So Far So Lucky

Yesterday's double yolk day started off with a 9:45 call from the dental office asking if I could move my 2:00 up to 10:30.

I was to be in the Pain Cave at 11:00, and I wouldn’t have liked to miss a session EXCEPT my upper arms were still sore from Monday’s workout.

I wasn’t going to tell Trainer my arms were sore. I’d planned to just tough out whatever it was he threw at me that morning, but here I had an opportunity to let the arms rest until Friday.

What to do, what to do?

I messaged Trainer that the dentist had moved my appointment up, I’d see him Friday.

Thank you double egg yolks.

I’m happy with everything about this new dental office.

Whereas, everything this office has done, from start to finish, feels right, everything the other dentist did, from start to finish — except the dental hygienist, felt wrong to the point where, while work was being done, the voice in my head began to express worry, saying, "I hope this guy knows what he’s doing".

In addition to an impressive comprehensive new client questionnaire the new dental office had transmitted for me to fill out before that first visit — a detailed medical history like a hospital doctor would require, to know what ailments you now have, what you’re allergic to so they won’t give patients the wrong dose of what they use to treat or too much or too little. They even took my blood pressure that first 2nd Opinion visit (145/??). Took it again before they started yesterday’s procedure. Luckily (maybe the double egg yolks at work), it was a decent read — 135/69.

After the dentist, I stopped at a gas station for $5.98 a gallon gas and to play the lottery.

Too soon to know whether the double egg yolks brought me luck, if my tickets pay off, but it was sure lucky for one young man.

He walked into the station to use the ATM, and was told "It’s out of order".

"How much can I get on a cash back?" he asked.

I'm not sure, but I think what that means is he was asking if he purchased something, how much over the amount of the item could he get back in cash.

"Ten dollars" said the clerk.

"Can I do double?" asked the young man.

"No".

At that point, I was done with my transaction, headed out to gas up the car.

While at the pump, I saw him exit, look around, zero in on me, begin to walk towards me.

He presented well, as a nice clean cut young brother. The pump hose was positioned between he and I, but I nevertheless backed away as he approached.

He stopped and stood a respectful distance away, said "Excuse me Miss. I’m trying to get to …"

I didn’t really catch what else he was saying until he got to "Can you help me out?"

As I began to reach into my fanny pack, pull out money to help him out, I said "Don’t come any closer".

"I’ll stand right here" said he.

After I reached over the hose to give him enough for a few gallons of gas, he thanked me, went inside to pay, and was pumping gas as I headed away.

So, it was a lucky day for that young man that I was in the right place, at the right time.

On another topic — did you happen to see the clip of Will Smith that's come to light because of the lame excuse he gave for assaulting Chris — that "G.I. Jane" was such a terrible dis of Jada when he's heard far worse things said about her. 

The clip is from the old Arsenio Hall Show and shows him mocking the bassist on the show's band for being bald. WS looked over at the bassist, said to the audience "Like, he has a rule – the bass player? He's got a rule: He's gotta wax his head every day. That's a rule."

WS is no comedienne so, after an awkward uncomfortable laugh from the audience, he said "Ah these are jokes, come on."

G.I. Jane was also a joke, from a comedienne, aimed at a couple he knew and had joked about previously. Nothing to do with alopecia.

If and when the Academy stops dicking around and decides on consequences for WS, I hope it’s serious consequences, not some "slap" on the wrist.

Since the Academy is now saying he was "asked" to leave and refused (they should have tased his butt and dragged him out), I for one would like to see his Oscar taken away.

Double Yolk Day

Seeing double egg yolks hit the pan this morning made me feel a lot better about today’s dental procedure because of a dream I’d had two nights ago. Actually, a nightmare.

In the dream, I was in the dentist’s chair. He turned on the drill, made a movement towards my mouth to remove the broken cap BUT he’d not numbed the area.

I said "Stop! You’re not going to numb me?" Whereupon the dentist said, "If you want. Sure, we can do that".

I said, "I’m not doing this", got out of the chair and began to walk out.

No way, after that misstep, was he going to work on me.

As I was exiting, the receptionist called out that I’d still have to pay for the time I’d taken up that day.

I refused and called the cops — because I wanted a record of the call to protect myself from their calling the cops after I’d left to say I’d done so without paying.

Then as I was leaving, I told the receptionist I’d see them in court if they later tried to bill me, and that I was going to put them on Yelp blast for what the dentist had tried to do.

My Dream Interpretation book is in storage, so I can’t easily research what that dream really means. It may just be that, after how that last dentist played me — and the area he worked on still feeling like he went too far into the tooth, I’m a bit traumatized, fearful even of future dental visits.

At any rate, the double egg yolks are comforting, a sign this is going to be a good day, a lucky day.

I’ll be sure to play the lottery before the day ends.

In other news, my friend Q got his 4th Pfizer already.

