Wednesday, March 29, 2023

Catching the Rain


Today was a good day to stay indoors, as it is once again raining cats and dogs.

Unfortunately, today being a workout day, I had to suit up, do the pain cave thing.

One good thing about having to move the car from the carport and park in the pain cave’s parking lot is that I don’t have to wash the car. The rain washed it for me.

Another good thing about the rain is the dead spots in the complex lawn, caused by the drought, are turning green. The landscapers no longer have to paint the lawn.

Activity Director followed through in providing pots for our starter plants, but the pots she provided are not what I was expecting.

Dull and too big for windowsill


I was expecting something small, cute, feminine so I headed to the garden center of Home Depot yesterday to find pots more to my liking.

Didn’t find anything to suit my fancy — even tried Lowe’s, but I did find seeds to start my little windowsill garden.


I also picked up a little plant that looked interesting.


I know what I’ve purchased, but I’m wondering how many of you know what it is.

Need a hint?

I’ve named her Audrey.

So anyway, care instructions say Audrey likes rainwater, which got me to thinking that if Audrey likes rainwater, the others may as well. Thus, catching the rain.

Now that I’ve got the seeds to grow edibles, like Activity Director had initially planned, the question is what to do with the two starter pots of what will grow into flowers.

They’re already sprouting, which to me means they are a living thing and though I don’t really want them now that I’ve got what I want, I don’t want to trash them, unalive them.

I once did purposely unalive a plant and the guilt plagues me.

It was back in ‘79 when I was working in the Business Office of a company for a decent guy by the name of Pete.

Married and not having an affair, Pete nevertheless had a groupie by the name of Kathy who, though not the office manager, was a bit overbearing and acted as though she were.

No one stood up to Kathy, no one dared cross her, including me because of my being Black and having to play the submissive game in order to stay employed.

Because Kathy was crushing on my boss, she was always hovering around, bossing me, getting on my nerves and me with no way to fight back.

EXCEPT Kathy, whose office was clear on the other side of the floor, put her favorite plant right next to my boss’s door, which was right next to my desk — sort of like a dog pissing on its territory.

Inasmuch as I had to bite my tongue and keep my face straight when Kathy pushed my buttons, I revenged myself on her plant.

At the end of the day, if I had coffee left over in my cup, I’d toss it into the soil of her plant. Same with soda.

Kathy’s plant began to fade and fade and fade until one day, when she was hovering around my area, she looked at her plant, noticed it was dying or dead, let out a distressed, "What’s happening to my plant!", then grabbed it up as one would a child and rushed it out of the area. Probably took it back to her area where it should have been all along.

It’s been something like 43 years and, though I got a perverse pleasure out of getting back at Kathy, I do feel a measure of guilt because I appreciate plants and consider them a form of life.

That being said, I have to think of a guilt free way to dispose of the two starter plants.

Maybe I’ll sneak outside in the dark some night, and plant them in the dirt at the end of the stairs.

If they take root and grow into flowers, the landscapers will of course, dig them up, but that will be their guilt, not mine.

Tuesday, March 28, 2023

Germination

Still a little drawfy yesterday, but less so than the two previous days, I made it through Monday’s workout.

Waking up today, I’m once again feeling my usual self and may even log in some walking miles …. that is, after I check on Activity Director’s promise to bring in pots for the plants we started last week.

Removing the starter pots from the windowsill this morning — to take down to the Community Room in anticipation of replanting into a pot, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw the seeds had taken root.



Now that I know I can actually grow plants in the windowsill, I’m thinking of starting a little garden — try my newly acquired green thumb at chili peppers and cherry tomatoes.

After yesterday’s workout, I popped into the market for what supplies were needed to get through the week should we get the predicted storm.

Arriving back at the complex, a black car was parked sideways across from my parking space, making it challenging for me to turn in and get parked. However, after a bit of wrangling, I made it into my spot and was about to exit the car when I heard the Little Stalker’s voice.

Looking in my rear view, I saw her running around the black car with one of her uncles.

