A Twice-Told Tale

I was working on a post about how things went at the dealership this morning, and how I saw a jackrabbit when I took the car in for diagnostic and service.

However, seeing comments to my last post asking if management had contact information, I thought I’d tell you what ran through my head last night about things I began remembering. Things management had done after a resident died.

Let me start off by saying management is frustratingly redundant. They are constantly sending us forms to update. The same forms over and over and over. Forms that somehow don’t make it to our files, or maybe do make it to the files but it’s easier for them to have us resubmit multiple times or call and ask a redundant question or toss belongings in the trash than refer to forms that are supposed to be in our file.

Even though I’ve been filling out the Permission to Enter form with YES for the entire 10 years I’ve been living here — so they do not have to call me for permission to enter when I submit a work order, it never fails that I’ll get a phone call asking if the guys have permission to enter.

Not to mention, how often we’ve been required to resubmit Emergency Contact Information.

Frustrating through it is to fill out and resubmit and resubmit and resubmit, I promptly do so, but have learned to make a photocopy because they lose the form, accuse us of not submitting.

I even experienced that when I once walked into Assistant Manager’s open office door, placed the requested updated form in her hand — so there would be no mistake. Then, days later, got a 2nd request for the form I’d filled out and placed in her hand.

As for Contact Information, it’s entirely possible there may not be a family member on some of the forms, but someone is listed — a caregiver, a friend, someone.

Long time readers may recall the suspicious death of Apache’s neighbor back in 2018.

A double amputee (both legs), he was found in his unit with bruises on his chest.

Assistant Maintenance Guy and one of the temporary workers had entered his unit at least a week prior to his body being discovered, saw him sleeping peacefully, didn’t realize he was dead, did what inspection they were there to do and left.

Once his death was discovered, a week after that (dead two weeks) Apache was interviewed by the police and reported that the guy had a new caretaker, and the caretaker had not been reporting for duty. Consequently, with the bruising, the absent caretaker, the police were looking at it as a suspicious death.

When Apache saw management promptly doing their usual process of tossing belongings into the trash, he retrieved books, tapes, called the guy’s brother.

When the brother arrived to claim his brother's possessions, all that remained was furniture and kitchen appliances, Management told him the unit had already been rented to someone on the wait list, someone who "had nothing" and needed what furniture and appliances were remaining.

The brother let it go.

There was a lot of grumbling on the complex when the new tenant arrived, rolling up in a Jeep, because word on the street was the brother had given up the furniture because it was to go to someone in desperate need.

What I heard at the time was "Just how needy can she be driving a $35,000 car?"

Before that, there was the time when mean Nurse Ratched was our manager. A family showed up to claim their deceased family member’s belongings and, for whatever reason, Nurse Ratched refused them admittance to the unit, called the cops, had the family escorted off the property.

It was Karma when, a few years after, her boss showed up with the police, boxed up her office belonging and had the police escort HER off the premises for financial improprieties — stealing, cooking the books.

More recently, there was the way Cat Lady’s eviction was handled.

The Tyrant (Manager No. 8) had her car towed off the premises, had the cops put her on the streets, rolled all her beautiful walnut and glass furniture — armoires, tables, etc., down the walkway to their units, tossed what they didn’t want in the trash.

She had family; people that could have been called.

I’ve advised Twin 1, Twin 2, Granddaughter of how management operates, given them keys to my unit, told them to grab the photo albums and books because some of the books are valuable.

There’s a story behind the hope chest in the middle of the area rug, so family may want to keep that.

Management can have at whatever is left AFTER, not before.

So, there you have it, a twice-told tale that probably happens wherever vulnerable seniors exist.

Research continues on finding Bonita’s family members.

I wonder if anyone, other than us, knows she’s died.

In addition to messaging the four facebook friends (no response yet), I saw a photo of a young girl. On the back of the photo was her name, age 6, the year 1968, and Deadwood, South Dakota.

I figured she be about 54 years old now, probably had married, changed her last name BUT took a chance she might be progressive — kept her maiden name. So, putting the name and Deadwood, South Dakota in google, I landed on a business website and photo of a woman that looked like she very well could be the child all grown up.

What do you think?

Same jawline, same smile.

At any rate, I emailed the circumstances of my contact, ended with "Is this you? It looks like it could be".

No response yet.

I’m not giving up. There’s lots more stuff to go through, look for names, when time permits.

Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked

I guess both Trainer and I are both wicked because neither of us is resting this Memorial Day Holiday. He’s working — the studio is open today, so I had my regular workout this Monday morning, even though I offered to not so he could be home with his family.

Heading to the Pain Cave this morning, I stopped by the dumpster to toss the trash and encountered a dumpster full to overflowing — a sign that someone has died, and their unit is being cleared out.

I don’t know if the unit being cleared is one of the three deaths Red Light told me of, or yet another, a fourth. But, either way, that’s a lot. We usually don’t see deaths until closer to the end of the year, when people decide they’re done, don’t want to see another year, and give up. To see so many deaths this time of year indicates to me that folks are giving up sooner because the world and everything in it is so screwed up.

At any rate, two residents were having a discussion at the dumpster. I heard one say, "What difference does it make? She’s dead. They have to clean out the unit". Let’s call him Man 1.

The other, Man 2, was saying something about "memorabilia" to which Man 1 replied, "They didn’t care about her. None of them ever visited her".

It was then I noticed Man 2 was holding a Creative Memories Photo Album. I stepped in and said, "That’s a Creative Memory Scrapbook".

Man 2 said he’d pulled it out of the trash, along with other photos.

Appalled, but not surprised that management would toss precious old photos — because they're ruthless, don't care, I offered to take what Man 2 had saved from destruction, see if I could research names mentioned in the album and on the back of photos, find a family member to send to. I also told Man 2 that I’d post to social media, see if anyone recognized their childhood photo.

Judging from what I’ve deduced so far, this is an old photo of the resident who passed away.

It's hard to tell how she might have looked more recently, but I don’t recognize seeing anyone who looked remotely similar.

Man 2 tells me her name is Bonita and, "She’s the woman who used to walk around with a little dog".

THAT describes three-quarters of the female population here. They mostly all walk around with little dogs.

I did find a document with her full name, researched that and found her Facebook page.

The page hasn't been active since 2018, but four friends are listed.

I sent all four the following message: "Hello. Bonita Jean Millard recently passed away. I see you are listed as a FB Friend. Management at the senior complex she was living in tossed family photo albums, photos, letters in the trash. Another neighbor and I retrieved those items from trash and are trying to locate a family member of hers that might want the memorabilia. Can you help. Do you know any of her people?"

It’s a start.

There are also letters I can go through, look for names and mailing addresses.

I’d post some of this stuff to Reddit, ask for help, but Reddit is too much technology for me. I’ll stick to Facebook.

Reconnaissance

Heading towards this afternoon’s bingo, I heard a lot of loud talking coming from that unit with the black box on the rails — and yes, the box is still there. Not only was there a lot of noise, but quite a lot of people going in and out of the unit.

Hmmmmmm? thought I as I continued on to the Community Room.

Waking into the Community Room for bingo shortly before 1:00, more for purposes of reconnaissance than bingo, I observed the Baker’s daughter and a teenage girl standing in the room.

The teenager began to walk towards with me while, simultaneously, the Baker said, "Somebody wants to say hello".

It was then I recognized the girl to be my little friend, the Baker’s great granddaughter.

She’s grown so much since I last saw her about 3 years ago, that I’d not recognized her.

2018

2019

2022

She’s almost as tall as I now, is a cheerleader, plays violin in the school band and a whole bunch of other stuff I can’t remember that keeps her busy.

After I hugged her, got a photo and a quick catching up, she was off — had only hung around for however long it was, waiting to see me …… Ahhhhhhh.

First order of business was to find out what’s happening with the smoking resident.

Turns out I misunderstood when Red Light said the yelling smoker lived behind her. It was the woman living behind her, a woman with lupus, who’d made the complaint. The yelling smoker is none other than my neighbor across the quad, downstairs, next door to Red Light — the resident I’d spoken of as having declined considerably since moving in due to bad luck and whiskey.

First, while in a crosswalk, she was hit by a car making a turn. That turned into hip surgery, recovering, then breaking an arm due to a fall in her unit.

She’s pretty much given up as other ailments have beset her, hasn’t come out of her unit since February of 2020.

She used to have a cat, but I haven’t seen the cat at the window since about the same time I last saw her two years ago.

How did I miss hearing the yelling when it was so close?

Asking Red Light if yelling neighbor is still smoking, the answer was "Yes. I can smell it", but she keeps her windows and blinds shut now.

Trying to keep the smell from wafting out and around, I suppose.

Good luck with that.