Q is only in his early 50’s and I didn’t even know a second booster has been approved. Last I’d heard, a 4th shot was being discussed as a possibility.

Oh well, I guess this is my life now — dental visits and covid vaccinations.

Winter Storm

Woke up this morning to a Winter Storm Warning. Problem with that is …… it’s Spring.

A rainy day on a Monday? Where’s the justice in that.

Heading to the Pain Cave, carrying an umbrella and wearing rain boots, I managed to make it there and back before it got too bad out there.

Trainer has a new client that comes in as I’m leaving. I don’t know how she found him — probably someone referred him, but she just moved into a nice area a few cities over and moved there from Beverly Hills.

That’s a HUGE change — from the land of Gucci, Prada, Versace, Chanel to a somewhat nice area and then to here to train.

She’s feeling the change because she’s never seen a homeless person before.

Seriously.

I believe it, because you can bet there are no homeless allowed in Beverly Hills.

They frighten her. She’s so nervous, so afraid of being attacked that Trainer had me reassure her the homeless have never approached, harassed or been a danger to me — a female client. I said that it’s smart to nevertheless stay alert to your surroundings when entering/exiting the car and, in the last analysis, not to worry because we have Trainer looking out for us.

Trainer is such a nice guy that once, seeing a homeless female out in the rain, he gave her a jacket from his truck, bought her food. He used to save cans for another homeless dude that frequented the area but is no longer around.

When he comes across those that don’t act right, he talks to them calmly, tells them he’d appreciate they’d not hang around his business. They seem to appreciate being talked to like the human they are underneath the down and destitute appearance they present. They also see Trainer’s gangster looking tattoos, can see from the equipment that Trainer is a trained fighter, and they comply.

The homeless respect him and, rather than harass Trainer’s clients, the homeless guys look out for his business. Like the time I blogged about how they warned him when a homeless lady began setting a fire, to warm herself, too close to his business.

At any rate, I don’t think Ms. Beverly Hills can overcome her fear.

Will be interesting to see how long before she stops coming.

Still no sign of my buddy Apache, but The Baker said he texted her last week, so I guess he’s okay.

Other news is the woman described in the blog as "The Little Helpful Lady" — because she was so helpful when we had activities … helping to set up, clean up, making birthday cakes finally moved out on Sunday.

I say finally because she didn’t want to go, dragged her heels and delayed as long as she could.

Living here almost from when the building first went up, some 20 years or so ago, Apache told me two/three months ago, when he was here helping her pack, that she was being forced by relatives to move in with them and she didn’t want to go.

Supposedly moving in with her son and his family, for her own best interest, because she’d fallen three times in her unit, injured herself.

You’d think that to be a good thing for her — to move in with relatives, but her issue was about losing her independence, "I’ll have to do what they want me to do".

I’ve seen it happen a few times that when one of our seniors loses their independence, move in with relatives and don't want to, they go down quickly — depressed, demoralized, don’t last long.

I had suggested he tell her to get a caregiver.

"That’s the thing" said he. "Her son IS her caregiver. He gets paid by the State to take care of her".

Ah Ha, the plot thickens, thought I. It’s all about the money the son has been collecting for caregiving when, actually, he wasn’t caregiving at all — she was living alone, caring for herself, letting the son receive extra income on a pretext of being her caregiver.

The accidents must have been bringing attention to the fraud, and he didn’t want to lose that source of income, so he pushed her to move in.

Hope it works out for her. That she doesn’t regret getting herself a real caregiver, continue to live where she was happy.

The slap seen around the world made it to Court TV this afternoon.

I just watched a discussion between the commentator and a lawyer. It was said Will Smith can be charged whether Chris Rock presses charges or not because it’s on video and so many saw it.

I saw it.

I’d be glad to sign on as a complaining party, a witness. Citizen's arrest maybe.

There was also a discussion as to the Academy’s responsibility. That security should have immediately escorted WS out of the venue.

I agree.

After being escorted out, they could have mailed his Oscar to him.

But, in all fairness, Production was probably in shock, as were we all.

It was a situation no one had ever seen before or could have anticipated.

I don’t expect anything like that to ever happen again but, if it does, Production will be ready with a plan.

Moving Right Along

Looks like the 2nd Opinion Dental Office is going to work out.

There is work to be done, but nowhere near as serious or as extensive as Dr. C had intimated.

Inasmuch as I take care of my teeth, practice all the recommended care, I don’t see why any work at all should be, but I guess it’s another annoying aspect of the aging process. Stomach gases bombarding my teeth, as a result of my gut issues, isn’t helping.

The young man taking x-rays — a cross between SNL’s Pete Davidson and the Jesse Pinkman character from Breaking Bad, who I connected with, said that at seventy-eight I was lucky to still have all my teeth, even my wisdoms. That clients younger than I were coming in with few teeth remaining.