What did I do?

I sat quietly, waiting in the car for her and him to drive off so I didn't have to interact with her.

That’s right. I sat in the car and hid from a six-year-old.

Only, they didn’t drive off right away. Instead, they removed something from the car and headed back down the walkway towards Talker’s unit.

So I sat and I sat and I sat waiting to see if they’d be coming back to the car to unload something else.

When they didn’t reappear, I began thinking I could grab the groceries and make a dash for my unit. So, I opened the car door and quickly closed it back when I heard her voice again.

Truth be told, the Little Stalker has an uncle that is movie star handsome. I wouldn’t mind HIM knocking on my door day and night and, had he been the one with her yesterday, I would have turned into a complete hypocrite — gotten out of the car, played nice with stalker, maybe even feigned helpless and finagled movie star into helping me get upstairs with groceries.

But it wasn’t he with her yesterday, so I stayed hidden until they finally drove off.


If she's going to be hanging around all week until the move, it's going to be a long week.

Sunday, March 26, 2023

Dizzy Draggy Dopey Sleepy

No, those are not names of dwarfs. Rather, it’s how I felt yesterday and today.

Though we are having a break from the rain (until Tuesday), experiencing near perfect weather, try as I have, I could not drag myself outside to enjoy it as an energy drain has me depleted, and so weak that I was out of breath and barely able to lift my feet on a trip to the dumpster and mailbox this afternoon.

To top it off, there was a sudden frantic knock knock knock knockety knock on the door along about 12:30.

Didn’t sound like the little stalker’s knock. Besides, she’d not been at my door for several glorious weeks — though I did have that nightmare last week that she had.

Inasmuch as Red Light — recovering from surgery, had a few days ago, texted me to come down to help her with medication and a blood pressure reading, what entered my head was frantic knocking because something had happened, so I opened the door, without checking to see who it was, and saw nothing/no one.

Then someone jumped out from an out of sight corner, right side of the door, and scared me.

Seriously.

I let out the "Ooooh" sound one makes when one is surprised in not a good way.

It was my Little Stalker.

That’s right folks, she’s baaaack.

At least she didn’t try to hug me this time, so I guess that’s progress. Instead, she wanted me to guess how old she is.

I saw on Facebook that she’d recently had her 6th birthday, but did not comment because of wanting to keep her attention off me so she’d forget I’m here.

She remembered anyway.

However, there’s hope yet as her GG Talker called shortly after the visit to tell me the stalker is moving next week with her mom and mom’s boyfriend to San Diego.

"Oh, that’s so sad" — lied I.

"YOU’LL really miss her" I went on to say — true, SHE (the Talker) will miss her. In fact, she said she’s crying already and can’t stop.

At any rate, it’s one more week until I no longer have to worry about knock knock knock on the door. So Happy Trails little girl. Don’t let the door hit ya.


Other than having no energy and the return of knock knock, it’s been another quiet week here on the complex.

So quiet and uneventful that I’m beginning to think I should be worried that something is brewing.

I do know that, though we did have Bingo this past Friday — I won game two, the future of bingo is kinda sorta up in the air for next month.

The two residents in charge — Red Light and the Baker are dealing with stuff.

Red Light had carpel tunnel surgery on her right shoulder, is now wearing a cast.

The Baker is in mourning. First, her best friend in the complex passed away (the Seer). Now she's having a tough time coming to terms with having to let Fancy go to sleep, her aged and ill dog that had been in pain for some time.

So, unless someone else steps in to help out next month, bingo is in limbo.

Thus far it’s been the story of Henny Penney — residents want to come to bingo after everything is set up, but no one wants to lug all the set-up materials down to the Community Room. All of sudden everyone has a "bad back", can't lift or roll stuff.

I myself am taking on no more than I already have — flyers, photos, resident's FB page. Besides, setting up would interfere with Friday’s pain cave schedule.

So, we’ll see how that goes.

