Size Doesn’t Matter

Walking into the Pain Cave this morning, I greeted Trainer, set down my water bottle, cellphone, keys as Trainer began walking towards me when, all of a sudden he stopped, looked down and said, with a smile on his face — as though he saw something cute, "Will you look at that".

I froze. "What?".

"It’s a little baby lizard," said he.

There was much screeching and screaming after that as I jumped up on top of the nearest bench.

"Are you being serious right now?" said Trainer as I continued to screech and yell "Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!"

"It’s little, a baby" said Trainer.

"Size doesn’t matter. It’s a lizard. Kill it!".

To make matters worse, it was a white lizard.

Whoever heard of such a thing?

How many more ways can nature torture me?

Saying, "You scared me Shirley". That he didn’t initially know why I was screaming, didn’t occur to him it was because I was afraid of a baby lizard, Trainer got a broom and began sweeping the lizard out of the studio while assuring me he was not going to sweep it towards me, but rather towards the open door.

A bookcase was positioned in such a way that I couldn’t see the floor in the door area, so I didn’t believe Trainer when he said the lizard was gone, that he'd swept it out the door. I thought the lizard had eluded him and made it to the corner opposite the door, where Trainer couldn't get to it.

"He’s gone. I swept him out the door. I wouldn’t lie to you."

I eventually trusted putting my feet back on the studio floor, got down to working out, with Trainer continuing to say he thought I was joking at first until he saw how wide and wild my eyes looked when I was perched up on the bench.

"I thought you were gantsa, could handle anything".

"Not creepy crawlies", said I.

So, anyway, today's workout was once again the ladder. Only this time Trainer said he was going to push me a little and had me hop sideways, instructing to get my knees up high as I went along.

This was as high as I could get 'em.

Not my best work, and later this afternoon, at bingo, I became aware my right hip was aching. It feels a bit out of alignment. Not sufficient for a visit to the acupuncturist, but enough to require soaking in a hot tub and some yoga stretches.

I don't think I'll be engaging in any future knees up sideways hopping again.

Walking into the Community Room this afternoon, I saw the refrigerator had a big old "STAFF ONLY" sign on it.

Logic tells me the words "Community Room" signifies a room set aside for the community of residents — our kitchen, our refrigerator for our events. But unless and until someone of authority, someone with power who actually gives a damn comes along that we can complain to, there’s not a thing us seniors can do but work around management.

Shadow — the resident that caused my former friend The Seer, now deceased, to turn on all of us, said we should unplug the refrigerator or cut the cord.

I actually like that suggestion of sabotage, but reminded him of the kitchen’s video surveillance system.

Curses, foiled again.

Every Day’s an Adventure

Doesn’t look like there’s any saving the patio plants. from the unrelenting rays of the hot sun, no matter how much water I give them.

I did manage, however, to harvest another little radish, which I added to a coleslaw I was making.

Other than that, I’ll continue watering, see what survives after the heat moves on ….. that is IF the heat moves on.

Hearing the news say it’s all due to Climate Change, I wondered ……… Climate Change or Prophecy? because I recalled something from my mom’s Old Testament teaching that, after the earth was cleansed of humanity by the flood, the Old Testament God said that, if we didn’t get our act together, next time he would scorch the earth — heat/fire.

Though I myself am not an Old Testament thinker, the thought is coming from somewhere.

Another thought that came to me this week was that a former coworker once told me, when unpleasant happenings would occur to her, she’d lament to her mom "Why me?", her mom would respond with "Why not you? Why somebody else?"

I remembered that conversation when I awoke on Tuesday morning, two days after that trauma filled Sunday, only to find blood in my right eye.

Then

So, why me? Why not somebody else?

Is it just my turn to experience a little of the manure that hitting the fan now days?

The eye looked so vampire creepy that the plan was, except for working out with Trainer, to hide myself away until the eye cleared up.

How is hiding yourself away from others except for training and the occasional bingo game, any different than your normal modus operandi, thought I.

So, learning it would be a good two/three weeks before the eye cleared up, it’s been business as usual with my brushing off the "what happened to your eye questions" with "I went to bed, stuff happened in my sleep, I woke up like this. Every day I get out of bed is an adventure".

