The More Things Change

The more some things remain the same.

It’s been a while since I’ve venture out, so long that the jeep had to be towed by a pimped-out tow truck and battery replaced from having not been driven for weeks and weeks and weeks.

Emotional wreck that I was, having gotten through that inconvenience, finding myself able to handle contact with the tow truck driver and the dealership’s sales manager, I saw on this month’s activity calendar "Tuesday, March 17, Social: St. Patrick’s Day Paint and Sip, join neighbors in the Community Room for painting, festive snacks and refreshing beverages, 12:00- 1:30 pm".

Is there really going to be a paint and sip or is this another one of Kecia’s scams?thought I.

Do I dare try to get through a social?

You won’t know if you don’t try so baby steps .... not wearing green lipstick or the annual four-leaf clover top, I headed for the Community Room this morning.

Though I didn’t see Kesha or anything that looked like paint, canvasses, festive snacks or refreshing beverages, the handful of usual suspects I encountered said Kesha was on the premises. None had a clue about painting but said refreshing beverages was going to be juice.

To me, a refreshing beverage is coffee, but that's just me.

So, anyway, I stuck around/waited for about 20 minutes before deciding some things never change, that it was another scam and headed out to Starbucks, for a refreshing beverage.

At least I got to see the cute tree management set up in the lobby.

Keeping Calm and Shamrocking On

If I’m wearing green lipstick and my four-leaf clover tee, you can be sure it’s St. Patrick’s Day.

Other than that, I’m in survival mode, keeping calm and shamrocking on as I wait to see how this regime is going to screw up my remaining retirement years.

Looks like I’ve survived this month — my Social Security hit the bank in a timely fashion, the check I wrote for federal taxes owed was cashed, the teeny tiny refund check from the state arrived, and I have eggs in the fridge.

I don't require a lot, don't strive for anything other than peace and harmony in all areas of my livingness, so right now, everything is copacetic on this end.

Taking things one month at a time, unless something wonderful and miraculous happens, as TikTokers put it "to the two or the three, not just the one to be effective" (read between the lines) to change the direction things are going, there are another 46 months to go where I’ll be holding my breath each and every month.

This month’s Activity Calendar did not make its way to me, so no idea what the seniors are up to, except that I saw another long-time resident move out yesterday.

That’s three since the first of the month.

Two moved because they were no longer able to care for themselves, but the woman who moved out yesterday, was fit and able, which has me wondering if her moving has something to do with something going on I don't yet know about or maybe, whereas I'm okay this month, this month turned out differently for her.

As for this month’s Activity Calendar, if you will recall, management stopped posting the calendar to our doors in January. Now, if we want to know what activities are scheduled for us, we have to sign up for Rent Café.

No one I know has signed up for that so, unless one just pops into the Community Room to see if anything is going on, we remain in the dark.

That first month without the calendar, the Activity Director (AD) sent one to the Baker, who transmitted copies to us.

I figured the AD would get in trouble with Manager for that and though I don’t know for sure she did get in trouble, I’m guessing she did as she hasn’t done so since; and it looks like Manager emphasized the point that keeping us informed was not AD’s job, when she (Manager) herself sent the next month’s calendar to those of us who communicate with her via email.

No calendar from either this month, so who knows what if anything is going on.

I may have to squash my phobia of outside being too peopley, head down to the Community Room tomorrow to find out for myself.

Luck of the Irish

Guess I have just enough Irish in me for this to be my lucky day because, while logging in miles around the complex, I spotted an elusive roadrunner — a sign of magic and good luck.

Not a Leprechaun leading me to a pot of gold, but I’ll take it.

I’m not kidding about the Irish blood.

Family history handed down is that back in the day of slavery, we were on a plantation owned by an Irishman. One can imagine how he took advantage of the female ancestors, fathered children, mixed that ethnicity into the blood.

My mom was saddled with a completely Irish name, so I never doubted what I’d been told; nevertheless sent my saliva into one of those DNA places a few years ago and received an ethnicity estimate of not only "Ireland 2%" but a significant percentage of Wales and some Scotland.

I may be related to some of you readers across the Pond, and the mixture may explain why it was that, in junior high school, I was the only Black girl to sign up for folk dancing. Even got A+ on the Irish Jig. Guess it was in the blood.

Believe it or not, I still remember some of the steps to that long ago jig.

Also, while out walking, I spotted a sign on the lawn of the next building over.

The sign reads "Lost Phone. The last GPS signal was right here and it said that the person that found it might be riding a bike or a skateboard or may be driving slow. Reward".

We have two guys living here who ride bikes. Neither looks like the Honest Abe type.

The likelihood of a skateboard on the property is doubtful, as is the likelihood of a car "driving slow" up the walkway, so I’m guessing a motorized wheelchair.