Hopefully, I'll wake up tomorrow morning with the energy drain over, and sufficient energy to put in a decent workout.

Tuesday, March 21, 2023

She Did, They Didn’t

In spite of it raining cats and dogs, Activity Director did show up with dirt, seeds, starter pots; but we were not regaled with a perp walk today.

Seeing you know who being perp walked in the rain would have been AWESOME. However, like Scarlett O’Hara said to Rhett Butler in Gone with The Wind, "There is always hope. After all, tomorrow is another day".

I did enjoy Mary Trump’s take, describing her uncle as being "stochastic" — pulling from his usual playbook by calling on supporters to protest, using the same play he always does.

As far as I know, protests were few.

I did read some supporters were planning a bank run form of protesting — remove money from the bank in an attempt to crash the system.

To this, I laughed and laughed and laughed because I could imagine criminals lining up to follow and rob those protestors of said cash — a crime that’s being called "bank jugging", which has me paying close attention to what cars are behind me, as I drive back to the complex after a withdrawal.

In one jugging robbery, the bad guys followed a woman 24 miles, all the way to her front door to relieve her of cash withdrawn.

So anyway, no perp walk, no jugging today.

Activity Director impressed me with showing up on such a lousy day. However, instead of starting our "Own Healthy Garden. Learn about healthy HERBS and start your own garden!" we ended up with FLOWERS.



When I pointed out that I can’t eat flowers, AD said we could plant them in the areas outside our units or in the Community Garden.

"Can’t do that. It’s not allowed", said I with others in attendance chiming in that the landscapers were long ago ordered to destroy the rose gardens and any other plants residents had planted, and we were told nothing was to be planted on complex grounds … that we do not have privy to the ground outside our patios. Furthermore, the Community Garden, a Certified Wildlife Habitat, was also destroyed.

AD was surprised, said she’d see if she could get the rule changed about personal plants (silly girl), and doubly surprised about the Community Garden as the other Corporate owned communities still have theirs.

The way I remember it ... one of our previous Managers (I don't recall which) went to pull up the Wildlife Certification sign and was told by the residents who'd paid for the certification, provided all the plants, benches, and maintained the area, that she couldn't do that, couldn't just decertify it by pulling up the sign.

"I can do anything I want", said she and proved it.

Original Community Garden

Community Garden Unauthorized Changes
by Management


Community Garden Now

Why the Community Garden residents that witnessed the slaughter did not report her to the Wildlife Federation, which would have resulted in consequences for Corporate and the Manager, I do not know, but what was once a peaceful Garden of Eden sitting area, is now scorched earth.

So anyway, next week AD will be bringing in terra cotta pots to transfer our plants into.

I’ll be very surprised if my starter plants are still alive by then, as I lost my Green Thumb some time ago.


Sunday, March 19, 2023

Will They or Won’t They?

Two more days to Arrest Day.

I’ve got a bottle of champagne ready and I'm already wearing my thoughts and hopes.


Other than waiting to see if you know who will be booked, fingerprinted and have to submit to a booking photo, not a lot going on as it’s been pretty tame around here lately.

Except for that glimpse when he first moved in, and then one day when he was walking down the quad to the mail box, I haven’t seen the new resident of the bad energy unit. He seems to be busy elsewhere — still holding down a job probably, and does not spend much time in his unit. Which is probably a good thing considering the history of that unit.

Red Light has done no more venting on Facebook, but that may be because she’s working on getting herself a new best friend — the resident that told me I might as well turn around as last Tuesday’s event was cancelled (let’s call her Homegirl, for reasons you can probably guess).

I’ve had a few friendly encounters with Homegirl, as she’s been showing up regularly to events, but have not yet got all up in her business — asking how long she’s been here … is she new … where was she before … yada yada yada?

I did notice however, at last weeks bingo, Red Light appeared to be courting favor with Homegirl — probably hoping to fill the hole left by Talker dumping her as Red Light’s best bud, but Homegirl doesn’t look like the type that wants or needs a close friendship in the complex.

