Poor Planning

Poor planning caused an early morning run to the market today.

When I hit the corner by the gas station, I saw a woman sleeping on the sidewalk.

Sadly, the unhoused, both men and women sleeping on the sidewalk is not an oddity around here and, with next month’s rent due on the 1st, if this government shutdown causes seniors here — who depend on that monthly Social Security check which might now not come in time to pay rent, and it being unlikely management will extend a grace period until the shutdown is over, checks resume, it’s likely more men and women will be sleeping on the sidewalk.

What was different about this woman was that, bless her heart, she had what looked like a little home away from home setup — shelving, a dolly, cooler, what looked to be a big can of coffee, dish soap, scrub brush, plastic cups and other miscellaneous items.

This living on the streets is a bad situation, getting worse every day, and not just around here.

Also, a bad situation is the sudden rise in the cost of gas.

This afternoon's bingo was a no-drama session.

Her Haughtiness didn't chicken out. She showed up and was much subdued after being embarrassed last week by the Chicken of Silence.

BTW, I’ve decided to rename her Boebert, because her crime was talking when she should have been quietly playing bingo.

So, anyway, she was respectful of the game, kept quiet, even when Dream Lover walked in late, sat at her table.

After we were done playing was another matter.

She and Dream Lover stayed seated long after play was over, looked to be having some interesting conversations, exchanging numbers (as she ran around looking for a pen).

Dream Lovers ex-girlfriend, now just a friend, was in the room.

I felt bad for her because it wasn’t like when Dream Lover was disinterested in our Karen character who was pursuing him, and he and ex-girlfriend could joke around about her, because it was obvious this time it was different.

The two were seriously vibing and actually looked cute together, a match.

I’d mentioned back in August that Dream Lover was acting differently towards me. I’d convinced myself it was my imagination, that I was seeing something that wasn’t there, but now that he’s vibing with Boebert, I saw what I saw — that he was indeed looking for a hookup and seems to have found one.

The problem is, Boebert hasn't been here long enough to know his history. Dream Lover is not the nice, somewhat shy gentleman he comes across as.

The tea is, he did not move in alone. He moved in with a woman who later fled to a battered woman’s shelter, never returned.

After her, it was his now ex-girlfriend who has her own unit here, didn't have to flee, but inasmuch as the two of them didn’t last long as a couple, and though they’re "just friends" now, I cannot but wonder if the breakup had something to do with the same reason the other fled.

At any rate, Boebert has best be careful.

If she too doesn't last long, we'll know why but, all in all, it's stupid to date where you live.

Today was my lucky Bingo Day. I won two games and chose a practical dish drying mat as my prize, and a blinged out coffee cup (one of Homegirl’s creations) that I gifted to a new resident that was hoping for a win so she could grab it.

Boebert doesn’t like her photo taken. Will not allow us to take it. Don’t know why. So, she's never seen in the photos we post to our residents' site.

However, looking at the photos taken this afternoon of us prize winners, I see she turned around to give me a look and thus was captured photobombing in the background.

Too bad Dream Lover had not yet arrived when this photo was taken, so you could see the two of them together. Hopefully, I’ll get a couples photo before they break up and he moves on to whoever is next.

BTW, I was wearing that Alabama Slammer folding chair shirt when I made that early morning market run. I didn’t have to worry about that hugging security guard, because he hasn’t been around since I posted that cart cam episode where he walked over to remove the cart someone left in front of the entry door.

I don’t know if he got fired for being too friendly with customers or moved to another store, but he’s been replaced by a stoic female.

Stoic that is until this morning when she saw my shirt, began cracking up, laughing out loud, walked over to tell me it was "Great!!".

I don’t have to worry about her hugging me but, for sure, she’s gonna smile every time she sees me from now on.

This time tomorrow, barring any unforeseen tire problems, I’ll be in Long Beach.

See ya on the flip side.

Everything Everywhere All at Once

Season 45 of Survivor begins tomorrow.

I’ve never missed a season, don’t plan on missing this one, but the thing is Big Brother has yet to conclude (I’m rooting for Matt to win) and Amazing Race is waiting in the wings ready to jump into the lineup.

What with Halloween Wars, the Halloween Baking Competition, Cookie Challenge, Outrageous Pumpkins, et al., it’s everything everywhere all at once.