No matter how one looks at it, he or she won’t be getting the phone back because, if the person who found it were honest, they would have immediately called numbers on the phone to try to locate the owner.

It's sucky to know we have people living here that, when packages are dropped off at the wrong door or placed in the wrong mailbox or valuable items, like a cellphone, are found, that they don't do the right thing and turn the items over.

Recalculating

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

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

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

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

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

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

I never got to find out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Front

Back Working Side

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some people will eat anything.

Will be interesting to see if anyone gets sick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

St. Patrick’s Day!

Since I can't decide which hat to wear, I'm opting for a shamrock tee, as I head off to the medical center this morning — to get the Blood Pressure check off the to-do list.

Except for the drama generated by that Karen neighbor, it’s been quiet here on the complex.

Too quiet.

Eerily quiet.

My spidey sense has been telling me something isn’t right.

Apache hasn’t been around for a while — which is unusual in itself, and I’ve not seen the Baker walking her dog Fancy around for days and days. I’ve also not seen Jan, the painted rock lady, since I drove her to her medical center last Friday.

If you will recall, as I headed for the Pain Cave that day, I’d seen her — now dependent on an oxygen tank, headed out for a breathing test.

Forty-five minutes later, returning from my workout, Jan was STILL sitting on the bench out front. I pulled over, learned her Uber driver was VERY late, so I drove her to the medical center telling her to call if the ride back failed her.

Haven’t seen her since and, there being no signs of life at her unit, I'm thinking she must have been readmitted for observation.

The saga of that Karen and the Talker took a frightening turn yesterday when, returning from that morning's workout, the Talker approached me saying, "Shirley, I’m scared".

"Why!? What happened!?"

"She's stalking me".

The story is that although the Karen is trying to be nice, Talker feels the Karen is actually crazy, a physical danger and can’t maintain for much longer, based on her now strange behaviors — stalker behavior.

Like being observed by others standing outside glaring up at Talker’s unit — like I'd observed a couple days ago.

Like being observed following the Talker to her car one day, hiding and peering from behind the trash receptacle — assuming to see where Talker parks, what kind of car she drives.

Talker said she'd actually seen, from the corner of her eyes, the Karen peeking at her from around the structure.

Like being observed to be on hands and knees picking around in the dirt in front of her own patio, appearing to be looking for something.

Talker later found plant pieces piled up in front of her door. Plant pieces it is assumed little miss "I’m sick, I need peace and quiet" was well enough to kneel, dig in the dirt, then climb the stairs to place her findings in front of Talker’s door, for some odd reason.

Talker says what scares her most is the Karen has been trying to finagle her way inside Talker’s unit — "nicely" offering to come up, help Talker with this, that, the other.

So, it looks like Karen of the "I'm sick, I need peace and quiet" klan can not only climb stairs, but is able and willing to help Talker with this, that, the other.

I'm thinking what that's about is her wanting to get inside, see the layout, determine who sleeps where, so she can direct whatever it is she's planning in the correct direction, or she wants to plant something inside.

At any rate,"I don’t want her inside my unit. I don’t know what she’ll do", said the Talker.

Talker's problem is, like I said before, she's too nice. Knowing Karen is being insincere, that she's now become afraid of Karen, the Talker continues to play the game with her.

A spiritual teacher once explained conflict between two people as there's a pitcher and a catcher. The pitcher pitches, the catcher catches, the pitcher pitches, the catcher catches. But what would happen if the pitcher pitched and the catcher refused to catch? It would be game over.

I suggested Talker stop catching, stop playing the game; do not engage, don’t give Karen any attention, ignore when she speaks, pay no mind to her so-called attempts at being friendly.

"I can’t do that, can’t be that way", says Talker.

Okay then, she'll have to live with the consequences.

Hopefully, she'll at least let the office know she's scared, perhaps consider a restraining order.

I gotta tell you, I'm fast losing sympathy for the Talker.

She doesn't want to move to a downstairs unit, she doesn't want to disengage, she probably won't talk to the office or get a restraining order. Instead, she's "praying".

There's the old saying, "God helps those who help themselves".

My spidey sense is telling me the unusual quiet on the place is a universal dread amongst those of us aware of the situation that the Talker will one day soon be wishing she’d been more proactive.

Wish me luck at the medical center because I just took my BP and it reads 145/61, which is too high. I'll have to do the breathing thing Mike, over at Billions of Visions of Normal, told me about and get the reading down to the 120's by the time I reach the center.

Valentine State of Mind

Not me … NEVER me, but the painted rock lady Jan, as I spotted new rocks on Monday.

The rocks reminded me it’s time to switch to the V-Day coffee cup.