We’ll see how that goes.

Our Karen character is no longer blog fodder as she long ago gave up complaining in her quest to run Talker out of her unit.

Talker is showing no signs of following through on her plans to move out for non-Karen reasons. Last year, she did say she was thinking about moving in with her daughter this year, to help out with the kids, but shows no sign of leaving any time soon.

Talker’s granddaughter — which it turns out is her great granddaughter, has ceased knocking on my door.

A good thing.

However, I did on Wednesday have a nightmare that, after returning from a long drive with the relative I’ve been worried about — a long drive that had me lost and struggling to find my way through unfamiliar roads, I finally found my way back to the complex, had barely walked into my unit and closed the door when I heard a knock.

It was she — the little stalker.

It’s not bad enough that I’m tossing and turning worrying about relatives to the point I’ve acquired worry lines under my eyes and feel like I’ve aged ten years in the last few weeks, all I need is for Talker’s great granddaughter to haunt my dreams as well.

Speaking of relatives, during a break in the rain a few days ago, I got laundry out of the way and while in the Laundry Room, I opened the door of a front facing washer and coins flew out — pennies and a nickel.

I shared this as a comment to another blogger's post, but don't recall sharing on this blog before, that my sister told granddaughter, when she passed away, she would leave quarters around to let us know she was here in some manner or form.

Sure enough, since sister passed, I’ve had bright shiny new quarters suddenly appear along my path and in unusual places — most recently, in the Pain Cave underneath the equipment I was working on.

In fact, quarters so often appear in the Pain Cave that when spotted by Trainer, he’ll point it out and say, "Your sister is here".

Once, when it was a lesser coin, Trainer asked, "Is this someone you know?" Lol.

Seeing all these coins pop out of the washing machine, as I opened the door, one could assume the previous user had coins in the pocket of something they washed, missed seeing the coins when they removed the wet wash, so I didn’t give it much thought. However, when I later opened a dryer and a quarter popped out, I figured sister was letting me know she was visiting and had brought various ancestors with her — maybe my brothers, but who knows.

At any rate, I didn’t know who the others were so, when done in the Laundry Room, I took sister with me, left the others.

Arrest Day is also Pizza Tuesday, and the Activity Calendar shows Activity Director hosting another event, or attempting to host — dependent on management giving her the money budgeted for supplies this time ... "Start Your Own Healthy Garden! Learn about healthy herbs and start your own garden! Seeds and planters will be provided."

That’s something that really interests me so, come rain or shine, I’ll go down to the Community Room, see if it's two times in a row not happening, or a class attached, or a complete bait and switch.

Stay tuned.

Tuesday, March 14, 2023

Recalculating

To Green or Not to Green was question of the day, as I dressed to check out Activity Directors latest offering.

The activity calendar showed "St. Patrick’s Day Treats 12 Noon".

Friday being St. Patrick’s Day proper, and not a bingo Friday, today was my last chance to wear my shamrock top and newly acquired green lipstick.

I’d done my nails up in green days ago.

Any color other than red on my lips is a bold departure for me, but I stepped out of my comfort zone and did the thing.



Activity Director did a nice job on the little gift bag she handed out at the bait and switch "Valentine Party" that turned out to be a class on how to control blood pressure, so I was anxious to see how today’s gift bag turned out and if there was a codicil attached — another class.

I never got to find out.

As I headed towards the main building — in the rain, as it began just as I was heading out, I was met by a resident coming out of the building who said, "You might as well turn around. It’s been cancelled".

She filled me in on the Activity Director being upset because she did not get money to purchase supplies for the gift bags in time.

"If she'd said so in advance, I would have bought something so they (the seniors) could have had something", the resident said.

If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you know it’s not the first time management dropped the ball and an AD did not get money for supplies in time.

Had this resident stepped in, footed the bill herself, that too would not have been a first time thing when management dropped a ball.