The seniors had yet another food fest hosted by Activity Director today — a Welcome Fall Luncheon.

I wasn’t planning on attending, could not have attended even if I had wanted to because I was scheduled with Nora at 11:00.

Inasmuch as the seniors were being encouraged to "Wear your favorite football team to show who you’re rooting for this football season", had I gone, I’d have worn my Twilight Team Jacob tee, cause that’s the only team shirt I own.

Eleven o’clock with Nora almost didn’t happen.

I’m a punctual person. Actually, always early so as to not inconvenience others. So, arriving 10:50, I checked in, took a seat, and it really chapped my hide when eleven o’clock came and went.

I don’t know if the client she was working on was late, which pushed into my 11:00 but, along about 11:20, I had this urge to just get up and walk out.

Shame to do so, thought I, because I really liked the vibe of the salon, and loved this sign on the salon wall.

I knew that, had I walked out, it would be another salon I can never return to so, desperately in need of a mani/pedi, I forced myself to be patient but, making the decision to be patient only for so long, set the alarm on the phone to 11:30 and, if not called to Nora’s station when the alarm went off, I’d get up, walk out, no explanation.

She called me up at 11:28.

Happy with the work she did, the vibe of the salon, I told myself to not be so annoyed if it happened again which, looking at the popularity of the salon, it will. So, I’ll be prepared for a wait next time with a book to read, because the work she did was worth the wait.

As you can see, done waiting for October 1 — the First of Halloween to get here, I decided yesterday was close enough and put up the front door decorations, and a new header this afternoon.

I’ll probably string the candy corn lights on the patio railing before I take off for the weekend, and return on Monday with only having spider webs and Skully the skeleton to put in place.

BTW, Nori isn’t any older than the other girls in the salon. They’re all about the same age, and are Swifties — fans of Taylor.

It’s a good thing I’m a bit of a Swiftie myself because, along with my favorite country music, they played quite a lot of Taylor in the salon, while speculating she is in fact dating that football player.

All in all, looks like I’ve at last found a nail salon and no longer have to do my own mani/pedis.

The thought did occur to me that, inasmuch as I now know Nora will likely always be running late, that I should arrive late.

Thing with that is, it would be just my luck she'd be running on time the day I showed up late.

I once did just that with a hairdresser who would stay home until I arrived ... on time, have someone from the shop call her to say your client has arrived then, after having me wait, she would leave home, arrive at the shop acting all important and stuff.

Why?

I've no idea, except it pleased her to do so.

When I decided to not play this game with her again, to not book her or return to that salon in the future, I pranced myself in very late.

She was in the salon waiting and looked shitfaced when I walked in saying I was late because I knew she wouldn't be there anyway, would have made me wait.

Too stunned to react, and embarrassed — because the other stylists were smirking at her (they knew what I'd done, why, and enjoyed the drama), she nevertheless did my hair, and that was the last of us.

I bet she learned her lesson, and never tried to play that game again with another client.

Nora at 11:00

The mani/pedi I gave myself last weekend didn’t last as long as I would have liked. Probably because I tried a new product — OPI Chip Skip … a prep coat which supposedly is to prevent chipping.

It did not.

If anything, it caused last week’s polish to begin chipping sooner, the very next day in fact. So yesterday, I took the polish off, prepared to give myself a fresh mani/pedi.

But then I thought, since I’ve a road trip planned for next weekend, it would be a good idea to let the professionals do the work, so polish will last, and I can just do a touchup if needed.

Having gotten the name of the salon where the "older, short, fat one" works, I checked their work online. No names of the various stylists, but their work looked to be first class designer nails, so I suited up headed for the salon.

I almost laughed out loud at the audacity of my walking in on a Saturday (busiest day of the week for a nail salon) thinking they could fit in a simple mani/pedi, when I saw every chair, every station had a client being worked on and customers waiting their turn.

At any rate, a woman I assumed was the owner, paused her work on a customer, asked if she could help me.

"I was wondering if you had an opening for a regular mani/pedi, but I can see you’re full up", said I.

"Let me check the book" said she and, as she stood up, walked away from her customer, I quickly looked around to see if I could spot the "older, short, fat one".