I don’t know, but I tell you this — if I’d not been told years ago by my Shaman that, "You’re not gonna like this, but you’re going to live a very long time", and a Palm Reader had not later pretty much read the same — a long life, I’d not put myself through further dental procedures.

I’d always planned to be gone by age 35, wanted to be gone by then but, since the Universe felt differently, I’m still here, seemed destined to be here far longer than I’d like, then I’m going to make the best of it. Take care of myself so I can enjoy what remains of the ride.

At any rate, the 2nd Opinion Dentist approved the work Dr. C did, said metal does need to be replaced but is not a priority so long as it’s not leaking. As for that area I was concerned with, the area Dr. C and his assistant pushed so hard for me to schedule because he saw decay and a possible root canal in the future, this dentist saw only that crown was cracked and needed to be recast.

That recasting is scheduled for next week, at close to $500 less than Dr. C had priced.

Debra, at She Who Seeks, will appreciate how the dental office is decorated for Easter.

BTW, the new dental office is two blocks away from Dr. C’s office. I had to actually drive right past his office, past Captain Jack’s cat house — which means I can continue to see what words of wisdom Captain Jack has posted for the world.

When I was in the area on the 24th, this is what the Captain had to offer.

When I say "cat house", I don’t mean a cattery, where cats are boarded. I mean the other kind of Cat House. The type of entertainment venue that our resident Church Lady would be disapproving of.

No sign of the Karen this morning, but the Talker is looking less stressed these days, so things must be better. Except, Talker is now walking with a cane.

It's amazing how quickly residents go down once moving in here, from staying indoors all the time and/or lack of activities I suppose.

Talker was working out on an indoor bike, until the Karen complained she could hear noise from the bike, that it aggravated her, so Talker stopped with that activity.

I'd have put a bike floor pad underneath it and kept riding on.

Stockholm Syndrome

I was almost late to this morning's dental appointment because, as I was just about to leave, I looked over and saw Karen out in the wild again.

She was once again picking up olives fallen from the tree, then she chased a cat.

Oh No, thought I. She's going to be like bird man — who hoarded birds in his unit, only Karen would one day be found to be hoarding cats.

However, when I saw her lure the cat with olives, grab it and take inside, all of a sudden the lightbulb came on … it’s the same cat … HER cat, not a feral.

Looks like I owe Karen an apology AND it’s a good thing SPCA was non responsive.

In defense of myself, however, with all the crazy I know for a fact she’s done, it was logical to conclude the cat I’d seen her chase was feral — especially since household pet cats are not allowed outside.

With all the discussions us residents have had about Karen’s behaviors, no one ever said she had a cat and, far as I know, this dance of letting it out while she picks up olives, is new behavior.

I’ll have to check with the others on that.

I will say I’m impressed.

Cats are known to be independent. Karen has somehow trained her cat not to take off running when she lets it out AND to stay in a contained area.

Though the cat does resist and runs from her, as it did the other day and this morning, Karen eventually catches it with the lure of a treat.

At any rate, I headed out too late to take the scenic route to the dentist’s office, had to hop on the freeway, but I arrived on time.

Shades of Stockholm Syndrome, I felt Dr. C growing on me.

Doesn’t mean I’ll trust him, let him work on me again, but even though I’m unsure of his work and feel he played me for a fool, I felt comfortable and kinda liked the chairside manner he displayed today.

Of course, at the end of the procedure, discussion ensued as to another crown AND six or seven fillings — remove the metal, replace with what’s new.

Lying through my teeth (do you see what I did there?) I said, "You’re new to me. This is a test. I want to wait, see how this work goes".

He said, "Sure. I’m not going to push you".

But then his assistant takes over and says, "So when can we schedule?", like she didn't just hear what I said.

She goes on with "The doctor will be gone for a week, but we can go out two or three weeks. How does that sound?".

Sounds like bull crap, thought I, but repeated, "I want to wait" yada yada.

"Sure, that is your right. Do you want us to call you in two or three weeks?"

"No. I’ll call you".

"Don’t wait too long. Don’t wait until things start to hurt" and then she began telling me frightening things that could happen if I wait too long.

To be honest, I almost folded, let her schedule me, but held out for no and don’t call me, I’ll call you.

I’ve been researching dentists all week, had a list of ones to check out, including the dental school as suggested by commenter Drum Major. Checking Yelp reviews, nothing was making me feel hopeful.

Once back at the complex, I decided what I really needed was a 2nd opinion, because the area Dr. C indicated is an old crown with decay underneath, is actually an area that bothers me a little.

He may actually be right.

Researching 2nd Opinions, I landed on a dental office that I figured would do for just an x-ray and tell me what you see.

So, today ends with my having an appointment there tomorrow, after the Pain Cave.

Just to make sure that dental office is legit, I checked them out on Yelp.