At any rate, yelling neighbor been given a warning that if she doesn’t stop smoking inside, she will be evicted. To which she was heard to reply, "I was homeless before moving in here, you’re going to make me homeless again".

No mercy from Red Light, who tells me, "It’s not management making her homeless, it’s her, because she won’t listen".

It hurts my heart to think she might end up on the streets in her condition, which I think by now might be depression and mental health related, but she can't continue to do what she wants to do.

It's not looking good.

So, anyway, before bingo began, the Baker asked for a moment of silence for the children slain and families suffering in Uvalde. Whereupon the resident in the wheelchair, that I'd posted singing a few posts back, began sobbing. Turns out the husband who died of a heart attack because he was so distressed his teacher wife had been killed, are both relatives of hers.

Bingo started off on a somber note.

Thinking it would bring me luck, I sat in the same spot as last time.

It didn’t bring me luck, because I didn’t wear the same shirt. It took until Game 7 before I got a win, but I was lucky in that the upstairs neighbor of that unit where the Marshals went in sat with me.

She said she’d heard about the Marshals going in and was just as puzzled as I but clarified that the invalid lady did not move out. She was gone for a while (don’t know why, don’t know where), but is there now — at that very moment; AND all that noise and people I saw are relatives of her coming all the way from Texas and Louisiana to visit her.

So, I guess there’s no more to be seen there.

Because I’d not had a win by the break, after Game 5, I ended up sitting through to the end of Game 10/Blackout (2 1/2 hours).

As previously mentioned, I did win at Game 7 and, oddly enough, I yelled BINGO! at the exact same time as three others.

THAT never happened before — four winners, simultaneously shouting out BINGO!, and we all got to pick a prize.

I selected a book light.

There was, of course, food during the break — sandwiches, chips, sodas.

A resident I don’t care for (I shun her because she earned it) made some sort of sandwich spread — tuna or chicken salad, and Red Light turned the spread into sandwiches.

The sandwiches went quick, because some people will eat anybody’s food. Not me, not even if I could, because I don’t know how clean she keeps her kitchen, her unit, or herself.

Bingo's somber beginning turned into a party by the break, as Red Light put on a line dance instruction tape and tried to get residents involved.

Most just watched.

Cha Cha Roll

Hokey Pokey

Seniors Behaving Badly

So Red Light calls me yesterday afternoon asking, “Did you hear that?”

"Hear what?"

"That yelling?"

I didn’t hear a thing but went to the patio window to see what I could see, which was nothing — didn’t hear anything, didn’t see anyone walking down the pathway. I missed whatever was going on.

Red Light said a resident living on the back side of her building was screaming at the Community Manager.

I interrupted with, "We don’t have a manager".

"A woman from Corporate is temporarily in the position. She and A___ (Head Maintenance Guy) were talking to the yeller about the office getting complaints about her smoking and she starts yelling and screaming at them."

Oh! Oh!, thought I. Yelling at someone from Corporate isn’t smart. Neither is smoking in your unit.

With elderly residents dealing with all manner of illnesses, this is and has always been a non-smoking community. Residents know that and agree to abide by no smoking when they sign the lease agreement.

Of course, there are rule breakers that agree and then go on to do whatever the hell they want to; and, with the smell of cigarette smoke wafting into surrounding units, complaints being made, the result is rule breakers moving out of their own volition or getting themselves evicted.

One rule breaker moved out of her own volition, but not because of complaints of her smoking, but because she was bougie — fancy dresses, expensive jewelry, designer handbags, etc.

She lived here for about two years, constantly expressing how unhappy she was because we were too slow, too normal, not up to her bourgeois standards with our Walmart and Target wear.

Needless to say, after so much of hating it here, I was surprised to see her return a year later, wanting to move back in.

Also surprisingly, management did welcome her back, but wanted her to pay an additional $2500 over the move-in costs to cover what management had to shell out in getting the smoke smell out of the unit … repainting they told her.

Bougie told me she got heated at the amount, said "There ain’t no paint that costs that much" and that’s the last I saw of her. She didn’t move back in.

No loss to us.

At any rate, it’s no secret that smoking is not allowed anywhere on the property. It’s a lease violation subject to anywhere from a warning to an eviction. Residents wishing to smoke are directed to exit the gate, walk all the way off the property to the sidewalk.

Red Light said what she could make out was the yeller shouting, "I don’t want to do that! … I don’t like to smoke outside! …  Someone might get me!"

Sounds like an entitled Karen with a personal problem wanting what she wants with no concern as to how it impacts others.