Every girl working there was a cute little Size 1 so, bless her heart, standing out like a sore thumb, she was easy to spot.

She didn’t appear to be "old" per se. Just older than the other girls.

As the woman I assumed to be the owner was checking the book, to see who could fit me in that day, I said, "Do you see the girl with the flower in her hair, wearing a white blouse? She came recommended. I’d like to book with her".

Being told she was working on the last client she planned on taking that day, I booked an appointment for my next free day — Tuesday at 11:00 with Nora.

I’m not accustomed to going without polish, so I’ll be feeling conspicuous next few days, hoping no one notices my unpolished hands and toes.

It will be nice to relax in a spa chair, as next week looks to be cra cra with Friday being bingo, driving to Long Beach on Saturday to attend Sunday’s baby shower for the great granddaughter expected to arrive soon, returning on Monday, Day 2 of Halloween when I can at last begin decorating the patio.

Needless to say, I will not be working out this coming Friday or the following Monday, as I've travel prep work to do (what to eat so I won't get sick, what to wear that will piss off White Grandma) and will be driving back on Monday's workout day with Halloween decorating to be done.

As for why I want to piss off White Grandma .... she's a jealous old judgmental Karen/Boebert biddy that makes my skin crawl.

I've only met her once in person, and that was at the Thanksgiving meet and greet just after the kids were married and expecting the Great Grandson to me, Grandson to her.

White Grandpa was a delight, while White Grandma looked at me with cold dark eyes. I could tell she was upset because I didn't look like what she'd expected a Black Great Grandma to look like, while she herself, just a grandma, looked like 30 miles of dirt road.

She was oozing with jealousy and tried unsuccessfully to either impress me with talk of owning property, having tenants or tried to make me jealous she has so much and I'm poor.

She even bragged about having a quilt made for the baby.

It was just too obvious that she was disturbed and jealous of my looks and how White Grandpa and I jelled.

At any rate, that was the one and only time we've met in person and since then a sort of rivalry has developed, and I can sense her feelings.

While she was having that quilt made for the baby, I was in the process of making one, which was later presented at the baby's shower, that I did not attend.

I have it that, when White Grandma saw the quilt I'd made, she was soooo jealous that she took her's back to make it "better" and did produce a crochet quilt that, in my estimatation, was nice but still didn't match my quilt.

"I win", said I to granddaughter.

Can't wait to see what she's going to try to upstage the quilt I'm presenting at Sunday's baby shower. Maybe gift the new baby with one of her properties. LOL.

At any rate, having since learned how critical and judgmental White Grandma is of others, when I saw her pop up as following my Instagram, I blocked her arse.

Now knowing how jealous she is without reason, I want to piss White Grandma/Karen/Boebert off just because I do ..... and without even trying.

And For My Next Trick

A few days ago, Dawn the Bohemian displayed a voodoo doll in a casket on her site.

It was then I realized a casket was just what was needed for Inmate#P01135809’s voodoo doll, but the only miniature casket I could find large enough to fit his puffiness was plain, unfinished wood.

Not a problem, because it's amazing what a little leftover acrylic paint, scrapbook paper, and a fresh can of gloss sealant can do.

A-Tisket, A-Tasket, Inmate# P01135809 in a Casket.

Rest in Darkness You A-Hole

A Saturday Kind of Day

Those days I changed my schedule, got up early to prepare for inspection, were not only a waste of time but have thrown my internal clock off.

I was able to sleep in late this morning, but because my clock is off, today feels like a Saturday kind of day. I have to keep reminding myself today is not Saturday, so I won’t screw up and not show up for tomorrow’s workout.

Along about 12:30 I heard sirens outside.

Oh No, not again, thought I.

Hearing more sirens a few minutes later, that seemed to stop at the gate, I decided to get dressed, go down, investigate.

No police, no helicopter this time. Just emergency fire, behind which was an ambulance, which leads me to believe one of our seniors has had an incident.

They were packing up and leaving, someone in the ambulance by the time I arrived so, unless it’s one of The Usual Suspects, I’ll never know who what.

There was a lot of loud clanging banging going on yesterday. Stepping out onto the patio I could see the refrigerator and stove, from evicted Smoker’s unit, had been placed on the patio and there appeared to be people working inside.