They have such outstanding reviews that, if all goes well, even if all doesn’t go well and I need further work, I’ll probably sign on with them as my new dental office.

We'll see.

Bird Man hasn't been thought about or discussed in the blog since around 2015 when, after two years of trying, management finally evicted him. So, for new readers, I'll give you a brief rundown on Bird Man.

A random Inspection of all units turned up a unit that had been turned into an aviary — live uncaged birds, freely flying about, nesting, pooping.

In addition, management discovered Bird Man had also turned his car garage into an aviary.

Birdman was given the option to get rid of the birds or be evicted.

Birdman chose to fight.

The matter went to court, where he was once again given the choice of the birds or his unit.

He chose the birds, put what birds he could handle in cages, took them with him to live in a nearby park.

So, NOW, he puts them in cages. Never would have been a problem in the first place had he’d kept his birds in cages rather than turn his unit into an aviary, thought I at the time.

When maintenance went to evaluate the damage, they said there were at least 100 birds remaining. "We just opened the door and let ‘em fly out". Same with the garage — the guys unlocked the door and let them out.

The guys found bird nests in the towel racks and feathers stuck behind the light fixtures.

Going, Going, Gone

The case of the missing clothing has been solved.

The items did not fall through a portal, back of the closet into another dimension. They were simply stuck in clutter.

Except for two tops, that had seen better days, and a pair of worn thin leggings and a few tops — never worn, tags still on, I didn’t get rid of much.

The better days items went to the dumpster, those with tags still on are going to Twin 2.

Items not worn in years, just taking up space, but which I want to hold onto for the time being, are now out of the way, stored in clear containers — like the skirts and blazers I’ve not worn since 2017.

What’s remains in the closet is athletic wear, because that’s all I wear these days — leggings and tops.

Marie Kondo, the maven of organization, suggests "Organize clothes by category, putting the same items all together in one area", which is pretty much what I did — right to left starting with black tops with designs on the front, brightly colored plain tops, black short sleeve tops, sleep tops, black no sleeve tops, leggings, jackets.

While organizing the closet, I even found that blood pressure monitor that went missing in November.

How it went from the front room, ended up in the bedroom closet, on a top shelf pushed behind a three-hold punch, is a mystery — maybe it levitated on its own; but now I have two because, unable to find it, I’d purchased another.

If all goes as planned, next to go is the dentist. The permanent crown gets placed on tomorrow and then I’m moving on to a dentist I can trust — one that won’t cheat me, lie to me in order to meet his quota or pay off his student loans.

Judging by the negative reviews popping up on Yelp, I'm not the first to go since the staff changes and probably won't be the last.

Reviewer 1: "I have been a patient for 12 years, I'm aware with Covid some employees didn't return back, but the new employees are not nice, very poor bed side manner, especially Carolina the X-ray tech. You can honestly tell she hates her job. The moral over all has changed in the office I'm deeply saddened, my kids have grown up here and are so comfortable. but I think it's time to look else where!"

Reviewer 2: "This is an update from my review a couple years ago. During COVID the true colors of this company came out. They have a terrible business ethic and have zero disregard for their patients. They have mislead many of their patients during COVID after they laid off all their senior hygienists and dentists. If you love your teeth and your health do not go to this office. All they care about is money and not the patient".

I, myself, have no complaints about the new staff, including the X-Ray Tech. It’s just that I don’t trust either of the two new dentists.

I can’t imagine what a shock it must be to my long-time dentist McDreamy (named thusly because of his handsome face, blue eyes, silver grey hair) that he, and his team, have been "laid off" from a practice they caused to thrive. In fact, McDreamy was credited with being one of the three best dentists in the area.

It probably won't hurt this new team much that us long-timers are leaving, because there’s a sucker born every minute — newcomers won't know what they're doing isn't in the client's interest, but born of greed.

I’m just sorry I let Dr. C sucker me into work I’m not even now sure needed to be done at the hefty cost of $2,974.40!, work that I’m also not sure he’s done correctly or that might cause a future problem where none needed to be.

The good news is, it's the last money he'll get out of me.

Thinking I was boo boo the fool, he laid out a plan for more exorbitant "needed" work and will probably tomorrow be asking about when I plan to schedule that work.

I'll lie to him, like he's lied to me.

Tell him I want to wait, see how the work he's done turns out.

Shake, Rattle, Roll

You haven’t lived until you’ve been awakened at 3:30 in the morning by an earthquake.

I was deep into rem sleep when all of a sudden I was jolted awake by a loud sound, followed by what felt like the building being lifted off the ground and then dropped.

Living my whole life in California, never travelling elsewhere — except for vacationing once in Hawaii, I instantly knew it was an earthquake, grabbed the phone, checked news and learned it was a 3.4 centered two cities over.

The strongest I’ve experienced was the 6.7 Northridge Quake, back in ’94. That one shook, rattled, rolled for an extended period and had aftershocks that equated to a 3.4.