Red Light said the smoking is so bad that she once complained as it was wafting all the way over to her unit, and she’s worried the yeller will think it’s her complaining again and retaliate, as she did when Red Light made that complaint.

I wasn’t clear on how the yeller had retaliated other than Red Light said the yeller turned around and made complaints about her and had a younger friend, that sometimes visits, who looked tough and had scared her.

I told Red Light to post a sign to her door "It wasn’t me this time"; but she said she’s going to keep a low profile for the time being, stay inside.

So now I’m looking forward to bingo on Friday, so I can get an update.

Red Light also tells me there were three deaths last week.

I do recall hearing sirens a couple days in a row, took a peek out the window but, seeing nothing that seemed to be affecting my quad, thought no more about it.

I didn’t know any of the residents who passed away, even though one lived on the backside of my building.

Dropout

The weekend meditation retreat turned into an overnighter. I dropped out and am now back in my comfortable quiet little unit while class is still in session — doesn’t end until noon today.

Having developed (through years of study and working with enlightened teachers) the tools to handle whatever life throws at me without losing my shiz, I didn’t really need a retreat, but I’d nevertheless been looking forward to experiencing the rise meditating with a group of like-minded souls usually brings.

Then, just two weeks before I was to leave for the retreat, all hell broke loose in the area I’d be staying.

If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you know I believe in signs.

First sign was the Coastal Fire that took with it homes in the upscale neighborhood of Laguna Hills; and when I say upscale, I mean waaaay upscale … mansions … price range $10 million and more.

It gave me pause that the fire was raging out of control only 9 miles away from where I'd be staying, and I watched over the days as it went from 15% to 25% to 70% contained whereupon I decided not to cancel the trip because it would be 100% by the time I headed out that way.

Then came the mass shooting at a church only 5 miles away from where I’d be staying.

I didn’t feel as though I’d be driving into danger, but I did speak to the universe to give me a clear yes or no if these were signs I wasn't to go since whatever was going on appeared to be getting closer to where I would be.

Then, just days before I was to leave, my credit card got hacked …. again.

The sums were minimal — $18 at Overstock, $13 at some Motor Club and my spidey sense told me it’s one of the girls at the new dental office making the charges.

She just didn’t expect I’d notice and be on it so fast, but no matter. I cancelled the card, will pay cash at this dental office in future, and had a new card issued, Fed Ex’d to me in time to not interfere with my plans and again spoke to the universe. Only this time, I asked the universe to do something specific, like flatten a tire, as a clear sign I was not to go to the meditation retreat.

Believe it or not, the morning I was to leave, the car alerted that the rear tire — that previously had a leak, was losing air again. So, on the way out of town I stopped at the tire place to double check. The tire guy said the car was giving me a wrong reading, the tire was fine so, instead of turning around and going back home, I kept going — drove to Laguna.

The weather was cold and dreary when I arrived and walking into the hotel room was like walking into a refrigerator.

Maintenance showed up, MacGyvered the A/C equipment to where it would put out heat but only with the fan running.

So much for a 5-Star hotel.

The hotel was fully booked, there wasn't a room I could switch to, so I had to tough it out.

First meditation session that evening at 7:45 was a raucous affair.

It was a much smaller group than I’m accustomed to ─ around 30 souls and they were a chatty group of elderly students so happy at seeing other students and old friends that they couldn’t contain themselves.

Some came from local cities ─ some flew in. One said he came from Florida, one from San Francisco.

I’m trying to meditate and it’s yakety yak as others asked where I was from. One guy introduced himself as Claire.

Seriously.

He said he wasn’t the only guy in his family named Claire. It was some sort of tradition to carry the name down through generations ─ though he said his grandfather flatly refused to call him Claire. His grandad called him Carl.

Fascinating, but I wasn't there for a meet and greet.

Protocol is when one enters the room, one is to be quiet, begin meditating, set the atmosphere for when the teacher arrives.

Most didn’t stop yakking until the teacher walked in. The mood had not been set, I was thrown off center from the yakety yak and, consequently, wasn’t getting anywhere once the teacher began meditating to lift us. I was stuck taxiing on the runway, when I should have been taking off.

Back in the room after that session, I had to contend with the droning of the fan and woke up Saturday with the beginnings of a sore throat from the heat level not being where I needed it to be.

At least the microwave worked, so I was able to feed myself before heading to the 10am session, where it was once again yakety yakety yak when there should have been silence.

