The Inspection

Yesterday was National Pokémon Day. Had I bothered to get out and play, I might have caught new Pokémon for my deck and/or earned extra points for evolving those I already have.

Thing is, I didn't get out to play. Instead, I was stuck inside waiting for an inspection.

Truth be told, I don’t think I could have motivated myself to head out, walk around outside, even if the inspection hadn’t keep me inside, because outside is just too peopley for me right now.

At any rate, by way of background ………… We here at the complex have biannual and annual inspections by Regulatory Agencies. It's something to do with tax credits provided to Corporate being dependent on the units meeting certain standards.

Since moving here in 2012, I always get notices posted to my door indicating my unit "might" be one of those "randomly" selected for inspection but, thus far, I’ve never been inspected.

My unit was once inspected by a woman from Corporate, checking up on their investment, but I've never been inspected by any of the big deal Regulatory Agencies.

Doesn't matter to me except that, every time I get a notice, I have to get up early, prepare and hang around all day just in case.

Thus it was, when I returned from the Pain Cave on Monday, saw the "Notice to Enter Dwelling, February 27, between the hours of 8 AM and 4 PM to conduct inspection with Regulatory Agency", I got up early yesterday, performed my morning rituals, tweaked the unit for neatness and waited for what I assumed would be nothing.

Lo and Behold, there was a knock on the door around 1 o’clock.

It was Head Maintenance Guy, Manager, and a guy they introduced as the Inspector.

I’ve heard from others, whose units have been inspected, that the Inspector checks absolutely everything ……… opens closet doors, looks in the tub, turns faucets on, flushes toilets, open kitchen cabinets, tests the stove, even opens the refrigerator.

My inspection took less than five minutes.

All the Inspector did was to walk out onto the patio, look at an area of the patio floor Head Maintenance Guy pointed out, that is buckling; come back inside, look up at the A/C filter cover, test the smoke detector.

The Inspector did go into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, looked, closed the refrigerator door and exited the unit saying the Maintenance Guys would be replacing a part.

Sounded like B.S. to me, just for show, and I doubt the Maintenance Guys will be replacing shiz.

I saw the same thing happen when the woman from Corporate did her inspection. She said the guys would be re laminating the kitchen counter. That work was never done, there was no follow up.

When Head Maintenance Guy and the Inspector walked out onto the patio, Manager stood like a statue, just inside the door, hugging her clipboard.

After telling me I was the last one, that they’d been at it since 8 o’clock, she stared straight ahead — watching the TV thought I.

All of sudden, she made a quick movement, rushed towards the bookcase in front of her, bent down exclaiming "That is soooo cute. I’ve never seen anything like that".

She reached in and handled the item she was talking about.

I later stood where she had been standing when she made that quick movement, and this is what she saw from that vintage point.

When she bent down and handled the item she said was soooo cute, this is what she was looking at.

Joe Exotica

Of all the candles on display, what most fascinated her was Tiger Joe.

I pointed out Luigi and said, "This one is my latest purchase".

Still fondling Tiger Joe, she didn’t seem interested, so I said, "You do know who that is don’t you?"

She shook her head to indicate no.

"Luigi Mangione, the CEO shooter", said I.

With a blank look on her face, she said "I don’t know who that is".

OMG!!!

After thinking about it, I’m fairly certain Manager is likely not the only one on the property to not know anything about a CEO being shot, who Luigi is.

Today is Economic Blackout Day. So, after this morning’s workout, I did not head to the market but, from observing all the cars in the market parking lot, other shops and stores in the area, it's business as usual around here.

Money Just Falling Out of the Sky

Waking up this morning ……… checking my fingers and toes, I found they were all still there and nothing like gangrene looked to be setting in. So, as long as I continue with antiseptics, don’t wear any polish until my nails recuperate from the trauma done to them by the old ladies at the nail salon, I think I’m okay.

After this morning’s workout, I went on a hunt for eggs.

I had a feeling my regular market wasn’t going to have Eggland’s Best in stock, so I didn’t even bother. I drove to a different market, where I’ve been having good luck finding them.

That market had plenty of eggs available but, surprisingly, none were Eggland’s Best, so I pivoted back to my regular market and scored a 18-count carton.