For the longest time, only Assistant Maintenance Guy was working on the unit — clearing things out, painting. Now it appears new carpeting is going in.

It very much appears preparations for a new resident are on the fast track, and we'll have another new resident in the quad fairly soon.

By the way, in case you're wondering ... the resident that moved into the bad energy unit is still going strong.

Hope whoever moves into Smoker's unit is nice, because we’ve got one of the better quads — no complainers, no barking dogs, everyone gets along.

Even the weird girl who lives beneath my unit has come around.

She’s still not the friendly type, but she does smile and say "hello" when we pass on the walkway.

It only took her six years of living here to get to this point of speaking; whereas it took her no time at all to make the acquaintance of and get friendly with Big Friendly Guy — probably because he has a penis.

Seeing the Smoker’s old refrigerator and stove on the patio yesterday, I figured — cheap as management is, instead of tossing and putting in new appliances, management would put the old stuff back inside once the carpet was installed.

And so they did.

When I went out to investigate the sirens, I saw the appliances on the patio were gone and, taking a quick glance inside the unit as I passed the patio window, I could see a cleaning lady, the stove lid up, and her cleaning it.

I also saw that, instead of carpet in the front room, that unit now has dark wood flooring.

That’s interesting. The front room with wood flooring instead of carpet and, I’m assuming, carpet in the bedroom, wood flooring in the hallway and dining area.

Knowing management as I do, this move has to be a cost-effective measure. Instead of bringing in more cheap carpet, to bring in cheap wood.

Other People’s Mistakes

Monday came and went with no signs of the Inspectors. So, guessing the Great Inspection is done and over with, I'm taking my own sweet time getting myself together this morning.

Having just seen Head Maintenance Guy appearing to have taken a day off — he and his family all dressed in black as though heading to a funeral, walking down the walkway, heading to their car, for sure the Inspectors are gone and were gone after a mere three days.

These agencies are all the same ... easily fooled by the aesthetics, in and out in a flash, casework closed.

I'll have to check the Community Room later to see if the signs to not touch the refrigerator management confiscated from us are back up, LOL.

Speaking of agencies letting us down, alarming news I'm seeing is how others are being inconvenienced, lives are being destroyed because Social Security made a mistake, overpaid some for decades, and is now demanding repayment within 30 days.

Knock on wood, I've not received such a letter, but what would I do if I do receive one of those repayment letters.

Though it’s being suggested to contact the SSA, ask to have the repayment waived and/or negotiate, I have little faith in their being willing to accept responsibility for their mistake, give folks a break.

I’m reminded of the time, when employed at the law firm, and Office Manager Joe summoned me to his office to tell me the Payroll Department had made a mistake, overpaid me by $400, wanted repayment.

Not a huge sum, not a problem, so I told Joe I’d send them a check for the full amount and did.

A few days later, Joe summoned me to his office again.

The check was being returned to me.

Payroll said they "Didn’t want to do it that way". Did not want repayment in full.

What they wanted was for me to authorize them to deduct sums of money from future paychecks. Essentially, wanting me to accept a smaller paycheck over time …… however long it took for them to recoup the $400.

That sounded shady. So, though I didn’t understand the mechanics of the shadiness, I knew it would somehow help the Payroll Department fix their error, hurt me; plus, I didn’t like the idea of the Payroll Department taking money out of my paycheck that I couldn't track or trust they'd cease the deductions once the $400 treshhold had been reached, so I said NO.

There were calls back and forth between various Payroll pencil pushers to Joe, informing him I owed the money, had not paid it back.

I guess they were expecting Joe to put some kind of pressure on me, write me up, but Joe would just alert me to Payroll bugging out and that was that.

Nice guy Joe was. Always tried to be fair as he walked a fine line between satisfying the attorneys and doing right by with us secretaries.

Getting nowhere with Joe, some pencil pusher from Payroll called me directly, threatened to "go over my head".

Good luck with that, thought I. Joe was as far over my head as Payroll could go, and they'd already tried that.

This dance actually went on a couple months until one day Joe yet again summoned me to his office.

Payroll informed him my next paycheck would be $400 short as they were taking the full amount out of that check.

Guess Payroll figured they’d show me.

Joe and I laughed and laughed and laughed that Payroll had essentially done what I'd initially tried to do to balance their books in the first place.