The woman who’d arranged for the retreat asked everyone to please quiet down, meditate, set the mood as the teacher was to arrive in 15 minutes.

Most, not all, complied.

In addition to the unruly elderly students inside the room, there were also some unruly children running up and down the hallway.

As I closed my eyes and tried to block everyone out, center myself, I heard one of the kids in the hallway say, "Is someone dead?".

Evidently, he’d peeked in through the open door, saw what he interpreted as having to do with a funeral.

Opening my eyes, looking at the stage where the teacher was to sit, I noticed it kinda did look like a coffin, draped in a black cloth, old people sitting around.

With what the kid said and that image in my mind as the session began, my getting anywhere was again a lost cause. "Is someone dead" suddenly became funny to the point where I had to stiffle an out loud laugh and kept thinking I’ve got to get a photo of what the kid saw to post on the blog (which I did sneak back later, when few were around, and snapped a photo).

While my mind was wandering as a result of what the kid said, I remembered when I was sitting on the steps of a pool and it was so peaceful, so quiet that I began to meditate.

All of a sudden I’m snapped back to earth by the sound of a kid calling out to me "Excuse me Ma’am! Ma’am! Ma’am!".

"Yes?" I replied.

"Oh. Just checking. You weren’t moving so I thought you were dead".

When that incident came to mind, I had to once again stifle an inappropriate laugh out loud. Instead, I started smiling, grinning like the Cheshire Cat at the memory. If any of the students happened to be watching me at the time, they probably thought I’d reached the level of supreme joy in meditation, when in actuality my mind was actually a million miles away from the space we were in.

So, anyway, I survived Saturday morning’s session, which ended at noon and inasmuch as it was still cold and dreary outside, it was back to the hotel room — throat still sore and beginning to sniffle where I put in some reading time — finally finished the book I’d started on last year, and took a nap.

I did attend the 3:45 afternoon session, got a few takeaways to ponder, but never left the ground, spiritually speaking. So, heading back to the hotel room knowing there was no point to hanging around for this morning’s session and that if I spent another night in that room’s fan I was going to get very sick, I packed my bags, checked out and was back in my comfortable little unit where, after immediately gargling with warm water and vinegar to heal my throat, I was comfortably on the couch in time to see Midsomer Murders on the BBC channel.

Retreat

New rollers on patio screen ... done.

Lock box ... still attached to railing.

Candy Crush Saga ... false alarm. Twas a temporary glitz that left me with more time for reading when CCS disappeared from Facebook. CCS is back on the platform. I'm once again wasting time gaming instead of reading.

Me ... on the road heading for weekend meditation retreat.

Off the grid until Monday.

Plot Thickens

Maintenance Guy was a no-show on putting the screen aright, so I went out onto the patio and fooled around with it until I got it back on track — somewhat. It didn’t close all the way.

My fix also didn’t last long because, when I opened the screen today to retrieve something from the patio storage area, down it went again.

Head Maintenance Guy doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to do much since he's without a boss now that the eye-candy high heels tight pants manager quit ... and seeing how many openings there are on Corporate’s website, it looks more likely she quit than was fired.

BTW … Mike, your request for a photo went unanswered because the comment went to spam and didn’t show up until two days ago. Otherwise, I’d have made an effort to get a photo of high heels tight pants for you. LOL.

Fortunately, heading out to pick up mail today, I saw Head Maintenance Guy out and about and jammed him up, nicely, about not responding to getting the screen back up. He said he’d drop by in a bit and actually did.

Rollers on the screen were broken. Instead of ordering a new screen, he’s following the Corporate byline (spend as little money on us as possible) — ordering replacement rollers rather than a new screen.

While I’m on the subject of Corporate, they must be the worst employer in the world because, looking at their job openings site, not only are they looking for a new manager for us, but managers for five other locations here in California, plus Assistant Managers. They are also seeking Managers and Assistant Managers for their senior complex locations outside of California.

How does Corporate manage to stay in business with such a high turnover?

That’s what they get for gobbling up this property and as many more as they’ve managed to swallow.

We were doing just fine with the people managing the place before Corporate took over.

On another note, I saw two different men go into the invalid lady’s unit yesterday ... at different times during the day.

The first man — I assume a relative, left with a suitcase, a backpack and other bags. So, I’m assuming the invalid lady has been moved out to live with family or has been placed in a care facility and he was taking these things to where she now is.

I didn’t see when the second guy left — probably also a relative or what he took, but neither man seemed to notice the black box/lock and, as far as I know, had no idea the unit had been entered.