So, a 3.4 is normally child’s play, one might not even notice it. What made this one noticeable is that, instead of a mild shake, rattle, roll, it was one quick loud sound then THUD! The bed bounced.

No problem falling back asleep and, once up and at it three hours later, I found nothing disturbed.

Our building, being along the fault line, wasn't built on rollers. But thus far, the only earthquake damage I’ve observed — in my ten years of living here, is a crack along the ceiling of the Community Room.

I’ll take our earthquakes over a tornado, so it’s all good.

Today is my day off. I’ve no place I must be, nothing I must do. So, though I’ll be hibernating, I won’t be idle as there’s a situation in the bedroom closet — when I want to wear a certain item, I can’t find it, its gone missing. 

Twice in the last week, it's been an item I'd worn just a day or so before and now I can't find it.

It’s either that the closet is an entry way into Nardia, some of my items are falling into that dimension OR there’s too much of the same or similar item on the rod, making it difficult to find what I’m looking for.

I need to make some decisions about items I can’t let go of, items I rarely wear, items that I’ve never worn — still have the tags on, and items I favor for frequent wear.

So Much for See Something Say Something

Evidently, the national "If You See Something, Say Something" campaign, designed to encourage the public to report suspicious activity, is for show. Not to be taken seriously.

I called the County SPCA and was transferred to the City's SPCA.

The City's SPCA said, "Let me transfer you".

That next person answered the phone, "Police Department".

"POLICE DEPARTMENT?!!!", said I. "I was just trying to request the SPCA do a welfare check on a cat".

"We do that" said the woman on the line.

However, they only do that if the caller actually sees abuse.

Let me see if I understand this correctly … they will knock on Talker’s door 10:30 at night in response to Karen saying, "I’m sick, I need peace and quiet. They’re stomping on the floor", but they won’t do a welfare check to make sure a crazy Karen is not harming a living creature.

And btw, judging by how Karen appeared in the videos, she isn’t as sick as she purports to be. Plus, she is no longer availing herself of a caregiver ... for unknown reasons.

At any rate, I guess I did understand correctly because I was told that, unless and until I actually see Karen harming the cat, there’s nothing to be done.

No response to the email notifying management of my intent to contact SPCA, but I saw something, said something and if Karen is later found to have done something bad to the cat, it's on those notified for not handling her sooner.

Since it’s unlikely Karen has a kitty litter box, maybe she’ll get sick of the mess and release the cat back into the wild.

In the interim, maybe having the cat will take Karen’s attention off the Talker.

Moving on .... I spotted Jan, our painted rock lady yesterday.

In response to my saying I’d been wondering where she was because I’d not seen her since dropping her off at the medical center, she said "I’ve been hibernating. I’m okay except I have to carry this oxygen tank around and I can’t breathe".

I recently saw a documentary on Bob Ross, the television painting instructor, who died from complications of lymphoma. It's suspected the fumes from the paint and sealants he worked with was a contributing factor to his ailment.

Jan has been using paint and sealants on the rocks that have been brightening up the place; and she's been working on them inside her unit, no ventilation, no mask. I'm no MD, but perhaps that where her COPD is coming from.

Ran into the Baker this morning, as I headed out to the Pain Cave, who also said, "I’ve been hibernating. Needed time alone".

So, I guess Apache, who I've not seen for a couple weeks, is also hibernating; and why it’s so eerily quiet around here. Everyone, except the Karen, is hibernating.

Spring Fever perhaps.

I'd like to hibernate, I'm sleepy right now but, with too much on my to-do list this week, I'll have to settle for naps.

Karen in the Wild

It’s mostly been all TV this weekend. However, I’m a multitasker by nature so, even when engrossed in the television, I was getting stuff done — like working on that needlepoint project I began 13 months ago.

As to how I manage to watch television while simultaneously following a pattern, placing the needle and correct color into the correct space on 14-point aida cloth, the answer is …. very carefully.

I mostly listen to the television. It’s background music but, when something I hear warrants attention, I pause the needle and focus on the screen.

Works for me, and I’ve rarely had to correct a mistake in my needle work.

Friday night’s Drag Race was so fascinating that I actually put the needle down.

After a disastrous Snatch Game last week, seven queens were forced to Lip Sync for their lives in a Lalaparuza Smackdown that had me on the edge of my seat.

Fortunately, my three favorites — Lady Camden, Willow Pill and Angeria lived to slay another day.

On Saturday, to make room for new recordings — specifically episodes of Breaking Bad, I viewed previous recordings of Food Network’s Spring Baking Championship.

I prefer recording shows, watching later so I can fast forward through commercials.

At any rate, I thought it was hubris and quite offensive when one of the bakers introduced herself by saying, “I am probably the youngest in this competition. That kinda gives me a little bit of an advantage. I’ve got a little more pep, a little more spunk”.