Of course, it would have been nice to be told of the cancellation in advance, as soon as AD knew she'd not be handing out gift bags, not just because one of us residents would have stepped in, but because the resident said quite a few others had shown up early and waited, only to be told of the cancellation when AD arrived to drop off the Pizzas (today is also Pizza Tuesday).

Also not a one-time occurrence, this sitting and waiting before being told of a cancellation, and is one reason why I'd stopped going to events hosted by ADs.

So, anyway, like I said, it was raining. Rather than continue inside, see if others had greened up for the occasion, I recalculated — turned back, changed out of the shamrock tee and will have to wait for a better outcome next year, as I switch to munching on popcorn while catching up on recorded TV programs.

Saturday, March 11, 2023

Memory Lane

A comment left by DrumMajor/Linda in Kansas that "You should apply for a job on Perry Mason with all of your observation skills", sent me on a path down memory lane in a quest to determine if I am a natural curious and highly observant entity or just plain nosy.

After thinking about it, I've determined the former, and offer up as evidence the fact that being naturally curious/highly observant has always been in my DNA as far back as I can recall.

In my preteens, I played Nancy Drew — walked around the neighborhood with a pad and pen, took down license numbers of cars parked in the area so, if there was an incident, I could tell the cops which cars were in the area at that time.

Later in life, as a young mother looking for a way to supplement my income, so I could do better for my girls, I looked into becoming a Private Detective — figuring I’d be good at it because I didn’t stand out, blended in. Or so I thought.

I now know I’d have stuck out like a sore thumb wherever I went because, for some odd reason, people did and do notice me.

Twin 2 recently told me how proud she and her twin were that I was known as "The hot mom, all the dads had crushes" on me.

Say what!? It would have been nice to know that back when I felt I was invisible, didn’t count for nothing.

At any rate, that private detective certification never got off the ground because the school I was looking into was too far away to get to.

The desire never left me though, because it was just two years ago when I looked into Private Detective training online, but decided I now do not have the time or inclination to work the course or do anything with the training had I completed it.

Several times since then — more recently just a few weeks ago, I looked into online courses in cold case crime solving genealogy.

But again, it’s a pipe dream because I don’t have the time or inclination to do the course work.

I did get to play Private Dick for real one time back in ’72, when I worked for the elected City Attorney of a small city who was up for reelection.

His opponent was running a campaign that included having enlisted a bunch of college students to pick up and work with a campaign strategy dossier at a location that turned out to be someone’s home.

The attorney I worked for wanted to see that dossier and asked if I thought I could pose as a student, get him a copy of it.

Challenge accepted.

I dressed down for the assignment and a little sexy as a distraction, went to the location where I found a lot of people milling around, going in and out, someone issuing the dossier, crossing off names of those picking up their copy.

Thinking fast, I said I was picking up for my boyfriend, gave a fictitious name for the boyfriend and, though there was a roster with a list of names, no one checked to verify — probably because of the hustle bustle of the place being so busy at the time or maybe because my short skirt tight blouse distraction worked, LOL.

Of course, I was prepared to play it off as a mistake if they checked but didn't find my fictitious boyfriend's name, play dumb that he'd sent me on a wild goose chase, even run if things went really bad but, with no further questions, no problem, I walked out with the paperwork.

My attorney and his Assistant Attorney laughed their butts off when I returned to the office, paperwork in hand, and regaled them with my outfit and undercover adventure.

I also later received a dozen long stemmed red roses from my attorney with his thanks.

He won reelection.

Thinking about that attorney as I typed out this post, I looked him up and found he passed away of Covid this last December.

Taking advantage of an offer to move up to a higher paying job, I moved on from small city attorney, ended up working for a big city attorney who was having trouble getting proof of service on a complaint. The respondent refused to accept mail coming from the law office, and the attorney could not move forward without proof of service.

That attorney didn’t so much as ask me to help as he made his problem my problem by ordering me to "Get him served".

Didn’t appreciate his tone, but no problem I.

In those days, one did not have to have a return address to get mail through the post office, so using my own personal violet colored envelope, sprayed with my perfume, I mailed the complaint off to the respondent’s address.