This memory sent me to google Joe’s name, see if he was still alive.

Not only is he still alive but, holy moley, he's still working with the organization!

I put in something like 30 years before, fully vested, I moved on after a merger and relocation prompted me to accept another opportunity. Joe was there when I first arrived, so counting the years since I left, that means Joe has put in, at a minimum, 50 years.

Jesus! Fifty plus years in one agency.

Looking at Joe's photos, he has a healthy glow, has maintained a youngish appearance and now has the sweet position and title of Public Affairs Director at one the parent companies.

So, he didn't stay in one place— the Law Department, after the merger. Looks like he moved around and then ultimately up.

Too bad he didn't move over and up to the Finance/Payroll Department because, back in the day, it appeared that rather than a group of pencil pushers, they needed someone with common sense.

I imagine that, if I were to receive a repayment letter from SSA requesting a few hundred dollars, that would not be a problem. Hundreds of thousands, like some of those I see mentioned in the news article, would be an unsolvable problem. My only recourse would be to cry foul, because it's their mistake, ignore the letter, suffer the consequences.

I don’t own a home, so they can’t take that in repayment, I’ll survive if they take the only asset I have — the Jeep. So, other than put my arse in jail, there’s not a whole lot they can do to punish me for THEIR mistake.

What would you do?

You See … What Had Happened Was

Around 3:00 p.m. today, the continuing sound of a helicopter directly overhead finally drew me out onto the patio to see what was up.

On the tape, I was joking that it couldn’t be escapee Danelo Cavalcante, because he’d already been caught … in Philadelphia.

Whoever they were looking for, it had to be serious to call up the chopper, plus I'd also heard sirens, but went back to what I was doing, didn’t think too much of it.

That is … I didn’t think too much of it until I began hearing loud voices, what sounded like feet running on the ground, more sirens. Sirens that seemed to stop right outside the gate.

I slipped on my sandals, headed outside to gather intel.

To be clear, no one was shot. The old guy was saying he wished the guy being chased had been shot.

Also, to be clear, the ten he was referring to are the ten Deputy Sheriffs, running through the complex, trying to catch the guy with the help of the helicopter.

So, that’s the intel this resident was able to provide.

But wait …. There’s more.

Walking towards the side of the complex, where the Deputies had caught up with the guy, I got an even more complete story from the resident who lives next door to where my old buddy Apache lived.

She said she’d heard a commotion, looked out, saw a white car had squealed up to the curb, some guy with a bat in his hand jump out, appearing to have chased down a guy who was running away from him.

The running man being chased, tried to escape the bat carrying man by jumping the fence right in front of her unit; whereupon she locked her patio window and watched as bat carrying man also jumped the wrought iron fence.

Why do we even have fencing when young men just parkour over like it's nothing. Come onto the property to break into cars, steal converters, etc.

At any rate, with both guys having made it over the fence, the chase through the complex was on, but ended while still in her area, when bat carrying man saw the Deputies arrive.

He jumped back over the fence to his car and drove away as the Deputies took up the chase.

Where they caught up with running man was the side of the complex where Apache used to live. Not too far from where he originally parkoured over the fence, but I’ve since heard he got chased back that way because deputies were all over the place.

Must have been a rough takedown, because the fire rescue, ambulance and gurney were for running man.

Couldn’t have been too hurt because, by the time I’d walked over, running man was in the deputy’s car.

I stuck around for a while, trying to get a look at running man, but got tired of waiting for them to wrap it up, went back to what I was doing.

Too bad this didn’t happen while the Inspectors were on the property. Might have given them pause to look more closely into what goes on around here, suggest better wrought iron fencing for our protection ... one with a spike tip.

TGIS!!

Thank God it’s Saturday. First day, since the Great Inspection began that, instead of rushing to complete my morning rituals earlier than I normally do, so as not to be caught unprepared should the Inspectors knock at the door, today and tomorrow I can relax, get bathed, dressed, feed myself at leisure because it's the weekend. The office is closed, so it’s a safe bet the Inspectors won’t be on the complex today and tomorrow.

In fact, there were no sightings of the Inspectors at all yesterday. Are they done and have moved on sooner than expected?

I guess we’ll find out if they show up on Monday.