I do wonder, however, if having pepper sprayed myself has something to do with the bloody eye which today looks to me like it’s already clearing up.

Now

And Then I Stabbed and Pepper Sprayed Myself

Yesterday started off with my seeing our Karen character back to her hunting/gathering phase.

After the coast was clear of her, I headed out to do laundry I’ve put off for far longer than I should have.

Walking into the Laundry Room, I was met by a resident of another building pulling her wash out.

"Just so you know", said she. "There’s an alligator lizard in here".

Hearing the word "alligator" stopped me in my tracks. Couldn’t catch my breath as I had visions of a giant Florida alligator coming at me from out of nowhere.

"It’s over there" said she pointing behind the big dryer. "It scampered in when I opened the door".

Having finally found my breath and my voice I asked, "What’s an alligator lizard?"

"It’s big, scaly, slinks around like a snake" said she.

"Okay, bye, I can’t handle this. Thanks for letting me know" said I as I fled the room.

If you will recall last year's incident with a lizard on the patio, I would have lost my mind had an allegator/lizard/snake like moving creature trapped me in the laundry room, so I crossed the grassy knoll, used the laundry room on that side of the complex.

Having trouble opening the childproof tab they now put on packets of Tide Pods, I opened the blade to the little stiletto knife I keep on my key chain (another backup self-defense device) and cut the bag open. Problem is, I forgot to retract the blade so, when I headed back to my unit, keys in hand, I stabbed a finger enough to require treatment with rubbing alcohol and peroxide.

This is not the first time I’ve stabbed myself. I once stabbed myself pretty good in the abdomen when using a butcher knife to open something with the blade pointed towards myself. You can guess what went wrong from there.

Hospitalization was not required, but came pretty close.

So anyway, once laundry was done and I was returning to my unit, I spotted something that caused me to pause at the door.

If you look closely over to the left of the dusty ledge, you’ll see a baby lizard.

F _ _ k my life!!!!!, thought I.

I made all kinds of noise to make it move — stomped, banged the bags full of clean laundry against the porch. It didn’t move.

It was a baby, so I really didn’t want to hurt it, but it gave me no choice. I pulled out the pepper spray.

Not wanting to pepper myself, as I did when I went after a wasp on the porch, I grabbed a towel from the basket, held it up to my nose and mouth.

Didn’t matter. The spray seeped through and I began choking, gagging, had to run back downstairs to get away from the solution in the air and recover.

Inasmuch as pepper spray seems to do ME more harm than good, I’m seriously thinking of giving up the idea of pepper spray as a self-defense tool.

After recovering, I headed back to my door only to find the baby lizard had not moved.

Must have been dead all along. Heat must have gotten to it, thought I.

Taking a chance that since it was dead, wasn’t going to get inside if I opened the door, I gingerly, carefully opened the door, threw the baskets in, keeping an eye on the baby lizard to make sure it wasn’t moving, then jumped inside, slammed the door.

Now safely inside, knowing that little carcass was outside the door, needed to be gotten rid of, I thought a good idea would be to sweep it down onto the pathway leading to the unit beneath mine — where the weird girl lives.

Grabbing the patio broom, I opened the door, began to sweep the carcass away when, all of a sudden, it moved — leaped into the air and began darting away.

You could have heard my scream a block away.

The little bastid had played possum, faked me out, and now had scampered over to under the ledge of Next-Door Neighbor’s door.

BTW, Next Door Neighbor is somewhat annoying at times, but she’s refined, a boogie. The inside of her unit looks like a fine arts museum, but that tacky doormat is saying something isn't right with her.

So, anyway, I was okay with the baby lizard camping out at next door neighbor's door, rather than mine, and felt the need of a stiff drink to settle my nerves after such a traumatic morning.

Inasmuch as I am not a drinker, but now have an oven to bake in, I tried out a recipe I'd been wanting to try — Mini S’mores Dip.

Recipe photo

My Bake

Those two ramekins of ooey gooey deliciousness, with a cup of coffee, was just what the doctor ordered.

Later in the afternoon, I heard footsteps running up the stairs.

Can’t be, thought I.

Oh, but it was.

There was a knock knock knock, followed by "Hi! Did you miss me?" when I opened the door, then a hug.