When Trainer was a young man just starting off in the world, he actually worked for that market, knows a lot of people there, and since I often shop directly after working out, still wearing my Pain Cave shirt, those people know I’m a client and are extra friendly with me ……… ask about my workouts, complain about their jobs.

One of those is the guy who stocks the eggs.

After responding to his query about this morning’s workout, I thought to capitalize on my knowing him, get a leg up on Eggland’s Organic eggs, so I asked if he could tell me which day would be best to come in to make sure I get my hands on Egglands.

The way he explained it is that he puts in a request, they come when they come, but "you have to get here early" because they go as quickly as they come in.

That wasn’t much help, so now I’m thinking that, if those eggs get any harder to find, I’ll press my knowing him as a friend of Trainer's ……… ask him to call Trainer, tell Trainer to let his client (me) know when the eggs are in.

At any rate, I go through 3 eggs a day (two whites, one whole egg most if not every morning for breakfast), so I’m good for at least the next six days.

Weird thing about that 18-count carton is that, just last week, I’d paid $9.99 for a carton of 12 and today paid the same …… $9.99 for 18.

Did the cashier make a mistake, ring me up incorrectly?

I don’t know, but I didn't look a gift horse in the mouth and question it.

Speaking of gifts …… though I didn’t find eggs at that first market, made no other purchase there, I walked away $20 richer than when I entered because, walking down an isle, I saw something that looked like folded green paper on the floor.

Curious, I reached down, picked it up, unfolded and …… It was a $20 bill.

There was no one in the isle for me to ask if they’d dropped it, so it’s free money. However, I don’t feel right about keeping it. So, I put it in the visor of the car and will pull it out, donate to the next panhandler that asks for money.

When pivoting back to my regular market, I stopped along the way for gas and, as I stepped out of the car, spotted a dime at my foot.

Money just falling out of the sky, thought I.

Long time readers might recall that, just before my sister passed, she’d told family members she’d leave quarters to let us know she was around.

After she passed, I’d find quarters in front of See’s Candy Store, at my feet when I stepped out of the car — wherever I was, inside the Pain Cave under equipment I'd just worked on, falling out of the dryer of the complex when I opened the door to put my clothes in, just quarters everywhere.

When the Great Granddaughter was born, looking very much like my sister ……… in the same hospital where sister passed away, the quarters stopped.

I've not seen a single quarter in the two years since the baby was born.

At any rate, no one told me to look for dimes. So, since I didn’t know who this soul/spirit was, I didn’t pick it up ……… it might be my ex husband or an old boyfriend. I left it for the next person to come along, take the chance.

What Could Go Wrong?

It was so annoying this morning when, watching a program where the cops had the serial killer in the interrogation room, gotten him to confess to unaliving three women and he was about to tell the investigators what he’d done with the bodies that the power, without any prior notice, no warning, went out.

Unless and until I catch a repeat of whatever program that was, I’ll never know where the bodies were hidden.

The previous day had been such a warm day that I’d had to run the A/C and, just before the power went out, I was planning to run the A/C again because the unit was hot from my having used the oven to cook breakfast and the heat of the sun coming in through the patio window.

With now no TV to watch and working on that never ending needlepoint project out of the question in an uncomfortably hot unit, no A/C, I began thinking of options to get away until power was restored.

I could head to the mall — walk/train for an upcoming 5K, pop into Macy’s to replenish my Estee Lauder Cinnabar perfume and stop by See’s Candy to replace the candy I’d lost during those last outages, one a weeklong outage.

Another option was to walk around the complex or drive to the University, walk/train there for that upcoming 5K.

My last option was, inasmuch as I’d removed the polish from my nails earlier that morning, saw that my nails could do with professional conditioning, I could drive to that nail salon that takes walk-ins, get a manicure/pedicure.

Not wanting anyone to see my unconditioned, no polish nails, I decided against the Mall, passed on training, headed to the nail salon.

This would be the nail salon that did such a terrible polish job back in April.

That salon had done a satisfactory job on shaping and conditioning but, heading back to the complex I’d noticed the polish already coming off the tip of the thumb nail, the child-like polish job around the bed of every single nail as well with polish painted over onto my skin ……… nails and toes.