Big Friendly Guy tells me it’s no big deal. That the Inspectors are only looking at 25 of the 178 units, and no one is expecting any great shakes coming from it — like Upstairs Lady getting a stove with handles out of this inspection, or something being done about the mold in her dishwasher and/or Di getting a new refrigerator to replace her moldy one, which management told her to push her food to the middle, don’t let food touch the refrigerator walls and/or our 86 year old Buttons, whose lived in the same unit for 24 years, will get new carpet or the walls painted, so on and so forth.

All in all, thus far, the Great Inspection has been about as dull and uninteresting as the Hurricane that came to the area and left leaving only a few rain puddles.

After asking around, only two people I know have actually been inspected. One wasn’t home when they came, but knows they were there because they left a business card on her door.

Seeing the Inspectors walking up the stairs towards Shadow’s unit, I’d assumed he'd been inspected. He was not. It was his next-door neighbor, a member of Red Light’s posse, whom I’ll be calling Her Haughtiness in the blog, because that’s how I read her.

Other than exchanging pleasantries when we pass on the walkway, she and I don’t talk, so I can’t ask her about the inspection. Especially now I can’t ask her because I pissed her off at bingo by squeezing the HEN OF SILENCE, also known as the SHUT UP CHICKEN, at her and Red Light because they’d been talking talking talking talking gossiping gossiping gossiping during bingo about someone who was "stubborn", someone who "smelled like pee" yada yada yada.

There’s plenty of time to talk, chit chat, gossip before the games begin, in between games, during break, after bingo, but those two were at it constantly, consistently, through the games, annoying the hell outa me because, though unsuccessfully trying to keep their voices low, I couldn’t block out the chatter as they were sitting behind me.

I could tell the Caller was also annoyed, as she kept looking over at them but, whereas the Caller has previously shown no reluctance to squeeze the Hen of Silence, as you can see from the look on her face when she’s used it in the past.

She was reluctant to squeeze the chicken, or remind the two that if they continued talking during the game, they would be asked to leave, because that’s the rule and how she handles yakety yakers. Probably reluctant because Red Light is the bingo organizer, and she (the Caller) is part of the posse Red Light controls.

I’m a fringe member of the posse, don’t care whether I’m in or out of their circle, so I walked over, picked up the Hen, walked back to where Red Light and her Haughtiness were deep in conversation, and squeezed it at them.

Startled them it did, LOL.

Red Light later apologized for annoying me ……… if she only knew how often she does.

Her Haughtiness, embarrassed at my calling the room’s attention to her misbehaving, was all tight mouthed and, at the end of bingo, quickly exited.

Will be interesting to see if she ever exchanges pleasantries with me again, or comes back to bingo. If not, well then sorry, not sorry.

P.S.  Though the locks were still in place, I noticed management removed all the signs in the Community Room and on the refrigerator telling us we cannot use THEIR refrigerator. Guess they didn't want the Inspectors to see how they treat us.

The Great Inspection

My wish for a break from Red Light came true, as I’ve not heard her voice, have not seen hide nor hair of her all week.

Tomorrow is bingo Friday, so whatever spell has been cast, that kept her quiet, will then come to an end.

Heading out for yesterday’s workout, I spied the inspectors, walking around with their little clipboards, being accompanied by an uncomfortable looking Head Maintenance Guy.

Smiling to myself, at seeing HMG looking uncomfortable, transmitted itself, because HMG turned, looked at me, smiled, kind of shrugged his shoulders — like, oh well.

One of the inspectors also turned, saw me, smiled, said "hello".

They looked to be heading for Shadow’s unit and probably chose him because of his American flag.

The two inspectors — who looked like tough guy Union Representatives, seemed like the kind of guys who would appreciate seeing an American Flag, have probably served in one branch of the military or another, would be curious to see and talk to the resident of that unit.

Shadow’s story — if you believe it, is that he was a sniper in the Army, bragged about being a Purple Heart recipient, only I couldn’t find him listed in the National Purple Heart Hall of Honor site.

The flag on his patio leads me to believe he did serve, very possibly could have been a sniper, but he certainly was no Officer or a Gentleman because, after he pulled my use-to-be friend The Seer into his web, he went around bragging to the guys about "how fast she dropped her panties" for him.