More pep, more spunk than others not of her generation, she meant. A mistake many Millenniums and Generation Z’s makes — think they know it all, discounting/disrespecting their elders.

Guess what — little miss more pep, more spunk was in tears by the end of the pre-heat, and was one of first two sent home on the main-heat.

Pretty much the same thing happened on the Spring Baking Easter Competition. The kid that sounded like he’s modeled himself after that fake heiress, Anna Sorokin Delvey — with her calling others “basic” made the statement, “Why be simple when you can be extra”.

He too went home first.

Seems the lesson is — Self-confidence is great, but temper it with humility; and, more importantly, don't dis your elders.

This morning, while walking from the kitchen, back to the needlepoint stand, I happened to glance out the window and caught a glimpse of that Karen out in the Wild.

I pulled up a chair to the bedroom window and began recording.

Did you see the suspicious way she looked around to see if anyone had seen her taking the cat?

Well, somebody did see — ME.

I’m thinking of contacting the SPCA, say I have a neighbor displaying psychotic behaviors, observed her chase down, capture and take a feral cat into her unit. That I’m concerned for the cat’s safety and would like a welfare check.

Shall I?

Moderna Part 4

News last week was no need to continue to wear masks.

I have to say, I was tempted; but something inside said "nope, keep the mask on", so I’m still wearing mine.

A day later, I turn around and there’s news of a surge in China — a portent of what might be coming our way perhaps.

Then came news of a new variant — BA.2.

Now comes this morning news of a possible 4th Moderna booster, and reimposing of the mask mandate.

The powers that be can’t seem to get their shitz together, and it’s giving me whiplash — all this back and forth.

I’m not liking the idea of a 4th booster but, if it’s to be, I’ll of course get the shot.

Yesterday's BP readings were all over the map. 

Starting off at 145/61 — even though I’d abstained from coffee that morning, I’d managed it down to 137/69 by the time I left the unit headed for the medical center.

By time of the nurse’s first reading, it had jumped to 149 — probably because I was trying to deep breath and she kept interrupting with questions … do you exercise … how often … what kind … how tall are you … how much do you weigh.

Ignoring her questions during the second reading, I posted 113/57.

So that’s off the to-do list, but I’m sure the doctor will next request a blood draw — hopefully a non-fast.

Because I don’t want to waste the gas, I’ve no plans to go anywhere do anything this weekend. Besides, with the Breaking Bad Marathon to begin running this Saturday, for five consecutive Saturdays, I’m blocking off the next five weekends for this event.

Speaking of breaking bad. Maddie, over at A Day With the Mistress Borghese, will appreciate this, my latest Reface.

St. Patrick’s Day!

Since I can't decide which hat to wear, I'm opting for a shamrock tee, as I head off to the medical center this morning — to get the Blood Pressure check off the to-do list.

Except for the drama generated by that Karen neighbor, it’s been quiet here on the complex.

Too quiet.

Eerily quiet.

My spidey sense has been telling me something isn’t right.

Apache hasn’t been around for a while — which is unusual in itself, and I’ve not seen the Baker walking her dog Fancy around for days and days. I’ve also not seen Jan, the painted rock lady, since I drove her to her medical center last Friday.

If you will recall, as I headed for the Pain Cave that day, I’d seen her — now dependent on an oxygen tank, headed out for a breathing test.

Forty-five minutes later, returning from my workout, Jan was STILL sitting on the bench out front. I pulled over, learned her Uber driver was VERY late, so I drove her to the medical center telling her to call if the ride back failed her.

Haven’t seen her since and, there being no signs of life at her unit, I'm thinking she must have been readmitted for observation.

The saga of that Karen and the Talker took a frightening turn yesterday when, returning from that morning's workout, the Talker approached me saying, "Shirley, I’m scared".

"Why!? What happened!?"

"She's stalking me".

The story is that although the Karen is trying to be nice, Talker feels the Karen is actually crazy, a physical danger and can’t maintain for much longer, based on her now strange behaviors — stalker behavior.

Like being observed by others standing outside glaring up at Talker’s unit — like I'd observed a couple days ago.

Like being observed following the Talker to her car one day, hiding and peering from behind the trash receptacle — assuming to see where Talker parks, what kind of car she drives.

Talker said she'd actually seen, from the corner of her eyes, the Karen peeking at her from around the structure.

Like being observed to be on hands and knees picking around in the dirt in front of her own patio, appearing to be looking for something.

Talker later found plant pieces piled up in front of her door. Plant pieces it is assumed little miss "I’m sick, I need peace and quiet" was well enough to kneel, dig in the dirt, then climb the stairs to place her findings in front of Talker’s door, for some odd reason.

Talker says what scares her most is the Karen has been trying to finagle her way inside Talker’s unit — "nicely" offering to come up, help Talker with this, that, the other.