I knew this day would come so, when given a free caramel sucker last time at See's Candy, I'd saved it for my little Stalker. I also signed her cast.

Fun with Skelly

Yesterday was Take Your Skelly to the Pain Cave Day.

I’ve fallen and can’t get up.

Is that your mom training over there?

How long have you been training here?

And now this ..... seen on FB last night.

I Read Books and I Know Things

Maybe it’s just me, but this last week has been the longest week ever, felt like it took forever for today, Friday, to come.

The good news is that, because I seemed to have more hours to each day of this week, a lot got done.

Along with my normal schedule of working out, blogging, running errands, needlepoint, scrapbooking, TV watching, playing Candy Crush and the hours and hours and hours spent on TikTok, I was able to finish reading Walter Mosley’s Every Man a King and got well into The In-Between by hospice nurse Hadley Vlahos.

Hadley, who started her career as a nursing intern in the ER, segued into hospice care and shares visitations/spiritual encounters she’s observed her patience experience in their final moments.

It’s a fascinating read — not sad but, inasmuch as I empath, I’ll be reading along, find tears running down my face and, at other times, I’ll be smiling and/or laughing out loud.

It’s definitely a book that makes you think and brought up from the memory vault a visitation dream I had in October of 2021.

I dream a lot a lot a lot, which is exhausting. I wake up tired more often than not and mostly, when I awaken, the dream escapes me, is completely forgotten.

However, there are times when, upon awakening, remembering every aspect of the dream, I immediately reach over for the pen and journal I keep by the side of the bed to write it down before it too disappears into the ethers.

Such was the case when, in 2021, I’d written "M came to me in a dream last night. He was still about 3 years old. I hugged him, kissed him over and over. There was also a lean white guy present. Gay. Fun. Said he didn’t drive his car. So, when time for him to leave asked if I could drive him to the pier to catch his boat back home. I said okay".

The journal entry went on to say that, for some reason, after agreeing to drive the guy to the pier, I decided instead to call him an Uber and that later, thinking back on the dream, I deduced the guy was a "Grim Reaper. A fun reaper."

It seemed logical to me that, if a Grim Reaper did come to take me away, it would be a gay guy because I’d not trust or feel comfortable with a straight.

For a while after the dream, I pondered what would have happened had I gone through with driving the Reaper guy to the "pier", then I forgot all about it.

Reading The In-Between is bringing it all back and has me once again pondering ...... Was his asking me to drive him to the pier my opportunity to exit out of here? What would have happened had I followed through?

Umbrella Alley

Leaving the craft store in Redlands this morning, I remembered Activity Director, during her class on entertainment for no or low cost, suggested a walking tour through Redland’s Umbrella Alley.

Googling the address, I set the GPS and drove the 2 miles over from the craft store.

Lo and Behold the Alley is around the corner from my new all-female dental office. I’d previously walked right by the Alley a time or two, hadn’t even noticed it.

I dunno. The Alley is cute, but I must admit to being underwhelmed.

I meant to open the Pokémon Go App, check the Alley for interesting/new characters but Redlands was so hot that I forgot all about anything other than a quick tour of the Alley, head back home to my A/C.

Head Maintenance Guy showed up yesterday afternoon with a replacement part for the oven.

It’s beginning to worry me that he’s being so pleasant and accommodating lately.

Maybe HMG is worried that, inasmuch as Assistant Maintence Guy does the better job and is thought of more highly than he (the boss) is, that he'd better step it up to avoid being demoted to the assistant position.

At any rate, hearing him bang and clink around, while I was listening to the television and working on that never ending needlepoint project, I didn’t feel very confident in this — his second time "fixing" the oven. So, when he finished up, once again pronouncing "fixed" I said "I’ll cook something tonight and let you know how it goes".

I'm happy to report he got it right this time.

Amazing what can be done when HMG puts time and effort into it.

So, all is well until whatever else is next to fail.

Overkill Part 2

Today started off with my waking up thinking it was Sunday.

After I figured out today is Tuesday and might as well be Sunday because I was free from running errands today, I thought about attending Activity Director’s bingo, but chose instead to put in time on that needlepoint project and start on the baby’s third or fourth album — I’ve lost count already.