I figured no way he, or a wife if he had one, could pass up finding out what was in that perfumed envelope and from whom, as there was no return address or name.

Sure enough, the respondent accepted service. We got the necessary proof.

I never so much as got an atta girl or how did you manage it from the ungrateful attorney.

No matter because it was fun outwitting the respondent and, after only working three months for Mr. Ingrate, I applied for and was promoted to Administrative Legal Secretary to Mr. Ingrate’s boss.

I recall more times than a few when, out and about, I observed activities of a criminal nature that no one else appeared to have observed — multiple instances of shoplifting, some long ago, some more recent.

I've seen pickpockets in action, with no one else seeming to notice.

I saw a man surreptitiously taking photos of a little girl at a farmer's market, wanted to alert the parents but had a feeling they'd not believe me, which is why I rarely get involved, mostly just observe.

People believe what they see AND if they don't see, then I'm the one whose crazy, making things up. So it's best most times to keep my observances to myself unless it's something egregious, like if he'd touched the child.

Then there was the time, before I realized people either did not believe or did not care, when I spotted a pervert standing between two houses, watching the preschool across the street as he played with himself.

I called the cops.

They didn't care, didn't see the danger I saw, told me to call the next day if he was still there.

I've seen drug buys right out in the open, one just last week as I was leaving the Pain Cave.

Then there was last year when I observed a suspicious looking person targeting a shopper's purse, unattended in the market's shopping cart with her back turned, and thwarted the theft by warning the shopper.

Though she thanked me, I got the impression she wasn't concerned. She'd not noticed the individual, didn't see a problem, was too busy shopping to realize or care she'd been in danger even after being warned.

At any rate, I'm sure there have been other Perry Mason instances, but those are the ones I easily recalled.

Bottom line, it's in my DNA to be an avid people watcher, naturally curious and highly observant — a combination of Sherlock Holmes, Perry Mason, Dick Tracy, Nancy Drew and Miss Scarlet.


Friday, March 10, 2023

Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

Thought I was going to have to swim to this morning’s workout and this afternoon’s bingo, but it hasn’t been pouring down drenching yet.

During the week, in thinking about what to do with that Life is Good book that I found too triggering to continue reading, I remembered we have a Library in the Game Room, so I dropped the book off on my way to bingo.


It’s been so long since I’ve been in the Game Room — not since it reopened after the Pandemic, that I’d forgotten having previously donated several books, and this would be a good addition.


I didn’t see any of the other books I’d donated, so will be interesting to see how long this one stays on the shelf before it disappears into the unit of an avid reader.

Once again, what rain there was kept many of the regulars away, which improved my chances of winning a game and, after a long dry spell, I finally did pull out a win.

From the prize table, I chose a Rapid Egg Cooker that I can use for cooking eggs in the microwave when travelling to my next 5K.

I have a suspicion I won another game, as I was only one number away, but had to leave the room to take a telephone call. When I returned, that game was still in progress, which made me certain the number I was waiting for probably had been called, but I didn’t want to disrupt the game by asking for a readback.

Buttons — the now 86-year-old who recently had a birthday, whom I learned today has been living here 24 years in the same unit, and I were the only two sitting at our regular table. Before the games began, she shared with me her latest creation.

Front

Back Working Side

I was gagged that a 86-year-old had the eyes and dexterity to do such delicate embroidery work, on a thin piece of silk paper no less.

Her plan is to back it onto cardstock, frame and send as a gift to a friend.

The only tea to come out of this afternoon’s bingo wasn’t really tea, more like a snipe.

The resident I’ve not yet given a proper blog name to, the one who had been a brilliant woman, employed in a high-functioning job, something to do with working in a lab, until an automobile accident left her brain damaged, prone to seizures and whom I suspect of having injured a puppy she adopted during the shutdown, then opting to put the puppy to sleep because she could not afford the vet bill to correct the injury she caused, made chili and cornbread muffins for the group.