Ordinarily, when a unit becomes vacant, things move rather quickly with a cleaning crew, carpet, paint. However, inasmuch as we don’t have a manager, who knows how long before we get a move-in from the waiting list.

The thing is ….. if and when we do get a new move-in, will the Marshals know whoever is living in the unit, if and when they return, is a new family, not associated with the previous occupant?

Am I going to be awakened some early AM by screams coming from a new resident at seeing flashlights in their face, their bed surrounded by uniformed officers?

As Dawn — over at Bohemian Valhalla commented about covert raids, "That’s how innocent people get killed while asleep in the privacy of their own Homes".

Also, as Dawn had commented, this being a senior complex, a 3:00 a.m. raid could have given invalid lady a heart attack. 

I can’t imagine what would have happened had she been in the unit the morning the Marshals arrived — unable to respond to their requests because of her condition.

I did manage to solve the mystery of how the Marshals got in without damaging the door.

They had a key.

I showed Trainer the photo I’d taken of the black box/lock and he said it’s a lock box — there’s a key inside.

So that’s how they got in … they had a key, but how did the Marshals get a key … who gave it to them … why do they need it … why have they kept it?

Google knows everything so I put in a search "Why would the us marshals have a key to your house?"

Google gave no direct answer to the question, other than to indicate that "Among their many duties, they apprehend more than half of all federal fugitives, protect the federal judiciary, operate the Witness Security Program".

Witness Security Program!!!!???? Now that’s a thought.

Taking advantage of Head Maintenance Guy being in my unit, I went for it.

He was on the patio, checking out the broken roller, so I pointed to the unit in question and asked straight out, "Is that unit being used as a safehouse? I saw the Marshals going in a little after 3:00 one morning".

He didn’t look as puzzled at my question as one would have expected. He also didn’t answer the question, just kind of mumbled.

"They have a key", I pushed. "A key that they keep in the lockbox on the left side of the patio".

He mumbled something about the office also keeps a lockbox in case of emergency, there's a need to get into the office.

"Yes, but this is a resident’s unit. Why would the Marshals have a key to one of our units?"

I got more mumbling and body language I read as uncomfortable with the conversation.

He knows something but needs this job so he’s not saying.

As of today, the lock box is still in place.

If Head Maintenance Guy mentions our conversation to whomever, and I get a knock on the door from the Marshals wanting to know what I know, that will tell me I've touched a nerve.

I can't be arrested for being observant, and I won't be punked like Talker was when that cop talked down to her in response to Karen's call about noise. Instead, I'll point out that if I did stumble upon some sort of covert operation, it was a bad idea to stage it in a senior complex, because us seniors are way too nosy for something like that to go unnoticed.

Wild Animal Kingdom

Last Monday started off with a gas leak. This Monday started off with chaos of another sort.

First off, the weekend went by so fast that I didn’t even realize it was over. Waking up around 6:15 this morning, I carried on as I would on a typical Sunday — screw around, do nothing, read blogs, only to hear the alarm on the phone go off at 7:00.

Why is the alarm going off on a Sunday, thought I.

I only set the alarm to go off on Monday, Wednesday, Friday as a reminder it’s a workout day.

Good thing I do because the alarm caused me to rethink what day it was. I suddenly realized Oh Nooooo! Today is Monday, not Sunday, I’d better get going — make the bed, run bath water, start breakfast, tune into Good Morning America.

Having sorted all that out I went about my business until I spotted a lizard (geico) sunbathing on the edge of my patio.

As previously posted, the lizard population around here is out of control. They’re lining the walkways and rarely can be motivated to move out of the way when I approach, prompting me to turn around, walk in a different direction.

On day, walking back up the stairs, I was startled into almost falling backwards by a lizard relaxing on the steps.

Those tiny little dinosaurs are hideously ugly and not a creature I appreciate being all over the place.

Over the last two days, I’ve twice seen a lizard on the wall by Next Door Neighbor’s patio, making its way to the roof and, around 9:00 this morning, I spotted one relaxing on my patio wall.

Can’t have that. Far too close to slipping inside, so I tried to encourage it to leave by banging on the wall.

It didn’t budge.

Grabbing a water bottle, I tried to spritz water to encourage it into leaving.

That noise you heard was the patio screen being knocked off its hinges as I tried to quickly slam the screen shut so the lizard couldn't get inside. It’s down, a plant got tipped over, but at least the lizard is no longer on the patio ledge. He’s on the roof somewhere.