I really would have liked to have called Nora at the other salon in the area. However, Nora does gel and her prices, though worth her good work, are too costly, so I decided to give the bad paint job salon a second try. Only this time, I’d request no-polish, just a $38 trim, shape, cuticle trimming, condition, sea salt exfoliation.

What could go wrong?

There were no other clients when I walked into what looked like Senior Citizen’s Day. The receptionist and the five nail technicians all looked to be in their 60’s and over.

What could go wrong?

Well for one, the two old ladies that worked simultaneously on the mani/pedi, both nicked me with their instruments …… more than once. I’d wince, say "Ouch, be careful" and am now wisely treating the areas with antiseptics.

Also, when all was said and done, $38 ended up $60 — not unusual, though I never can figure out how these places always quote one price and, once the work is done, it’s never the price quoted; plus, I always tip $10 to manicurist $10 to pedicurist because work is work, even when it's a bad job or you've hurt me with your instruments; so $80 total.

And, lastly ……

I actually am surprised this salon is still in business. Senior nail technicians are heavy handed …… give good pedicure, and the pedicure, except for geting nicked a time or two was fine, it’s just that senior techicians are not good at manicures.

Next time, I’ll call Nora, pay whatever the cost if she can give me a regular mani/pedi, no gel.

At least power had been restored by the time I returned to the complex.

Up Close and Personal

This week started off with public displays of affection by Dream Lover and Lu that were so over the top as to be comical.

It began with my spotting them on the walkway, her arm around the back of his waist, her hand moving to his butt as they walked and talked.

They paused a few times, faced each other, her looking up into his eyes, he looking down into hers. They moved on a few more steps, her hands all over him, stopped, faced each other again, she looked up into his eyes, he looked down into hers, and then they kissed.

WTF? If they want to get all up close and personal, get a room. Oh wait …… they do have a room, two of them — his unit and her unit.

I don’t know what they’re trying to prove, who they are trying to prove it to with these public displays of affection but, to me, it’s beginning to look deliberate, like a weird game.

Lu is one of the women who kept knocking on the door of Hubba Hubba Awooga Silver Fox — offering cakes, cookies, meals, asking questions about where he was from, what he does, and he’d insulted her by telling her to go away, stop bothering him, that he’s sick and tired of women always chasing him.

So maybe these PDAs are, in Lu’s mind, showing Silver Fox a thing or two.

I doubt he cares.

The PDAs might also be designed to poke at our Karen character; and the fact they keep parading around in eye shot of Karen’s unit gives credence to the show might be specifically for her.

It did seem odd that, when they stopped and kissed, that it was directly in front of Karen’s patio window. Would have been hard for her to miss.

So the answer to who they’re trying to prove it to, may be Karen.

If so, it’s mean and it's cruel to rub it in Karen’s face, after he dumped her, told everyone who would listen that "she's crazy" and, when she refused to be dumped, sent him love letters, stalked him, he got Manager involved, who told Karen that harassing another resident can get her evicted. So why be cruel, why rub this one in her face? — carry on, but not in front of her unit.

I can see Dream Lover being deliberately cruel, as he’s done it before …… paraded a new one (Boebert) in front of an old one (Faith), but I can’t see Lu playing that game, unless he’s blinded her, with his sweet talk and so bedazzled her with that thing he's able to give her courtesy of those little blue pills, into playing the game with him.

Not only did they walk around showing off earlier today, when I later went down to pick up mail, there the two were sitting on the bench right smack dab in the middle of the grassy knoll for all eyes to see — again in direct line to where Karen could look out and see.

I waved and, instead of continuing on to the mailroom, I walked over to say hey.

I wanted to laugh out loud when, as I approached, Lu put a protective hand on and began massaging Dream Lover's leg.

Thinking to myself, girl please, you do not have to worry about me, I fought to keep the amusement I was feeling off my face, as I ignored her obvious he's mine gesture, asked how bingo was going.

Lu asked if I’d left bingo because it was too noisy.

Last time I’d attended it was overly noisy, gave me a headache, but no, said I, I’m just running on empty lately, don’t have the energy for bingo.

Lu accepted that and said there’s a lot of that no energy going around and filled me in on who’s been hospitalized, who’s moving — Grace, the Other Wheelchair Lady, just got out of the hospital, Genie — one of the Usual Suspects is moving, and MaryAnn is losing her mind so her daughter is moving her out to be cared for.