So, it looks like Karen of the "I'm sick, I need peace and quiet" klan can not only climb stairs, but is able and willing to help Talker with this, that, the other.

I'm thinking what that's about is her wanting to get inside, see the layout, determine who sleeps where, so she can direct whatever it is she's planning in the correct direction, or she wants to plant something inside.

At any rate,"I don’t want her inside my unit. I don’t know what she’ll do", said the Talker.

Talker's problem is, like I said before, she's too nice. Knowing Karen is being insincere, that she's now become afraid of Karen, the Talker continues to play the game with her.

A spiritual teacher once explained conflict between two people as there's a pitcher and a catcher. The pitcher pitches, the catcher catches, the pitcher pitches, the catcher catches. But what would happen if the pitcher pitched and the catcher refused to catch? It would be game over.

I suggested Talker stop catching, stop playing the game; do not engage, don’t give Karen any attention, ignore when she speaks, pay no mind to her so-called attempts at being friendly.

"I can’t do that, can’t be that way", says Talker.

Okay then, she'll have to live with the consequences.

Hopefully, she'll at least let the office know she's scared, perhaps consider a restraining order.

I gotta tell you, I'm fast losing sympathy for the Talker.

She doesn't want to move to a downstairs unit, she doesn't want to disengage, she probably won't talk to the office or get a restraining order. Instead, she's "praying".

There's the old saying, "God helps those who help themselves".

My spidey sense is telling me the unusual quiet on the place is a universal dread amongst those of us aware of the situation that the Talker will one day soon be wishing she’d been more proactive.

Wish me luck at the medical center because I just took my BP and it reads 145/61, which is too high. I'll have to do the breathing thing Mike, over at Billions of Visions of Normal, told me about and get the reading down to the 120's by the time I reach the center.

Pick-A-Color

Instead of doing my own nails, I pampered myself with an appointment for a spa mani/pedi.

Arriving at the nail salon this morning, I see the bulbs are still out on the facial waxing sign, transposing it into "racial waxing".

The owners and workers are seeing the same thing I'm seeing, so not my job to tell 'em how it reads, as some of you had suggested I do when I saw this at my last visit.

Besides, I'm having too much fun giggling at the idea of what a racial waxing might be, what it could accomplish.

Once seated in the spa chair, things did not go smoothly.

The mani/pedi I’d requested had been recorded as a pedi — the salon had not booked a manicurist for my session.

Consequently, the woman who was doing my pedicure — the one I've always requested for pedicures, had to do double duty as manicurist.

Great for her because, when it came to tip time, since she did both, I gave her the tip for both.

Not so great for me because she’s an older woman who can do wonders as a pedicurist, but makes for a lousy manicurist.

I had to ask her to correct areas where nails she’d shaped appeared lopsided and, once back at the complex, I had to do 911, with an emery board, to smooth jagged edges.

Oh well. At least I got the color I wanted.

Green for St. Patrick’s Day

Plus, I get $15 off my next visit for their mistake.

Work continues on what used to be the Sears Superstore in that shopping center, which store had barely been hanging on, and was finally done in by the shutdown / quarantine / pandemic.

Thus far, it looks to be a Floor & Décor going in at the far left end. I think it's already open for business.

What remains is a lot of real estate to be filled but a clue, as to what is being done with the space, is a sign offering jobs for an At Home Superstore.

The economy being what it is, I can't imagine people will fluff away money on décor, home decorating, that the new businesses will do any better than the Sears Superstore did.

While in the area, not necessarily needing gas yet, as I still had about a half a tank, I spied a station selling at $5.51 a gallon. Beats the heck out of what’s being charged near the complex, so I pulled in and filled up.

Exiting the freeway, headed home, I saw this.

Looks like someone mistook the home’s driveway as the freeway entrance, or was a drunk exiting, missing the turn, going straight.

Homeowner appears to be lucky the fence and car prevented the driver from ending up inside the home.

Spring Has Sprung

Judging by the number of flybys over and across my patio, the birds are not waiting for March 20, the official first day of Spring. They’re scouting locations for their nests right now.

Every Spring, for the ten years of living here, I’ve successfully discouraged birds from moving into the highly desirable eaves over to the side of the patio — the space behind where that bird is posing, because I don’t want to deal with the mess birds make. So, I’ve got my eyes on him just in case he’s thinking of staking a claim to that spot.

Birds are crafty little beings, and have outsmarted me in the past by nesting overhead, somewhere in the decorative roof tiles — where I can neither see or reach, but they leave me droppings to clean up as a sign they’re up there.

Happy am I when the seasons change and the birds go on their way — no daily cleanup of the patio duty for me, but now I see it’s that time yet again.

Birds all over the place, which I don’t mind seeing and hearing, so long as they don’t poop on my patio; and then there are the lizards on the walkway — which kinda creep me out. They’re everywhere, having baby lizards even, and don’t bother to move off the path when I’m approaching.