In the midst of crafting, Red Light called.

She’s all upset because the current Complex Manager told her the residents can no longer use the refrigerator in the Community Room.

Evidently, a resident stole a staffer’s lunch from the refrigerator.

There are cameras overlooking the kitchen area, so the office told Red Light they know who the culprit is, but it seems instead of singling out that culprit we all have to now suffer with the refrigerator being off limit to residents.

When we have parties, or set up snacks for bingo, things like fruit, water, ice cream, anything we need to be cold will have to be kept in the refrigerator in our units and brought down.

To ensure staff lunches are kept safe, instead of their putting a small refrigerator in their office, a lock is going to be placed on the Community Room refrigerator.

Red Light went on to say she’s calling around, encouraging us residents to sign a petition, contact Corporate, yada yada yada.

That’s one thing I’ve noticed about Red Light and Next-Door Neighbor as well, both of whom are on welfare, have the safety of being supported by the County. They are manipulators, constantly rebel rousing, telling us residents what WE should do, who WE should contact, but they themselves don’t initiate their own ideas, don’t take the reins, they stay in the background manipulating, pushing others.

Wanting nothing of Red Light’s latest crusade, I was listening to her blather on, got up to stand at the patio window, and saw a uniformed young lady walking down the walkway with a piece of paper in her hand that very much resembled the violation papers already posted to Patty’s door.

As she passed, I saw the patch on the back of her uniform indicated "Animal Control".

Telling Red Light that I had to go because someone was approaching Patty’s door, I stepped out onto the patio, caught Animal Control girl’s attention with "Excuse me!" and proceeded to explain to her how Patty had been evicted, taken out on a stretcher by medical personnel, did not — as the previous notices indicated abandon the cat, moved out leaving it unattended.

By then, both Next Door Neighbor and Red Light had stepped outside, got into the conversation.

It was a confusing conversation, had me thinking the cat was still in the unit as Animal Control girl said something about needing to know if the cat inside had food, water, and there may be more than one cat.

Next Door Neighbor assured her it was one cat, but it seemed Animal Control girl either did not know or was unsure of who took the cat, where it went, that is ….. if it went and was not still inside, alone.

The conversation ended with Animal Control girl heading for the office, to find out what staff had to say.

Good luck with that as they were probably at lunch and, if not, talking to them will only get you lies and talking in circle.

After Animal Control girl left, headed for the office, Next Door Neighbor said she thought possibly the cat could still be inside as the blinds had recently been moved.

She’s correct about the blinds being moved, but the office knew Patty had a cat, would not have put an eviction notice on the door without first assuring someone had removed the cat, so it’s highly unlikely an animal has been left unattended in the unit.

Perhaps the invisible thing that plagued the bad energy unit, upset because the new guy appears to be immune to it, has changed locations, moved into Patty’s now vacant unit.

At any rate, after all was said and done, I went downstairs to see what Animal Control girl had posted to Patty’s door.

It’s a notice informing Patty that her 5 year old calico cat has been impounded by Animal Control for lack of care.

Okay, so at least I am assured the cat is not in the unit, even though Animal Control girl herself was confused, didn’t seem to know what was going on, because the notice says her agency has seized the cat.

The notice goes on to say that Patty will be held liable for cost of care if she does not attend "a scheduled hearing".

This is no further worry of Patty’s because she can't possibly be in condition to attend a hearing and, since she will not be appearing, the powers that be can’t get blood out of a turnip.

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE

Next Door Neighbor was correct. The cat was still in the unit.

It was the cat that moved the blinds. In fact, another resident had reported seeing the cat looking out through the slats.

Probably looking for mama, wondering where Patty had gone, leaving her behind all this time.

Animal Control girl returned from the office with Head Maintenance Guy. He let her into the unit to seize the cat.

Evidently, the office knew the cat had been left behind, had turned on the A/C, was supplying the cat with food and water until Animal Control could arrive and seize it.

At least they did that much.

As for why it had not been seized before, there was some kind of mix-up — the office and Animal Control kept missing each other, or so the story goes, until today.

The notice Animal Control girl left on the door this morning was to show the cat was today being seized by her agency.

What a twisted tale this has been.