I said how surprising it is that Genie is moving, that MaryAnn is a supporter of the Mad King, so I don’t care.

Done with the conversation, and with watching Lu rub all over Dream Lover’s leg — reminding me the photo of you know who kissing the feet, sucking the toe of the other you know who, that’s circulating online today, I dismissed myself by saying I had to go to the mailbox, pick up a tax document I’d had to special request in order to file, and both expressed shock that I file taxes as neither has for years.

Lu said that it’s her understanding people our age don’t have to file, and her social security is not taxed.

Saying I pay taxes on my social security and my pension, Lu suggested I look into the matter, as she’s quite sure I’ve been filing when I don’t have to.

Not only do I file but, instead of a refund, I pay …… usually get a few pennies back from the State, but end up paying the Federal Government a Grover Cleveland and five to eight Benjamin Franklins. So, after returning to the unit, the plan was to ask Twin 1 to check with her lawyer for me, but then I thought to just Google it.

Q. At what age does one not have to file taxes?

A: "The Internal Revenue Service requires all taxpayers, regardless of age, to file a tax return and pay the appropriate income tax in any year their gross income exceeds certain levels."

Maybe Lu and Dream Lover don’t pay taxes because they’re below the required level, thought I, so I went further down the rabbit hole.

Q: At what income level do I not have to file taxes?

A: "If you have income below the standard deduction threshold for 2024, which is $14,600 for single filers and $29,200 for those married filing jointly, you may not be required to file a return. However, you may want to file anyway".

Q: Why file taxes if don’t have to?

A: "Even with little or no earnings, filing a tax return can still be beneficial. You may qualify for refundable tax credits to potentially receive a tax refund".

So, though Lu and Dream Lover are likely not tax cheats ……… they must be below the threshold, don’t have to file and are clean on that, but they are absolutely making a mistake if these PDAs are designed to poke at our Karen character.

They might not like what happens if her crazy is awakened.

BTW: If you’ve not seen the photo of you know who kissing the feet, sucking the toe of the other you know who, that’s circulating online today, let me know and I’ll revise this post to add here at the bottom.

Uneventful

It’s been an uneventful week here at the complex, or so it seems to me because I’ve so rarely gotten up from the couch.

Though I’m not watching or reading the news per se, what headlines flash before my eyes on TV and Tik Tok, before I can switch to something less traumatizing, is enough to suck the energy out of me. So, with no energy to go anywhere, do anything, it’s taking great effort just to get off the couch, do what must be done — like head to the Pain Cave for workouts, do groceries, pick up mail.

And btw, last time at the market the Eggland’s Organic Eggs were priced at $9.99 a dozen. Might as well call it what it is — $10 a dozen.

I can’t say there’s a limit I’ll pay for eggs because, as I’m spoiled to Eggland’s Best, I'll pay whatever for as long as they’re available.

At any rate, I can’t phantom this energy drain that’s driving me to isolate, withdraw, which energy drain I attribute to the bad chi swirling around in the atmosphere, emanating from the Mad King, continuing for four more years. Something has to give/snap along the way. Hopefully it's them that give/snap, not me/us.

In other news, it was on Wednesday, when heading out for that morning’s workout, I saw neighbors gathered around the bench on my walkway, one of whom was the Baker.

Looks like the episode with Red Light is in her rear view, as she seemed back to her old jolly self — except she’s all battered and bruised from a fall in the elevator at her doctor’s office.

Before I had to rush off for my workout, I asked "How did you get Rox (Red Light) to take down that stuff she posted?"

There were other neighbors around, so she was cryptic in saying, "Someone got to her". Then gave me a look like she didn’t want the others to know about her Deputy Sheriff son-in-law’s involvement by adding "That person I told you about".

I nodded my understanding, and took off for my workout.

Other than that, the only contact I’ve had with neighbors this week is, while sitting on the couch, observing them through the patio window.

On one such day, I observed something that quite literally blew my mind — it was Dream Lover (age 62, who has made the blog many times), walking down the walkway, holding hands with Lu (age 82, who has no notable mention in the blog other than being one of the Usual Suspects).