Stories are legendary about the deplorable hoarder conditions of her unit.

She came close to being evicted because the county said they would no longer pay her rent unless and until she made the place habitable, which she did just enough to get a pass then went back to as it was before.

The maintenance guys complain about her unit but, much like Smoker, management can't just toss people with issues out into the street. Especially if they're well liked and not violent, unlike the one resident they did toss into the street — Cat Lady who was a menace.

At any rate, Red Light sidled up to me, sniped about the offering … "I’m not eating that".

I wouldn’t either, not even if I could, but some did.

Not pretended to eat so as to not hurt her feelings, but actually consumed, swallowed.

Some people will eat anything.

Will be interesting to see if anyone gets sick.

This is awful I know, but the chili reminded me that, after the puppy incident, she was given custody of the kitten residents rescued from Next Door Neighbor's car engine.

Worried that the kitten might not be safe, I'd followed up, asked how it was doing and felt relieved when her face lit up and she began gushing about how sweet the kitten was, how the kitten has changed her life, how much she loved and was enjoying having the kitten.

That was in 2021 and, looking at the chili, I thought to get a more recent update on the kitten, ask if she still had it, but thought today was not the right time for that conversation, as she might put 2 and 2 together, figure out what I was thinking.

I'm sure to see her on Wednesday, when we have a St. Patrick's Day cookie decorating event, where I can work the kitten into conversation with no suspicion of a hidden agenda.

I wanted to wear my St. Patrick’s Day tee to bingo, but it’s too cold, so I bundled up.

I did get a kick out of the non-English speaking couple, who always show up for bingo that we’ve somehow managed to show how the various games work.

They dressed for the occasion and were so cute that I just have to show you.


Wednesday, March 8, 2023

Color Me Disappointed

This is what I ordered.


It’s cute, feminine.

This is what I received.


Super big and boxy. It’s not cute, not feminine.

Color me disappointed.

Of course the seller specified "no returns" — as though he or she already knew customers would balk at the false advertising of posting a cute little tee and getting a man sized bigun instead, so I dug my trusty sewing machine out and pimped the tee down.

Only took me an hour and a half to pin, check for fit, then lop off two and a half inches each side, four and a half inches off the bottom and voilĂ .


It might could do with another inch off each side, but I’ll leave as is for now and test the size closer to next year’s Black History Month to see if I want to take off more.

I also solved the problem of how to make that Greek yogurt not so disgusting. I made deviled eggs, used yogurt instead of mayo and added a little Stevia and Coconut Amino to further kill the bitter taste.

I also have updates on the new resident of the bad energy unit.

Along about 5:30, as I was in the bedroom returning my sewing tools to the kit, I saw him out and about for the first time.

He's still alive and was heading down the walkway, appearing to be heading for the Mail Center.

Thinking he’d return that same way, I got the camera ready.


He looks to be doing okay thus far — smiling, seems happy, healthy, even has a lady friend.

The smiling, seeming happy, healthy was what I first saw on the other residents of that unit until things went bad. So let's just wait and see how he is in a few months.

Something is definitely going on with the girl in the unit beneath mine, as she no longer leaves for work in the afternoon. She’s home all the time now.

It was last week when I noticed she wasn’t leaving for work, assumed she was on vacation, but after the BAM BAM BAM on her door, I’m not so sure.

As for how I know when she’s home and when not ..... she never opens her patio blinds — not in the entire six years she’s lived here. Same with her kitchen blinds. She locks her place up like a dungeon, no sunlight at any time (much like Red Light).

However, when she is home, she pulls a corner of the bedroom blinds up in a way that gives her a peephole where she can see us residents going up/down the walkways, but we can’t see her. 

When she’d leave to go to work or to the market, she’d close the peephole.

I’ve wanted many times to get a photo of her peephole to show you, but I figured she was watching and would catch me taking the pic.

One day I'm going to be in the right place at the right time and get a pic of that peephole for posting.