Damn lizards, terrorizing me.

My attempts at getting the screen back on its tracks have failed so, no fresh air for me — with the patio window open, but the screen letting in air while blocking outside pests, unless and until I can get the maintenance guys to fix it for me.

I walked down and put in a work order with Assistant Manager but, a downed patio screen is not the level of emergency a gas leak taking down the building was, so I'm thinking I'll be old and gray before maintenance gets around to fixing it.

I took the long way around heading back to my unit, so I could check on that black box/lock.

It's still there, but someone has paid a visit to the unit since last I checked, because the blinds are now completely closed.

My Two Cents

Candy Crush Saga disappeared late Friday night. Facebook is no longer supporting the game on its platform. They dropped Alpha Betty Saga a few months ago, and now Candy Crush. Seems I’ll have a lot more time for reading books now.

PokémonGo has been a bust since September — no interesting new pokémon and a change that, in order to perform some of the functions in the game, the user has to give permission to link to the contacts in our phone — which of course I declined.

There’s still Tik Tok but, with no games with which to waste hours and hours, more time is now freed up for reflection and reading.

On Friday, Trainer and I were discussing the Depp-Heard trial.

He, like most, thinks Amber is a wackadoodle and Johnny is going to win.

I haven’t been watching the trial on Court TV because I just knew it would trigger my own past trauma but, what with clips of the trial on Tik Tok, Twitter and in the news, it’s hard to ignore the proceedings completely. So I'm familiar with some of the details, and Trainer turned me onto a tidbit I’d not come across — having to do with a text, read at trial, that Johnny wrote in response to a text from Amber that ended with his saying, "I have other uses for your throat which does not include injury".

Well, that peaked my curiosity so I researched the statement on TikTok and found women volunteering — shouting for Johnny to "Pick Me! Pick Me!".

Can’t say I blame them. Johnny is ruggedly handsome, charming, described by one news pendant as an "Aging Icon Idol" and better-looking IMO than his pretty boy 21 Jump Street Days.

At any rate, it didn’t take long for the words of that text to explode into a cottage industry offering of tee shirts, sweat shirts, drinking glasses.

Not to mention a coffee mug I’m tempted to purchase.

Only thing stopping me from purchasing is my distrust of the site offering it.

Last time I ordered an item off that site from a vendor in Missouri, two $1500 unauthorized charges showed up on my card from some fictitious company in, guess where ..... Missouri. So, much as I want that coffee mug, I’ll wait until it’s offered elsewhere.

As expected, what little of the trial I’d previously heard, plus other things I’d had on my mind, did trigger me. I took a trip down the rabbit hole for a while there into a blue funk, but I’m back from that place — without letting on to you guys I’d even gone there.

So now that I’ve processed what I had to process, my two cents is — Johnny is a bad boy, no doubt about it. A ruggedly handsome sexy charming bad boy. I was and still am a fan.

As for my thoughts on his being an abuser, I won’t say other than to speak from experience as to how charming and believable I know an abuser can be.

They are all skilled actors, these men who get off on abusing. They are skilled at playing whichever role the occasion requires when out in public, and with friends, coworkers, family members.

It’s just so easy for them to charm people into not seeing beyond whichever role they're presenting, which mask they're wearing at any given time.

Just sayin.

And For My Next Mission Part 2

After yesterday’s workout, I had all kinds of out-of-the-area errands I needed to take care of. THEN, thanks to Debra at She Who Seeks’ post alerting me to it being Friday the 13th, I played it safe by switching those errands to today, stayed in my unit remainder of the day.

I only ventured out late afternoon, when I saw one of the upstairs residents of the building, mentioned in Part 1, out and about.

Asking if that downstairs unit was vacant, she replied "Oh no. That’s L’s unit".

"So she’s in there?" asked I.

"Oh yes, her family comes every day to take care of her".

"The reason I ask is because I saw the Marshalls searching that unit a little after 3:00 a.m. this morning, and it didn’t appear anyone was there".

"Maybe she’s in the hospital, but someone from her family is usually there. She has six sons. One was staying there taking care of her".

"Oooooh!", said I. "That may be who they were looking for, one of her sons".

"They don’t seem like that kind of people", said she.

"You can never tell anymore", said I.

After we parted, I saw her standing in front of the unit, peering in.

I’d already passed by there, saw that the patio shades were half open, and all one can see inside is dark.