Inasmuch as the inspectors were only one building over when I left for yesterday’s workout, upon returning, I checked with Next Door Neighbor to see if they’d entered my place while I was gone and/or inspected hers.

Not yet. Instead, I saw them hopscotching, later in the day, to other buildings.

Next Door Neighbor took the opportunity of my knocking on her door, asking about the inspectors, to invite me in, reassure her …… as if she really needed any reassurances.

As I’ve previously blogged, that tacky doormat of hers belies the fact that the inside of her unit is breathtaking, like a museum.

What she asked me, as she walked around naming objects as being a fancy brand name this, a fancy brand name that, brand names that are so far above me that I’ve never heard of them, was "Is my unit okay for Section 8?".

"Are you kidding? Your unit looks like a museum. You have exquisite taste and probably the most beautifully decorated unit in the complex".

I meant it, even though I wasn’t impressed with the brand name bed, mattress, dressers, armoire, wall art, etc. she so proudly pointed out — some collected when married to her high ranking military officer husband, who provided her with a fancy lifestyle, servants, but whom she divorced because he was a wife beater.

Thinking about that conversation this morning, the way my non-impressive This End Up, Pier 1, Walmart, Target furnishings/decor doesn’t compare, it occurred to me THAT may be how she ended up on Section 8 — the materialistic need to continue the lifestyle she once had … bring in, own, showcase top of the line, most expensive this that the other.

So, anyway, with seven more days of inspections to go, the guys may get to this building yet.

Along with their looking like tough guy Union Representatives, the two inspectors had GQP Republican vibes, which means they’re not gonna like my can’t miss seeing anti Inmate# P01135809 cups and voodoo doll.

In other news, granddaughter sent me a t-shirt commemorating the August 5th Alabama Boat Brawl.

Front

I pimped it up a bit by adding my chair training photo.

Back

Hot, Muggy, Drama Free

This past weekend went well. I had no contact with, nor did I observe any of the Usual Suspects so, if there was any drama afoot, I did not hear about it.

Notwithstanding today being a sad reminder of 9/11, the week started off well with my getting a promising referral to a nail salon from Trainer’s primo female fighter.

She didn’t know the name of the nail technician. Just said she’s the "older, short, fat one" and really good on pedicures.

Older ladies do tend to give the best pedicures as they deep clean and scrub to the point of almost taking the skin off your bones. However, the younger girls give better manicures. So sounds like it will be a tradeoff — great pedicure, iffy manicure, but we shall see.

I did my own mani/pedi over the weekend, so it will be some time before I check out the salon, but I’ve got a good feeling about this referral.

Of course, I can’t walk in, ask for the "older short fat one" so, when the time comes, hopefully I’ll get eyes on her and can just point, say "that one", LOL.

Tomorrow is the beginning of a massive inspection.

Not the usual local housing department inspection, where management kept the inspectors away from units they didn’t want the inspectors to see, and led them to vacant units in tip top condition.

This time it's the independent body that monitors compliance in order for Corporate, and the complex, to continue to receive whatever State tax deductions they receive.

Supposedly, management has no control over which units are inspected, the inspectors decide, and the inspectors are mostly only here to see that "fixtures" operate properly.

It’s a good thing Assistant Maintenance Guy corrected all the shoddy work Head Maintenance Guy did with my kitchen and bathroom faucets and, with no other problems in this unit, it’s a no problem pass for management if this unit is chosen.

Considering all the problems I’ve heard others have in their units, I’m not so sure. But management is skirring around, covering their arses with notices posted to our doors to "Please confirm that all fixtures are in proper working condition, notify management immediately of any concerns".

So NOW they care.

This sudden caring that fixtures are working properly will last only as long as the inspection and it’s a long inspection — from the 12th through the 20th, 9 Days

No telling what the inspectors will find from hanging around here that long.

The bad thing is that if management loses any tax benefits, they’ll pass their financial loss off onto us with higher rents.

Going to be an interesting nine days.

You See … What Had Happened Was

You can’t believe how happy I am for this week to come to an end. Way too much has been going on.

Actually, thinking back, too much has been going on for some time … period. I’ve consistently had something to blog about, haven’t had an "I’ve got nothing" post since November of 2022.