I now understand why Patty had received violations for leaving the cat behind .... because she technically actually did when they rolled her out on a stretcher.

Poor cat. Along with whatever medical issues it now has for living with a smoker, will now probably have to deal with abandonment issues.

I'm told the cat was hissing and fighting when taken out in a carrier.

Halloween in July

The heat is killing me!

Skelly here kept popping up in my feeds, calling my name so, as the price continued to drop, off I drove on Sunday to pick him up at the craft store.

If you think it’s too early for Halloween, you’d be wrong because, in addition to being bombarded with ads offering up Halloween decor, in-store displays are already popping up.

To top it off, I heard on the news this morning that Spirit Halloween stores are opening up.

At this rate, Halloween decor is going to be sold out long before Halloween rolls around.

Overkill

This seems excessive.

The door of the recently evicted resident across the quad is now plastered with not only the eviction notice, but two notices from Animal Control — one a violation for allowing her cat to go without care and attention, and another requesting her to appear to face accusations of moving out, leaving the cat behind.

I know that sometimes when it rains it pours, but damn. This is overkill.

When I’d asked about her cat, I was told that the office asked my Next Door Neighbor, who was more involved in trying to assist Patty than the rest of us, used to pick up groceries for her, had a key to her unit, they asked if she would take the cat.

That was a no. Next Door Neighbor is not a pet person and her close relationship with Patty ended some time ago, when NDN returned with Patty’s grocery order but flat out refused to purchase and provide Patty with alcohol to drink herself to death, whereupon Patty yelled, "I NEED IT" and threw something at NDN.

Not able to pawn the cat off on NDN, management supposedly turned it over to a shelter.

That being the case, why then is Patty being accused of moving out, leaving the cat behind. Especially since she didn’t move out. She was carried out on a stretcher by medical personnel.

Did management not turn the cat over to a shelter?

One school of thought is … yes, management turned the cat over to a shelter, the cat was evaluated and found to have been neglected, in poor shape. Thus, the violation of allowing the cat to go without care and attention.

That doesn’t explain how she can also be accused of moving out/leaving the cat uncared for behind.

No matter how one looks at it, these additional notices are confusing, overkill and a waste of time, as nothing more can be done to Patty.

Today being bingo Friday, I had an opportunity to catch up with Buttons — the 87 year old that plays with pretty buttons.

She’d told me a few weeks back that she was scheduled for a skin cancer removal procedure — her 6th in 10 years, and said three things work against her, makes her susceptible to skin cancers (1) She’s fair skinned (2) Has blue eyes (3) Doesn’t drink coffee.

I didn’t disbelieve what she was telling me about coffee but, wanting to know the why of it, I looked it up and found "Coffee has been associated with lower melanoma and basal cell carcinoma risk in humans. The catch? Decaf doesn't have the same effect. That's because caffeine inhibits an enzyme called ATR, which plays a key role in the survival of cells damaged by ultraviolet (UV) rays".

Interesting, is it not?

At any rate, I’m dark skinned, have brown eyes, drink tons of coffee, so that’s one ailment I won’t have to worry about contracting.

Buttons had the removal procedure done on Monday, said it didn’t hurt and went on about waiting for staples or maybe she said stitches to do something or other. I wasn’t actually clear on what she was telling me after she said it didn’t hurt, because the procedure she went on to describe had me cringing, curling up into a ball and screeching.

A Real Oven Repair Technician

I was hoping Head Maintenance Guy would delay responding to the workorder I’d submitted eleven days ago — re the oven no longer working, until Assistant Maintenance Guy returned from his honeymoon.

Alas, I guess HMG stalled as long as he thought he could get away with and showed up on Tuesday.

He was uncharacteristically polite. I saw and felt no signs of an attitude.

After turning the oven on, sticking his hand in the oven, saying he felt heat, inviting me to stick my hand in the oven where I also felt heat, he stuck some thingamajig in, pulled it out, looked at whatever the thingamajig had registered then pronounced the oven as A-Okay, working just fine.

What do I know, thought I. I could have been wrong or perhaps it was one of those situations where something doesn’t work until the repairman shows up and then it works fine. So, I accepted HMG’s pronunciation and, as soon as he left, I put a meal of salmon and zucchini in the oven for dinner, cook time expected to be around 15/20 minutes.