All of a sudden, it clicked. Over the last month, I’d seen the two together many times …… walking down the walkway, once with her arm in the crook of his and had thought nothing of it; the two heading out in her car, coming back in, again thinking nothing of it. It took this walking holding hands, like school kids, for me to wake up, smell the coffee, realize the two are now a couple.

Since then, though I’ve not spied another obvious gesture designed to let us residents know they’ve coupled up, I have observed him heading towards her unit on a regular basis.

I’m surprised, and a little disappointed at Lu. She’s not a stupid woman.

Lu knows Dream Lover’s history with other women on the complex and now, after all these years of knowing, is allowing herself to be used by a known user.

Dream Lover had obviously been on the prowl since his last conquest, our Boebert character (Lu's neighbor) moved. He's no longer doing volunteer work at the senior center, so I guess that source of female company has also dried up and here, on the complex, is where he's limited to hunt.

It was just at the Christmas Party when he said to me, "I'm looking for a nice lady to spend time with".

I knew what he was getting at, and played stupid, like I didn't so he'd have to put it in plain and simple words, that he wanted to hook up with me, so I could shut him down.

He tried once more, but the best he could come up with was to look at me and one day in the Community Room say, "You're a nice lady".

Dumbass, I just turned around, walked out of the room.

I can't imagine what he said to Lu, but she fell for whatever it was and now I understand why it was he couldn't look me in the eye when I saw the two of them returning to the complex, removing items from the trunk of her car.

He looked embarrassed, but I'm not exactly sure what he was embarrassed about, as I'd not yet put two and two together at that time.

This is not going to end well for Lu. As is Dream Lover's pattern, he'll drop her as soon as something better comes along.

At any rate, now that I know they are a couple, I often find that old song about a Tender Woman and a Snake playing in my head.

President’s Day

That is all.

Out and About

Snow on the surrounding mountains made for a cold yesterday, but it was a dry day, the sun was shinning, so I headed out of the area to replenish my needlepoint floss stash.

I’ve been getting low on colors needed to complete the never-ending needlepoint project — a project now 3 years, 3,350 hours into the making with no end in sight, and couldn’t run to one of the local craft stores (Michaels or JoAnn’s) because they’d both surprisingly gone out of business.

The only craft store still in business, a few cities over but within driving distance, is the craft store with the mission "to honor God by operating in a way that follows Biblical principles". Translation: racist, homophobic, rethuglican Orange Menace supportive.

It’s the only game in town, so I drove over, got the colors needed, made it out alive.

Heading back to the car, hearing music and seeing the top of white tents off in the distance, I suddenly remembered this is the area where there’s a Farmer’s Market on Saturdays.

Sprouts has no eggs available to sell, none, not a one, and store management can't say when the shortage will end.

No such shortage at this farmer's market.

The 18-count at $17 comes to $0.67 per egg but one doesn't know where these eggs come from, what conditions the chicken that laid the eggs are being kept in, what feed they've been given.

The 12-count is $1 per egg, but same problem with not knowing whether the eggs will make one ill.

Plus, I don't care for diversity inclusion equity in my eggs ... prefer all brown or all white, not a mixture of the two.

These are supposedly Organic, but who knows, and I can't make out the price.

At any rate, I still have a few Eggland's Best Organic (12 count at $8.79 comes to something like $0.73 per egg), so looks like I'm getting the best and safest deal at my local supermarket ..... for now.

No thanks!

Empanadas and Oxtails WTF

I probably have food issues today due to what I ate as a child, because my mom was from the country, cooked slave food country like her mom, and I didn't know any better .... thought it was normal to eat, what I now see as horrendous concoctions, like brains and eggs for breakfast, oxtails, chitlins, hog head cheese.

The fact that I've not continued that tradition, have not eaten that way, may be why I, the oldest of my mother's children, am still alive while everyone else .... brothers, sister, all died long ago.

And p.s. ... I never fed my children any of that goop, but others seemed to enjoy it as the line was long for either the Empanadas, the Oxtails or both, so whatever.

The Farmer's Market was a good place to recharge — put in some walking steps, breath in fresh air, get some sunshine, listen to music.

It was a nice afternoon. Too bad the day did not end as well .....

Yep! We had another quake, but at least it was tiny one.

Bingo Friday

Yesterday was Bingo Friday, and I can’t tell you how good it felt to not have to rush down to the Community Room after the morning’s workout, hang with the old people.