I really need things to slow down, be less interesting for a while.

Icing on the cake for the end of this week is that today is a no-bingo Friday. I can take a little break, lock myself away from the world until Monday, and if Red Light doesn’t hold a seance underneath my window, have nothing interesting to post for a while.

Looking at the jeep’s instrument panel, on my way to this morning’s workout, checking the psi show, I’m fairly convinced I’m being paranoid about losing pressure in the passenger side rear tire.

I’m a little traumatized by Tuesday's blowout, not expecting the paranoia to go away anytime soon, so I’ll continue to check in on that psi show.

Arriving for my 12:15 appointment at the tire place yesterday, being told the process would take about 45 minutes, I thought to spend the time getting a mani/pedi at the salon I spied two buildings down.

Sticking my head inside the salon door, I saw a young lady working on a customer. "May I help you?", said she.

"Do you take walk-ins?"

"Yes. Have a seat at the chair on the end".

I settle down in the chair, take my toe rings off, so they won’t get washed away in the warm soapy foot spa water — as they have in the past, and put them away for safe keeping.

After a minute or two or three went by, I could hear a noise coming from the back room. It sounded like I’d arrived while the manicurist was eating her lunch, so I patiently waited another few minutes.

You see, what happened was … When the curtain to the back room finally opened, out came this old grandfatherly looking guy — and yes, I said old, because in his case it fit, while the shoe did not fit when tossed towards me.

When I saw him go to fill the manicure bowl, realized he was the manicurist, my eyes got wide, my spirit whispered "No", so I got up, began walking towards the exit door.

Behind me, I could hear grandpa manicurist say something. I didn’t make out what he said, but replied "No" just the same and fled the salon, no explanation.

I’m not proud of how I reacted — panicking, running out, and I’m sorry if I hurt grandpa’s feelings, but my reaction seemed the necessary thing to do at the time as I could not fanthom the idea of grandpa rubbing my feet, my arms, legs, touching me …… period.

In retrospect, grandpa was probably the owner, down a few manicurists, a skilled manicurist himself, and probably not as old as he looked, younger than I even, but still …………

At any rate, even if I see tons of manicurists working in the salon, next time in the area, I can’t show my face there again.

Trainer tells me he had the same thing happen to him, back when he was working as a physical therapist — only HE was the one to walk out.

When he entered the treatment room, the client took one look at him, said "NO!", so he immediately turned around, walked out, went to the front desk, explained what had just happened, and a physical therapists to the client’s liking was arranged for.

Trainer said he didn’t take it personal so, hopefully, grandpa isn’t too hurt by my running from him.

Delayed Reaction

My insurer’s roadside assistance app would not accept my password on Tuesday when I needed it. It didn’t open later that day when, arriving back at the complex, I double checked my list of passwords, saw I did not make a mistake, tried the app again.

Checking the app yesterday, it opened, no problem.

Go figure.

There is no such thing as a coincidence, so I guess that day worked out the way it was intended to.

Perhaps the Universe was testing my patience. If so, I passed with flying colors as I was nonplussed by the whole tire thing, start to finish. Took everything in stride.

Didn’t even realize a blowout on the freeway was dangerous until, at yesterday’s workout, Trainer said one of his trainees had a tire blow on the freeway. Trainee’s car rolled over three/four times, ended up in the dirt off the side of the freeway. Trainee was injured, but alive.

NOW I’m even more afraid, when I get behind the wheel, than I was before. In fact, heading to the tire shop this morning to pick up the new tire, I was so stressed — imaging the car didn’t feel right, one side was higher than the other, an object was in other tires waiting to cause a blowout that, by the time I reached the tire place, I’d worried myself into a migraine.

The imaginings continued on the way home, as I am now convinced I’m losing air, have a slow leak, in the passenger rear tire.

Time will tell.

In other news, watching Red Light yet again holding court yesterday afternoon over by the bench along the walkway, I once again became curious as to what line of work she was in before arriving here and had the bright idea to google her name expecting nothing.

Surprise Surprise, data on her popped up straightaway, photo included.

Her background is that of being a member of an affordable housing advisory board. Her specific title "Activities Coordinator".

Adds up, doesn’t it?

You can take the woman out of the job, but you can’t take the job out of the woman. She can’t let go.