One hour later, the meal was a little warm but totally absolutely unequivocally uncooked.

With the world having gone cra cra — people nutting up daily, going off the deep end, I don’t want to push HMG over the edge and into making me a victim of a cra cra by doing something like coming up here mad that I’ve submitted another workorder on the oven he pronounced A-Okay, jimmy rigging it to self-destruct, taking me with it next time I tried to use it. I’ll just wait until I see HMG out and about, approach and tell him how that salmon/zucchini cook went and leave it at that until AMG returns.

In the meantime, I’m still enjoyed the occasional s’more made in the mini oven I purchased.

And I do mean occasional because, with me working on getting my cholesterol and sodium numbers under control, these tasty little high in sodium and sugar treats are not a good option.

A better option are the old-fashioned hot water cornbread patties I’ve been binging on ever since Jennifer, over at Sparrow Tree Lane, posted her "late mother-in-law and Tyler’s grandmother Edythe’s" recipe for cornbread fritters, which reminded me of how I’d practically lived off hot water cornbread through most of my childhood because it was then considered "poor people food" — the simple ingredients of cornbread and water went a long way in helping my mother provide for six of us.

There are no eggs in these fritters, thus no cholesterol, I’m able to adjust the salt to a tiny pinch, thus very little sodium and no sugar, even when I decide to go sweet by adding a little stevia. They don’t have to be oily — a little dab can do ya.

Vacancy

Looks like I’ll be getting another new neighbor across the quad; and no, it’s not the guy that moved into the weird energy unit. Whatever is in that unit hasn’t yet chased him away.

The vacant unit is downstairs, next door to Red Light. That neighbor has been evicted.

Some of you might remember that neighbor as the resident everyone tried to help because, in addition to smoking in her unit, which caused problems for those in units surrounding hers that had health problems, she was also drinking herself to death.

Welfare checks had been called for her on numerous occasions. She turned away all offers of help — wouldn’t even open the door to let the visiting nurse evaluate her at the welfare check called for her December of 22.

At that time, us neighbors were told that nothing could be done for her if she declined help, so we left her alone.

Having not actually seen her in person since just before the pandemic began, when I gave her a ride back from the grocery store with her bottles of whiskey, it was just a few weeks ago she crossed my mind. I began to wonder if she was eating or was there lying deceased inside the unit since that last welfare check had been requested. Then I saw a grocery store food delivery come to her door, followed a few days later by a suspicious looking person dropping off a bag that looked like alcohol.

It must have been right after that sighting when she was evicted.

Management has tried to evict her for years — because of violating the no smoking rules, with no success because of this, that, the other. Then covid came, she became ill with long covid, said she had no place to go and would be homeless again, so management backed off. How management was able to now effectuate an eviction I do not know, but they did.

Red Light tells me the authorities arrived to remove/evict that neighbor from the unit two weeks ago, found her not well and had an ambulance take her away. Whereupon management posted an eviction notice to her door.

Two weeks ago, right under my nose, and I’d not heard or seen a thing?????? I actually didn’t believe what Redlight was telling me, went to check Patty’s door my own self, and sure enough …..

WOW! So brutal and so sad to see that happen to someone.

If only she'd accepted the help. Might have changed the course of how her story is ending.

Oh, well.

I popped into the Community Room this morning to check out the 4th of July Celebration, which turned out to be Chinese food and a presentation by some organization I did not stay around long enough to find out who.

Chinese is my favorite. It would have hurt too much to see others partake and not be able to join in, so I left and ran errands instead, including driving by the preferred branch of the bank.

Woo Hoo, it was open.

The teller told me that, when I stopped by Saturday and found them closed, that was the first day of their shutting down on a Saturdays.

Looks like I’ll have to rearrange my schedule to bank during the week, rather than weekends. For now, while I ponder this inconvenience, I took out sufficient cash that I’d not have to deal with banking for a great while, and made sure I wasn’t being followed for jugging after.

I'll have to tell the kids that, in case of my demise, be sure to check the mattress before trashing or donating it.