According to the flyer the Baker had me put together, bingo included a "Special Treat for Valentine’s Day" …… "Probably strawberry shortcake" is what she told me.

However, looking at the photos the Talker sent for me to post to the group’s Facebook page, it doesn’t look like strawberry shortcake happened.

It actually looked like there was no special treat, period. Then, in the corner of one of the photos, I saw what looked like the edge of a container of cupcakes, iced pink for Valentine’s Day.

Can’t tell if the cupcakes are baked or store bought but, when the Baker bakes, she usually displays on a cupcake stand, not in a container. So my guess is store bought.

When last I saw the Baker, she’d looked worried. She’d been placed in that difficult position of having to tell her friend (Red Light) that, because one of the usual bingo suspects had a problem with Red Light attending bingo as a non-resident, that she (the Baker) was going to have to hurt her friend’s feelings, tell Red Light she could no longer attend.

Since then, the Baker has had to deal with Red Light’s Facebook meltdown and harassing phone calls.

Looking at the pictures of the Baker at yesterday’s bingo, she does not look well. You can tell something is weighing her down.

It’s not a stretch to assume no strawberry shortcake and store bought instead of baked is because the Baker just doesn’t have it in her right now to do more than the basics.

Last week’s lousy weather didn’t help anyone’s energy — first three earthquakes, followed by drab dreary days and then non-stop rain with constant flash flood warnings Wednesday and Thursday.

Friday was a dry day for us, but still drab/dreary and, from the photos, it appears not many were in the mood as attendance looked to be down.

All in all, I’m glad to be out of the bingo scene.

This was also the first bingo where Red Light was not in attendance.

No surprise there because, after her Facebook posts, the harassing telephone calls by she and her son, she can never show her face around here again.

In fact, I’d not be surprised to learn not only has she now been officially banned by Management, but that Manager has taken out a restraining order because Red Light yesterday did something I never thought she’d do …… she scrubbed her Facebook page of the three libelous and poor pitiful feel sorry for me posts, wherein she’d named those she felt had wronged her.

It’s giving too much credit to think she deleted the posts because she’d come to her senses. Nope. Not her style. More like something of a legal nature has occurred, which may be another reason why the Baker is walking around with an even heavier heart — she had to hurt her former friend’s feelings again by doing something she didn’t want to do but had no choice in order to stop the harassment.

The Baker did say her Deputy Sheriff son-in-law was looking into what could be done to stop Red Light and her son. So, for Red Light to retract her posts, something significant has happened …… someone of authority has contacted her, or she has been served with a restraining order.

Sooner or later, the Grapevine will get around to letting me know which it was.

Valentine's Day

Love is once again in the air.

Thank the Lord, I've been vaxxed and boosted.

Who Wants to Tell Her?

Popping into the market, after this morning’s workout, I ran into Next Door Neighbor.

We chatted for a bit about how we were going to survive, where we were going to live, when Elon takes away social security.

I said I’d probably be living in my car.

She said it would probably be the same for her.

We were both laughing, making jokes, but the humor was only to keep from crying …… if you know what I mean.

We moved on to the topic of the three earthquakes we’d experienced, her saying that, like myself, she’d been in bed the night the third earthquake hit.

Unlike me, who stayed in bed, she said she gotten up, run into the bathroom, sat in the tub until she felt it was safe.

I never left the comfort of my bed. Of course, I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I browsed TikTok until I felt sleepy again …… three or more hours later.

Heading back to the complex, I pondered the idea of the bathtub being a safe place to seek shelter in an earthquake.

Going over it in my head, it seemed to me that should the building come down, the floor give away, I’d have the mattress at my back, nice soft pillows and quilts surrounding me; whereas, if the floor gave away and the tub fell, broke into pieces, the sharp edges of the tub's broken bits and pieces could be injurious.

Arriving back at the complex, I posed the question to Google …… "Is getting in the bathtub during an earthquake better than staying in bed?"

Google answered …… "No, generally staying in bed and covering your head with a pillow is considered safer than getting into the bathtub during an earthquake; the primary reason being that the bathtub offers little added protection from falling debris while getting out of bed could expose you to further danger during the shaking …… If you are in bed when an earthquake hits, stay there, lie face down, and cover your head and neck with a pillow".