So, anyway, that’s the scoop thus far, but I have a feeling the Marshalls will be back, because they left something behind — that thing they were looking at on the left side of the patio.

That's an unusual place for a lock. It's not serving a purpose being attached to the rails other than just a place to store it until they come back.

I just hope that, when they return, I’m deep in sleep because this waking up at 3:14 is for the birds.

While I was outside talking to this neighbor, my buddy Apache appeared. He’d been inside the unit of the nice old guy who lives next door to Karen, and was here to get a ride back to his place.

Apache said it was his birthday and, because it was Friday the 13th, everything had gone wrong.

His sister had taken him to the Casino to celebrate and, why they were inside, someone stole his sister’s truck.

Inside the truck were the keys to his apartment, his manager did not have a duplicate set and his social worker, who did have a duplicate set, was in Mexico.

I suggested a locksmith, but Apache said the nice old guy was going to drive him over to his apartment, and that he’d break in with a crowbar. He also said that, with the way his 13th Day was going, he’d probably get arrested for burglarizing his own apartment.

I wouldn't be at all surprised.

Also off my to-do list yesterday, besides completing that mission, was to Yelp review that dental office I left behind. I'd been holding off waiting for inspiration.

That duplicate bill that set off a rehashing of that experience, plus the rehashing causing me a sleepless night and a 3:14 a.m. wake up call was the inspiration I needed. This is what I wrote:

My first clue it was time to leave this dental office was when I could never get a straight answer as to why my regular long-time dentist was not available to treat me. My second clue was when the first dentist to examine me after a cleaning -- a dentist with which I had no prior history, without looking at the x-ray, came up with an area that looked like there'd been a filling, it had fallen out and needed a new filling. Thing is, there'd never been a filling in that area. Third clue was when, after a cleaning, I asked not to have that dentist again, asked for a different dentist and he too, having no prior history with me but at least did look at the x-ray, came up with thousands and thousands and thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars of work in a treatment plan using words to scare me like "decay". Inasmuch as I was experiencing no dental issues, had been cared for well by the former dentist for near 20 years -- who was considered one of the top three dentists in the Inland Empire Area, and he'd never come up with all these dental issues is when I should have awakened and got a second opinion but did not. I did, however, wake up after the first couple thousand dollars' worth of work, only to realize I probably had work done that did not need to be done, and consequently I am now left with a problem where there was none before -- painful to chew on that side. Not the same dental office it used to be. Don't believe what you're being told. Get a second opinion.

And For My Next Mission

In yesterday’s mail was a duplicate bill from the dentist I left in my rear view.

A mistake on their part as the check I’d promptly sent, along with that note to remove me from their patient list, had cleared.

Just in case it wasn’t a mistake, but a purposeful payback tactic, I printed out a copy of the cancelled check to drop off in today’s mail.

Over and done with so far as I’m concerned, except it brought to the forefront of my mind how dissatisfied I am with the work that dentist did.

Not only did he scam me into work that probably did not need to be done, he did a poor job. I’m now left with a problem where there was none before — painful to chew on that side.

I think he knew he’d done damage because, after completing the work, it was he who mentioned nerve damage and a possible root canal in future.

I’ll have to discuss it with the new dentist but, if it comes to nerve damage done by that guy, I won't be opting for a root canal. I'll live with the pain or have those teeth removed.

So, anyway, going to bed with all that on my mind did not make for a good night’s sleep. I awoke at precisely 3:14 a.m.

How do I know the precise time you ask.

When I sat up in bed I spied a man standing on the walkway at the entry way between where Nurse Ratched’s mother lives and a unit I’ve never seen anyone enter or exit in years.

In case I was looking at a crime, I grabbed my phone, looked at the time, then begin to record.

My phone does not take great night shots, but I could clearly see it wasn’t a criminal, but the popo. More specifically, a U.S. Marshall … and he wasn’t alone. Two other Marshalls, who appeared to have been trying to gain access to the unit through the patio window, came into view.

They seemed to be looking at something on the ground, left side of the patio railing, and then the three disappeared towards the door.

They somehow got into the unit because, not recorded, are flashes of flashlights inside the unit.

The lights inside never went on and, after about ten minutes of flashlights, the Marshalls left … empty handed. No one in custody.

So, now that Karen has calmed down, my next mission, should I accept it — and I do, is to find out WHO lives in that unit and what the guys were looking at on the left side of the patio.

Talk about being the right person, awake at the right time, with the right view.