The Insincerity was Palpable

Today started off with a call from someone in my doctor’s office asking how I was feeling and apologizing for what I termed, in the online complaint I’d submitted to Member Services, "failure to provide proper medical care in an emergency situation".

Bite me, thought I, as I listened to her scripted sorry that happened, hopefully it won’t happen again.

I’m sure it will happen again, or something similiar, as it has happened in the past and because incompetence and stupidity appears to be rampant these days.

What happened was one of those pesky female things popped up on Thursday (probably because I’m always wearing tight leggings and the you know what can’t breathe), and I’d phoned my doc for the standard cure/prescription.

She was out of the office that day, so a nurse on the doctor’s care team took the call, insulted my intelligence by quizzing me up the wazoo in a way that seemed like she was questioning my knowing my own body, even somewhat called me a liar and, in the process, showed her own incompetence by saying, "Well it didn’t show up on your blood test".

What a dweeb, thought I because not only are the two not associated, have no relationship to each other, but my fasting blood test was 75 days ago.

I won’t bore you with all that ensued, how I was told to come in at an appointed time the following day — even though I expressed over and over and over that I was experiencing severe discomfort, and how that appointment was cancelled because she called off work that day. I’ll just tell you how I had to do an end run around the provider’s office altogether.

I remembered when, back in May, Activity Director gave us a presentation by a Medical Group setting up office somewhere across the street.

Turns out, the location is in the same shopping center as the market.

I walked in, explained the situation, was prepared to pay out-of-pocket whatever the cost because I was hurting, but learned my medical office’s membership card served as no pay to me.

There’s probably a significant charge back to the provider’s office, but that’s their problem and their fault.

The intake nurse at this neighborhood clinic asked a few questions, respected that I know my own body and inasmuch as what I was requesting was not an illicit drug, just a simple pill, they wired a prescription to the neighborhood drug store and that was that.

After all was said and done, I got online, submitted a complaint to member services that ended with "It’s a sad commentary on life when I can get better service from a neighborhood clinic than my own provider’s office".

What was interesting is that the neighborhood clinic said they are getting quite a few unhappy members coming in associated with my provider’s medical center. Something about the medical center being too busy to care for those of us who have been members for eons because they are now accepting Medicare/Medicaid.

I can see that. It’s much more profitable for them to bill Medicare/Medicaid for all the unnecessary tests, drugs and medications they're ordering for these newbies.

Oh well.

More and more I’m beginning to feel like a dinosaur as everything around me changes, and not for the better.

Tomorrow is Activity Director’s 4th of July celebration and I need to clone myself, be in two places at one time as I need to pick up a package at the mall, hunt down an open bank for cash.

The celebration is from 11:30 to 1:00, which makes me think it’s something more than just the usual something to eat.

I may have to go to the Community Room, check it out and, if it’s not a fun thing, head out, run my errands. If it’s lit, then I’ll stay, move errand to my next free day.

Culture Shock

Quiet weekend thus far here at the complex.

Believe it or not, my little stalker is still around — week three I think this is, but I've been fortunate in that I've seen and heard her before she's seen me, so I've been able to lay low.

I think too that inasmuch as I didn't relent and let her come upstairs with me that day she so sweetly asked, "Can I come to your house", her grandma Talker got the message and is not letting her knock knock knock.

Returning from running errands today, I detoured by the Mail Center and, looking over at the Black Witch’s patio, saw her patio furnishings gone, replaced with shipping boxes.

I’d heard she was leaving "end of month" but was beginning to think it might not be so when the end of month came and went with her patio furnishings undisturbed.

So, today was the day. Moving after all she is. Taking the side eye hateful if looks could kill way she looks at me with her.

Word is she’s moving in with her daughter out Palm Springs way.

Hot as it is here, Palm Springs is even hotter, but it’s a good place for her body to adjust to heat, since her final destination is hell.

I myself do not believe in a literal hell, but the Black Witch is one of those fake bible thumping church going Christians — you know the kind that act all virtuous in church on Sunday, but are very unchristian like during the remainder of the week.

I know that type very well, because my mom was such. She could really turn it on when she wanted to, especially on Sunday in church. Not so much after church and during the remainder of the week.

In fact, mom met her last husband at church.

Not in church but outside after church.