Who wants to tell Next Door Neighbor?

Not me.

Now disturbed by thoughts of Elon still in my head, I decided to do something about it.

I had cotton fabric, freezer paper, ironed the two together to make paper I could run through the printer.

I found an image I could work with, printed the image onto the fabric side, pulled away the freezer paper.

Now having an image on fabric, I cut around the image, fit cotton fabric as a backing, pulled out my sewing machine and VOILÀ …… a voodoo doll.

Stuffed and edges completely sewn together, pins in his vacuous eyes, a pin straight through his cold dead heart, and he was ready to join his sidekick.

I feel better now.

Ominous

That’s the word for how this week has started out ……… Ominous.

Yesterday was shake, rattle, roll with not one, not two, but three earthquakes.

Ominous.

Ain't no sunshine today. Outside is cold, dark, gloomy.

Ominous.

It’s only Tuesday, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall.

One of These Things is Not Like the Other

It wasn’t until I returned from running errands on Saturday, and kicked off my shoes, that I noticed something was wrong with the outfit I’d been out and about in that day.

Do you see it?

Hopefully my bright red lipstick detracted folks from looking down at my footwear.

These senior moments are coming more frequently. I had two such moments on Saturday. First was wearing mismatched shoes then, later that day, I found myself searching the unit for my keys, with no success. Something told me to check the front door.

Sure enough, there they were, just waiting for someone to come along, enter while I’m asleep, pillage and plunder or drive off with the Jeep or both.

I guess the lesson that day was to slow my thinking down, pay attention to what I’m doing, stay in the moment.

Linda in Kansas aka DrumMajor was interested in the recipe I used a few days ago for Mini Monkey Bread which, unlike the last time I tried to make Monkey Bread, was a success.

That last time was back in 2015, when I followed the Pioneer Woman’s recipe to take Pull Apart Monkey Bread as my dish for the Valentine’s Day Potluck.

It was an epic fail — the dish came out soggy, not cooked all the way through, so I was forced to contribute Girl Scout Cookies to the potluck instead.

Since then, with my food allergies — which have plagued me since age 18, becoming increasingly worse to where my system can now not tolerate whole wheat and high-fiber flours, Monkey Bread has been off the menu. That is, until I recently came across a recipe for Monkey Bread made with white rice flour.

I gave it a try, but instead of baking in a bundt or loaf pan, as the Frugal Farm Wife’s recipe calls for, I made Minis by baking in a cupcake pan.

Into the muffin tins I dropped teaspoons of dough, followed by drops of filling and continued layering dough/filling until dough and filling were depleted.

Soft on the inside, with pockets of filling throughout, sugary and crispy on the outside, snackalicious with a cup of coffee.

Around 5:00 today, about the time I figured Kendrick Lamar would be performing at the Superbowl, I quickly switched channels, checked in to see if it was Halftime yet.

It wasn’t, but I did see the score and it looked like the Chiefs were getting their arses kicked.

I tuned in about 45 minutes later, just in time to catch the Halftime Show, which was great — I liked the red, white, blue theme, could have done without Samuel L. Jackson, and I’m sure some of Kendrick's songs ruffled the correct feathers, not to mention the patriotic colors.

(I guess Kendrick did indeed ruffle feathers, because the pundits are saying "worst halftime ever". No, that would be Rihanna's snoozefest back in '23.)

According to the score I saw, before I went back to my regularly scheduled programs, the Chiefs were getting creamed.

Now flipping channels, seeing the game is over, and Kansas City was slaughtered, I’m wondering if Kelce would like to eat his words that it would be "pretty cool" and "a great honor" if the Orange Menace were in attendance, because it looks like the Menace brought the team bad luck, not to mention he doesn’t like what he calls "losers".

It’s Raining Men

It rained all night long and, when I awoke this morning, it was still pouring down.

I came thisclose to call off getting out into it for this morning’s workout; but then remembered the market had been out of frozen salmon when I shopped the other day, and that if I wanted salmon for dinner, it was best to just go ahead, workout, market after.

Crossing the market parking lot after working out, headed inside, I heard a friendly sounding voice say, "Hey, lady".

I turned to see who was speaking and saw it was Meat Man, whom I’ve not seen in ages on the complex.