Tuesday, March 7, 2023

Cop Knock

We survived the weekend around here. No snow and it only rained for a little while Sunday night.

Though more rain is expected, the temperature is expected to jump from the 40°s to the 50°s, then the 60°s. So maybe sometime soon I’ll be able to bundle up, wear a pandemic mask to keep the icy air out of my throat, and log in some walking miles.

I felt comfortable that the sore throat, caused by having breathed in and/or swallowing icy air was responsible for my sore throat; the coughing to be my gut acting up but, to be on the safe side, used the In-Home Rapid Test the government had sent months ago.

All Clear.

If you’ve been watching the news, you know the mountain folks are still suffering, with more snow expected.

Though I did nothing, went nowhere over the weekend, I didn’t have to go or do to come up with interesting blog fodder because Red Light had some kind of a meltdown and posted it to Facebook.

In a 24-hour period, she posted a tirade of cryptic messages, in meme form, which seem to be directed at someone in particular.






My guess is she’s referring to the Talker, who was her BFF on the complex until they had a falling out back in September.

How one can become BFF with a neighbor — both within a few short months of moving in, is beyond me and not a good idea because, as I said before, there’s always drama when one gets too close to others. Which is why I opt to being friendly but keeping a wall around myself that few are allowed to gain entry beyond.

At any rate, Red Light’s passive aggressive manipulative "Hey look folks. I’m the victim here. Side with me" FB posts was my weekend entertainment.

Waking up yesterday morning, thinking this week looked to be quiet and uneventful, it was the unit underneath me that shook things up — figuratively and literally as the floor beneath my feet shook.

Long time readers will call the weird girl — the one I ignore, give her my dead eyes when we pass on the walkway because she was so cra cra and ugly back in 2017, when I tried to introduce myself, welcome her to the quad. Then subsequently showed just how cra cra she was by complaining to the office that I was disturbing her peace by bouncing a ball 3:30 A.M. most mornings when all I'm doing at that hour is sleeping.

At any rate, it was around 3:00 yesterday afternoon when I heard a loud banging on her door. "BAM! BAM! BAM!" so hard that the floor shook.

That didn’t sound like a welfare check knock. Sounded more like a knock intended to frighten the occupant inside, a cop knock.

Online at the time at the kitchen table, researching ways to get past the gross taste of greek yogurt because I read it’s good for helping to clear up my gut issues, I was up and at the kitchen window in a flash.

Couldn’t hear the voices, make out any conversations but, after a few minutes, I did hear the door close and saw a guy in an official looking uniform walk away with papers in his hands. He appeared to be accompanied by another big guy which I thought might be our Assistant Maintenance Guy, but wasn't sure as he appeared to also be in uniform, which our guys are generally not.

Did not specifically recognize either as a cop, but some kind of authority personnel.

Can only speculate as to what THAT was all about …… Banging meant to terrify, guys in uniforms, papers in hand …… could it be she’s being evicted?

Time will tell, but I hope not because I wouldn’t wish that on her.

Though she’s pissed me to not care for her — we’ll never be on friendly terms per se, she did thaw some of my coldness towards her when she turned over one of my packages that had been misdelivered to her lockbox a few weeks ago.

I guess my dead eyes and cold shoulder had frightened her to being too afraid to approach me directly. What she did was give to Next Door Neighbor, tell her to give to me and shared it’s not the first time she’d gotten my packages but that she had caught the error last time, while the mailman was still here, chased him down and made him put in the correct lockbox.

Appreciating her honesty, when our paths next crossed, instead of giving her the dead eyes/cold shoulder, I thanked her.

Since then, she smiles and says "Hi" to me.

I return the greeting, but reluctantly and continue to try to avoid her, because I don’t care how friendly she now wants to be, six years is too late. I’m not feeling it.

So now, I’m not only keeping an eye on the bad energy unit, I’m now also keeping eyes and ears on what’s going on in the unit beneath mine.

Trainer said I could write a book about neighbors here at the complex, and that each neighbor could be a chapter.