Family, Ugh!

No problem returning that cursed object — the vlogging kit. I just walked into the store yesterday, headed for the return counter and, with no line, which was unexpected because there usually is, I walked straight up to the counter said, “I do not like it” and that was that.

No questions asked.

Headed back to the complex, I passed the Cat House — and I don’t mean a cattery, where cats are housed, I mean the other kind of Cat House. The type of entertainment venue that Church Lady would be disapproving of.

As I was passing, I caught sight of wording on their sign that intrigued, so I turned around, drove through the parking lot, to get a photo.

Back in ’92, when folks were rioting because the thug cops who tried to beat Rodney King to death were acquitted of all charges, King came forward and uttered those iconic words, “Can’t we all just get along”.

The cat house bastardized those words into a sign that was quite clever.

Can’t We All Just Get ABong

Those of us who came through the hippie flower child era (not a participant on my part, just a witness, an observer) will instantly realize the cat house is not talking about “bong” as in a sound/a bell, but more in terms of slang language for a device connected to a particular herb.

Something special must have been going on at the cat house, because it was noon, on a weekday, and the parking lot was full.

When I pulled over to a side area to get that photo, I wasn’t able to get the clear photo I wanted, because a limo pulled up nose to nose to my little jeep, making me feel pressured to hurry up and get off the lot — which I did.

Since I was out and about, I would have liked to have run other errands but, inasmuch as this morning's workout is my last until Wednesday, I have plenty of days between then and now to take care of business and decided to only stop by the non-security guard market for a few supplies.

While there, I got into a hilarious conversation with the kid bagging groceries.

Complimenting me on my rainbow mask, he began telling me how the way it glistened and gleamed would ward vampires off.

Vampire Killing Mask

Playing along, I reminded him that vampires only come out at night and my mask is not glow in the dark.

"Yes, but you can shine a flashlight on it and the glow would spread out like sunlight and disintegrate them", said he.

Laughing out loud, I replied, "You’ve been watching waaaay too much sci-fi", whereupon the young man in line behind me started laughing so hard that the laugh caught in his throat and he began coughing.

Been there done that, but on him it was not good, because he was not wearing a mask and standing too close — something I was not even aware of until he began laughing/coughing or I’d have asked him to give me my six feet.

I did enjoy the banter with the bagger, but I have to remember, at all times, we’re in a pandemic, to remain focused on my surroundings, protect my space.

As for why no training until Wednesday, it’s because Trainer is taking Monday off to deal with further daughter drama. He wanted me to go beast mode again — Tuesday and Wednesday, but I told him that back-to-back workout days seem to aggravate the old rotator injury, too much stress on that shoulder.

Of course, he gave me grief at skipping a workout for fear of an injury. Saying, “Oh sure, but you don’t mind injuring yourself doing TikTok dances”.

I had to laugh because it’s true. The latest TikTok injury being my right hip, but nothing that a few days of Epsom salt in my bath water didn't handle.

At any rate, Trainer’s daughter, just like my middle grandson (and to some degree his brothers) are like the bane of existence that, for some cosmic reason, the Universe has seen fit to put one such bane in every family.

In commiserating with Trainer about the destruction his daughter is bringing to his life, using my own situation (past and present) as an example of how to survive, I told Trainer that sometimes you have to save yourself by letting go — which pretty much is what he’s going to have to end up doing with his daughter, close the book, let go and let God. She'll either sink or swim.

I don't know if I've already said, but after yet another try at a money grab, even though I'd blocked the boys on my phone, I had to rat the grandsons out to their mom.

That's right, I tattled.

I asked her to have a talk with them about how I live on a fixed income that has to last until my time here is done, and that if I squander my income away funding their lifestyles, when they are young, healthy, perfectly capable of working as many jobs as necessary to make ends meet, I very well may end up having to later supplement my income as an old lady working as a Walmart Greeter.

When I told Trainer this is how I resolved the issue just last week, Trainer looked thoughtful, nodded in the affirmative, as though he agreed with what I'd said, then offered, “You don’t HAVE to end up a Walmart greeter”.

"What do you mean?"

"You can be nice to that Security Guard. He has a job, a nice truck, and would work overtime if you asked him to".

ROFLMAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!