overheated?
At any rate, we can’t figure out how they manage to get inside the padlocked gates ─ with a dog no less.
Apache being fearless, has been checking the area regularly and chasing trespassers off.
When Apache followed the “See Something Say Something” ─ informed Assistant Community Manager of trespassers, Assistant Community Manager told him “You have no authority to say who and who cannot be on the property”.
Like I said, he never gives up. Mainly because he enjoys the fight.
When another resident approached Assistant Community Manager to say a trespasser was currently in the locked down area, she told him “I’m off the clock. Call the police”.
I’m finding the whole thing hilarious, especially since Assistant Community Manager AND Head Maintenance Guy live in units overlooking the pool. There is no way they can miss what’s going on, they just choose to ignore it.
So long as trespassers are not breaking into cars or attempting entry into our living quarters, I myself don’t have a problem with trespassers enjoying areas we ourselves cannot and won’t ever use again ... if we’re smart.
On another note, Twin 1’s latest article was published. It wasn’t the big spread I’d expected, just a little larger blurb than the one Marie Claire published last year and, because it was just a little larger and focused on what she liked about herself, there was not the opportunity to vilify me this time around.
After reading the article and browsing other bleeding heart type sentiments Twin 1 was spouting as to how she feels about the Skid Row community, a smile came over me and I heard my inner self say to myself, “She’s full of sh!t”, which made me laugh out loud.
I do love my baby (5 minutes older than her twin) and want the best for her. In fact, many moons ago, when she was in her lost period, I recall ... she probably won’t, having wrapped her in a bear hug and saying, “You’re my baby. I’m always going to love you.”
But that doesn’t mean I always like her or want to be around her.
My poor baby. She means well, but really is full of it.

Saturday, July 4, 2020

Happy Birthday America

Though fireworks are illegal in this area, some unknown someones have been celebrating the 4th since early June with fireworks that whistle, some that sound like gunshots and others that sound like exploding bombs.
Last year’s fireworks actually set off a fire that burned half the side of the mountain where the famous Castaway Hill Top restaurant was located. That restaurant is no longer there, nothing to do with the fire, and the facility was turned into another restaurant ─ Hilltop, which now appears to be going under because of the pandemic.
So desperate for business is Hilltop that flyers were recently posted to our doors offering us seniors FREE meals delivered to our doors. Not just free delivery, but free meals.
I didn’t believe it. Must have been a typo or some sort of trick, as I didn’t see how that would work to their advantage.
It looked like the seniors were going to be able to BBQ in the patio area today as management, in one of its previous notices, said that area was open. However, on Wednesday, a notice was posted which reversed the previous notice. LOL. Everything inside the office area is back to being closed and, even though the BBQ grill is outside, management is now saying “at this time, the Barbeque area is closed and may not be used at anytime”.
This is nitpicking but that “anytime” should have been “any time”.
Further nitpicking is how many typos can be made in such a small blurb.

Do the office computers not have spellcheck?
On Thursday, Apache happened to be walking by the Pain Cave, while I was working out, saw my car in the parking lot and stopped in to let me know the seniors will, nevertheless, be having a barbeque today.
“How ... when the BBQ area is off limit?” asked I.
“Out front”, replied he.
Good for the seniors ... I guess ─ to have come up with a workaround, but I won’t be there. I don’t want to needlessly be around a lot of people, which is why I can’t understand what these people who caused the recent virus upsurge were thinking that they just had to hang out in bars and have meals in restaurants. Why couldn’t they drink at home, cook their own meals or order in?
After all is said and done, if management somehow finds out about the out front barbeque, there’s going to be hell to pay. Not because there’s anything wrong with the seniors finding a way to do their own thing, but because Apache is involved and management has it out for him.
It's the ole "by any means necessary" plan of attack. Management will manufacture a reason why something was wrong with it, as they did with Apache's posting to MY residents' facebook page, put the lawyers on him again, threaten him with eviction.
Apache, in return, will point out valid reasons why management does not have the authority to do this that the other, say this that the other, laugh at them and keep on keeping on.
It's an entertaining dance they all do.
Speaking of reversals, Trainer and his partner kissed and made up. Well, not so much as kissed and made up as it was Partner purchased forgiveness by offering Trainer an offer Trainer couldn’t resist ─ a revised partnership agreement to Trainer’s financial advantage.
Though I’d have followed Trainer to wherever, I’m relieved because the current location is just so convenient.

Thursday, July 2, 2020

Oops, I Did It Again

It’s taken me a few days to get around to posting. I was experiencing an energy drain for a few days, which worried me because I empath and knew I was picking up someone else’s feelings. That energy drain, coupled with so much on my mind ─ due to recent blogged about happenings, had my mind so cluttered that I’d been unable to clear my head sufficiently to come up with a cogent post until now.
Granddaughter’s Sunday wedding went off without a hitch. Though my droll sense of humor kicked in later and I did think to myself how awful it would have been for granddaughter, had the incident with Knife Guy gone sideways, for her grandma to have been murdered on her wedding day by some homeless street person. Especially so, since granddaughter’s mom devotes herself to serving the homeless community.
Such irony that would have been.
I viewed the wedding on Instagram. It was short, very sweet (the groom cried), wacky ─ like something one would see in the 70’s at Woodstock, and reminded me very much of a Church of What’s Happening Now segment from that old Flip Wilson show.
But that’s granddaughter. She has a very 70’s flowerchild vibe and, judging from the groom’s wild outfit, he’s right there with her.

Twin 1 has another magazine spread coming up. Not sure of the magazine, because I only saw a blurb about it, which blurb she quickly removed because she’s not supposed to advertise it before the magazine comes out, but I think it’s in Marie Claire, and will be the second time in that magazine. The first was just a blurb last year. This one I believe is a spread.
Can’t wait to see how I’m portrayed in this one. LOL.
Not that I’m worried about how I’m portrayed. I’m more worried about HER because, during the days I spent clearing my head, it came to me that Twin 1’s version of the past has nothing to do with me, more so that she carries a lot of guilt, is clearing up most of that guilt (her Akashic Record) by serving others, while the rest is too heavy for her to carry, so she projects it as having had a difficult relationship with me. Not to mention she's somewhat losing focus in this clearing process because of the accolades.
She’s doing a tremendous job serving the Skid Row community, but she’s getting so much press and television coverage, hundreds of thousands of followers, so much adulation from all over the world that she has no time to think, her vision is cloudy. She's too busy, too distracted by all the hoopla, forgetting to stay humble, centered, reflective.
So there’s that.
I’d planned to spend this upcoming weekend trying my hand at baking a gluten free Artisan Style Loaf.
To that end, I had to purchase brown rice flour online and, Oops, I did it again.
Believing I’d ordered a unit of one 1-pound bag, I ended up with four 1-pound bags.

Thank goodness I didn’t make the mistake of ordering a unit of 2 ─ like I did with the grits.
Doesn’t anyone sell single unit sizes any longer?
There is not the space in my unit for the post pandemic now supersized items being sold. Giant rolls of toilet paper will get used ... eventually. Giant rolls of paper towels will get used ... eventually, four pounds of  brown rice flour … not so much. So, your guess is as good as mine as to what to do with it, since I’m not a business.
There is, however, a recipe for brownies of the back of the packages. So …..