All this nature is really chapping my hide.

To top it off, two/three days ago, I saw a spider inside. Sorry if you’re a spider lover and it offends you, but I sprayed it to death.

I recently read an article urging us to not kill spiders. Something about their being necessary to the ecosystem.

Bump That, thought I.

The insect rule is, "I don’t bother you outside. You don’t come inside". 

Punishment for breaking that rule is bug spray.

Saturday was the start of my third year with Trainer.

Walking into the studio this morning, he had a surprise for me.

That’s right. He has relocated the warm up station, i.e., treadmill, for like the 7th time. It’s back to where we started three years ago.

Caution, Senior Drivers

Thus far, I've yet to see that Karen venturing out of her unit to cast an evil eye towards her upstairs neighbor.

I did see that somehow someway someone managed to take out the gate’s keypad.

From the looks of how the gooseneck pedestal has practically been knocked out of its concrete base, the bad driver would have had to hit the unit with sufficient force to cause quite a lot of left front or left side damage to their car.

Management had to leave the entry gate wide open so we could drive our cars in, which made us vulnerable to criminals easily getting in to steal catalytic converters and, because of the cost of gas, syphon gas out of our cars.

Fortunately, none of that happened and management managed to Mcgiver an attachment onto the pedestal, up righting it to where the gate could be closed, and our keycards would work.

However, with the pedestal still leaning somewhat downward, it took me Cirque du Soleil type acrobatic to reach through the car window, down and over to insert the keycard.

I imagine our less flexible seniors entering the gate would have to get out of their cars or go through the gate at the opposite entrance.

Taking out the pedestal isn’t the worse of what I’ve seen, as one resident actually hit and took out the gate a few years back.

Then there was the time I was sitting in the Community Room and observed a resident — who wasn’t supposed to be driving, back over the flower planter surrounding the tree in the middle of the front parking lot, hit and take a huge chunk out of the tree.

Flustered, she quickly drove forward, raced towards the entry gate and nearly took that out as well.

No. 9 — who I still have not seen, is really getting a dose of what it means to manage a complex full of seniors. First the Talker/Karen feud, the damaged keycard entry pedestal, and who knows what else.

Deciding to replace cookware that wasn’t working for me, because the non-stick coatings that was supposed to last forever was peeling off — as a result of my poor cooking skills, I made a Walmart run on Saturday.

It wasn’t bad, insofar as being around a lot of people, but good luck if you need makeup because everything is behind locked protective cases. And the workers manning the self-checkout stations were uber diligent to make sure all us customers scanned and paid for every item.

At any rate, leaving Walmart, I spied a woman asking for help with rent and food. She had a child with her.

I wanted to give to her but, from where she was standing, the number of cars behind me and the light changing, I could not have safely done so. Not safe for her, not safe for me, so I drove on.

Coming up on the other market — the one I began going to when that creepy security guard at the corner market became a problem, I decided to pull in, see if the roasted potatoes had made it through the supply chain and were back in stock, which they were not.

Exiting the lot, heading for home, I spied something that gave me pause.

Same wording on the sign as the one I’d seen at Walmart, same handwriting, and a child.

This must be the husband.

I know things are harder for some than others, but it’s difficult to know who is sincerely in need, what’s a con — especially when I see them using children as a sympathy ploy.

At one point, the guy actually leaned over, took the child's hand, motioned for her to wave as my car approached.

I remember once, when I was working in downtown Los Angeles, a young lady with a clearly visible disabled arm was asking for monetary help.

I gave, as did others, and later, looking out the bus window, I saw her around a corner, giving what she’d earned to a guy. As both she and he were trying to be covert, looking around to make sure no one saw so she could get out there and con the public for more, I knew it was a situation of him pimping out her disability, and her allowing it.

Then there's the time three teenage girls approached me as I was exiting a train, saying their mom didn’t get her welfare check on time, they had no food in the house.

I myself was a welfare kid. Knew what it was like for us when mom’s check did not arrive before we ran out of food, so I gave the girls all the money I had on me — something like $35 and would have given them more if I’d had more.

As soon as I gave them the cash, all of a sudden their mom came out of nowhere to thank me but then added how difficult things were for her and "Here I am, pregnant again".

I looked at her with such disgust and would have grabbed the cash back if I could have, because here was this old ass grown woman, with teens she already could not care for, dependent on welfare, and she had the audacity to get pregnant, bring another child into the situation.

There have been other situations of feeling like I’d been conned, situations that have hardened my heart, makes it less likely I’ll give. Sometimes the spirit leads me to give anyway and, if it’s a con, that’s on them. But what I saw yesterday — duplicate signs, duplicate use of children, smelled fishy.

It made me feel better for having not been able to give to the first sign, caused me to not think twice about pulling over, giving to the second sign.