His back yard, where he lived with his wife and grown daughter, abutted the church's parking lot and somehow mom, in her church usher outfit, charmed him. They began talking over the fence after service let out.

First thing I knew, sweet, charming Christian lady mom seemed to be, he left his family and married mom.

Nice man, I liked him, and they stayed together happily until he passed away, with mom showing a side of herself he didn't see, a face he's never seen, but which side and face she showed to his daughter, which kept daughter from coming around to talk to her dad.

The Black Witch's Christian fellowship would be shocked to see the behavior and face I've seen.

At any rate, I'm sure Black Witch does believe in hell, and what one believes is what one creates, so the Palm Springs heat is good practice.

Because of how ugly the Black Witch can get when she, for one reason or another, drops that sweet old Christian lady act she puts on until she doesn’t, I surmise the living situation is going to be hell for her daughter as well.

During the week, I did learn I was correct in assuming only those of us who are not Section 8 received rent increases — $78 one-bedroom units; $91 two-bedroom units.

I’m still hoping for management to throw us a bone in the form of a luau or party of sorts before summer is over.

One of the errands I ran this weekend was to the bank for some walking around cash.

Talk about culture shock.

After driving to a bank in a populated area where it felt safe to withdraw cash, I was surprised to find the bank empty, doors locked, no explanation.

No worries, thought I. I’ll just drive a city over to another safe banking area.

Again, it was bank empty, doors locked, but a sign that said "temporarily closed".

For how long is "temporary" and why? Were there robberies? Did the banks go out of business?

Because of what I’ve read about skimming machines, I don’t use ATMs. I’m one of those who prefers banking inside.

That may have to change because, after driving to a third area with no luck in finding a bank that was open, I decided not to waste my time checking out other locations. I’ll wait until I have free time next week, then call around to find a branch that is open.

Upon googling what the heck with the closures, I learned it’s a "cost saving measure" since so few of us bank inside.

Well, that’s all great and good for the bank’s corporate officers, who make such decisions so they can up their bonuses, but it’s inconveniencing those of us who want or need to withdraw a significant sum. It’s forcing us to use the ATMs, which have a daily limit, and leaves us vulnerable to skimming machines and bank jugging (thugs watching you withdraw cash then following you home or break into your car to rob you).

I’m beginning to think my grandma had the right idea in keeping her cash under the mattress rather than in a bank.

So This Happened

Bright and early this morning, a notice was posted to my door — "Please take notice that in accordance with the governing state and local laws and ordinances, that sixty days after service upon you of this notice or beginning September 1, 2023, whichever is later, the terms of your rental agreement from the above-described property are hereby changed as follows. Your monthly rent shall be increase from $$$ per month to $$$$, an increase of $78.00 per month.

What! No Luau? thought I.

Some of you might recall, the blow was softened last year by management distracting us with a luau as the guys were posting notices of an increase to our doors. This year it was just slam bam while the newly installed driveway resurfacing project is melting away.

No matter. I live frugally, so a $78 increase isn’t going to kill me; that is not unless I outlive my retirement funds, become dependent on Social Security which, by that time it’s a good chance the Rethuglicans and Supremes will have overturned the Social Security Act, leaving me to be yet another senior dependent on the county.

Inasmuch as I don’t see a notice on any of the other three doors in my quadrant, nor do I see notices on the four across the way, I think it safe to assume the increase is only affecting those of us on the complex not currently being subsidized by the county, and that I’m the only one of the eight units in this area positioned in the gray area — not rich, limited income, but not poor enough to require assistance.

If the increases go how they went last year, $78 is not the highest jump, there are other residents on the complex even grayer than I.

Oh well.

Another happening, on a brighter note was that, on Friday, Trainer moved me up to a new exercise, more high impact, that he thought my bones would be able to now handle called the Ladder.

Point of the Ladder is to weave one's way through with movements that, in addition to improving speed, agility, quickness, brain function, also strengthen joints, ligaments, tendons.

I huffed and puffed my way through, feeling though a bit slow, tenuous at first, stepped on the ladder more times than I made the in-betweens, but proud of a first try, so posted the vid to my facebook friends.

Yesterday, one of those friends sent me this …

Compared to those guys, I did GREAT.

I can’t stop laughing.