"Meat Man" being formerly Handsome Man on the blog, until he’d approached Homegirl (whom can be described as a healthy woman ……… all boobs, hips, butt), and in a sleezy tone said to her, "I like meat" — referring to all the meat on her bones.

Homegirl cursed him out for the disrespectful way he approached her, and I changed his blog name to Meat Man because, to me, he looked a lot less handsome after that faux pas.

So, anyway, as I needed to get out of the rain, head into the market, and Meat Man needed to get out of the rain and into his car to leave, in response to his "Hey, Lady", I said "Oh hey neighbor. You staying out of trouble?"

He said something in return which I couldn’t make out, and that was that.

By the time I exited the market, the rain had let up enough, to where I didn’t even have to use my umbrella, and the sun was actually trying to come out.

It’s like that around here ……… a rainstorm and then, seconds later, the rain stops, sun comes out. So, it wasn’t surprising to see residents hanging around outside the gate — smoking, chatting, when I arrived back.

One chatting, not smoking, was the famous Hubba Hubba Awooga Silver Fox, whom I also had not seen in ages.

Readers might remember him as the resident — moved in August of 2023, that the women were all gaga about.

Described to me as mixed with First Nation Indian Blood and some other blood type, wore a ponytail, which blood mixture and ponytail made him "too handsome for words" and said to be "antisocial, mean, doesn’t like people knocking on his door".

I don’t care for people knocking on my door either; so, I didn’t put much weight into someone being antisocial or mean because of wanting to be left alone; and I later learned those smears were being made because he’d pissed some of the female residents off.

How did he piss the female residents off you ask.

Well, the thirsty women around here were bothering him — vying for his attention, knocking on his door ……… showing up with cakes, cookies, meals, asking questions about where he was from, what he does, and he’d ruffled their feathers by telling them to buzz off, that "I’m sick and tired of women always chasing me".

I later saw the Silver Fox around once or twice, waved as I always do to residents, whether I know them or not.

I don’t recall his being friendly in return, but to be expected as his expectation was all us women wanted him.

He need not have worried. Seeing him up close and personal, I thought he was nice looking compared to what else we have around here, but not all Hubba Hubba Awooga and not my type.

It wasn’t until manager’s meeting in September of last year, when I was seated away from the cluster of residents — for viral safety reasons, at the back of the room, when Silver Fox walked in, sat right next to me.

He introduced himself, we chatted a bit and, when the meeting was over, he began walking, chatting with me as we headed for our units.

Conversation ended when I reached my walkway with him saying, "It was nice to meet you, Shirley. I hope to see you again" in a way where I knew he was opening a door.

I was polite, but not encouraging. I did not walk through the door.

I’ve seen him once since then. He was driving in, yelled "Hello!" as I was crossing the parking lot. I said hello in return, but kept walking, didn’t look back to encourage him.

For those who don’t know, when us ladies smile and look back, that’s a yes, a green light signaling a male to come with what he's got.

So, there he was today, outside the gate talking to Big Friendly Guy.

I parked, got out of the car, picked up my workout bag, groceries and, just that quick, he’d ended his conversation with Big Friendly guy and was on the walkway, behind where I was parked.

"Hello, Shirley" said he.

Oh ……… he’s calling me by my name, opening that door again, thought I.

I know his name but chose, once again, to not walk through the door. I replied, "Hey, neighbor".

"How are you doing?", asked he.

"I’m okay, how about yourself?"

A little too far away, I couldn’t make out what he was saying, didn’t want to prolong things, or have him walk closer, by saying I can’t hear you. So, I just listened, made out what sounded like "wha wha wha wha wha wha wha, but I’m okay with it". To which, I smiled, nodded as though I understood and that was that.

So, it really did rain men this morning ……… at least two came out of the woodwork.

From the looks outside now, you’d never know it rained all night and most of the morning, as the sun is shining and outside is drying up.

BTW: While at the market, I noticed the organic Eggland’s Best were all sold out.

I’m now kicking myself for only buying a dozen, I should have purchased two dozen because a recipe I’m trying this afternoon for Mini Monkey Bread is calling for six egg whites.

This recipe, which I'm revising to substitute rice flour for regular flour and a stevia blend for brown sugar, had just better work out ……… not waste my precious eggs.