Running into Jan yesterday, I thanked her for planting new rocks whereupon she said she had already begun on rocks for Easter.

"What about St. Patrick’s Day?", asked I. "Doesn’t that come before Easter?"

"Oh, that’s right. Guess I’d better get busy", she replied.

Can’t wait to see what she comes up with.

Even though I no longer do anything or go anywhere to recognize St. Patrick’s Day, I do wear my four-leaf clover top.

When I was working, I’d pick up green bagels to treat the office to celebrate and, one year, I recall the Arab Attorney (the guy I’d blogged about still being bitter all these many years later), took me to a bar called Casey’s for green beer.

I don’t recall enjoying the taste, but not because it was green, but because it was beer.

In junior high school, I was the nerd that joined the Folk Dancing Group.

Our final exam was, one-by-one to perform in front of the group an Irish Jig, in the choreographic sequences designed by the teacher AND at the end of the dance we were to add a step we ourselves had designed.

I got an A in the class and though I do not recall any of the steps given by the instructor, to this day I recall my step and sometimes find myself jigging it around the unit.

Of course, I can no longer get both feet off the ground simultaneously to do it properly, but I manage a fair enough facsimile.

Funny what sticks in your mind.

Release the Dogs!

Happy St. Patrick’s day!

It’s been a quiet, drama free St. Patrick’s Day here at the complex.

That is if you don’t count the helicopter flying overhead late last night, shouting out commands ─ one that sounded like “Release the Dogs!”

And if you don’t count the canine officer, along with the canine, I observed walking down the walkway during daylight hours.

Also, if you don’t count the notice, posted to our doors, that yet another “employee has tested positive for Covid-19 and immediately underwent self-quarantine”.

Other than that, it's like I said ─ a quiet, drama free St. Patrick’s Day. LOL.

Word is the “release the dogs” and the canine visit are the result of someone trying to steal that thingy off cars that’s been in the news lately ─ catalytic converters.

I don’t want to jinx myself, but I park in the front. It’s generally cars in the back, and along the side, that are tampered with. So crossing my fingers whoever they were don’t come back and, if they do, they stay away from the front.

As for the employee testing positive, I’m guessing it’s probably Assistant Maintenance Guy, because he works in close quarters with Head Maintenance Guy (HMG) ─ who was the first to test positive. But it could be any one of the three ─ Community Manager, Assistant Manager, Assistant Maintenance Guy.

Covid doesn’t appear to have had any impact on HMG, who I’d spotted walking around mask less a number of times pre his diagnosis. NOW, he's always in a mask, but his wife doesn’t wear one, his children don’t, and visiting family members don’t.

I give all of ‘em a wide berth. It would have been wise for, whoever this latest staffer to test positive is, to have done likewise.

Activity Director stopped by and dropped off a craft project for this month.

Looks to be St. Patrick’s Day wreaths, three of them, different styles.

St. Patrick’s Day is one day, not an entire month, so three is kind of overkill. But since she went through the trouble, I’ll block out some time this week to put ‘em together.

Trainer was miffed with me today.

He’d put me on the Grappler Toss, which is where you stand, holding one end of a rope in each hand, then toss the ropes one at a time during the first set, simultaneously up down on the second set. Only this time, he had me do it from a seated position.

It’s a lot harder seated and I was performing poorly because the right shoulder didn’t like that routine. That’s the shoulder that’s been giving me trouble, that I sometimes wear a brace at home, because reaching back for needlepoint supplies had aggravated an old torn rotator injury.

I pushed myself poorly though a set and a half before the pain became too much, and I had to tell Trainer I couldn't go on and why.

"That’s something you should tell me right away!", chastised he. Then he walked into the other room and let out a loud guy scream ... an “AHHHHHHHHH!”.

I really don’t think the ire and histrionics were so much about me, as it was more about what trainer is holding in ─ the situation with his daughter, so I’m not holding it against him ..... this time.

And I understand how my not telling him I had an injury unrelated to our workouts would have been a concern to him in that, had he known, he'd have adjusted the workout around it, so as not to cause further damage. However, I did tell him, “Life is pain. I try to push through because, if I told you every time I hurt something, you’d think I was too much a risk and not train me.”

I wasn’t kidding.

Getting old is no joke or, as Bette Davis once said, “Old age ain’t no place for the weak of heart”.

And, yes, I know she used a word other than “weak of heart” but that was an inappropriate then, this is a politically correct now.

So that's it for our quiet, no drama day. LOL

I dug into the back of the closet and pulled out my special tee for the day.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day

Even though I’m technically not Irish, I always wear green.

I say technically because, back in the days of slavery, ancestors on my mother’s side were owned by an Irish plantation owner. Upon emancipation, family came away with that owner's Irish last name which was eventually buried through females marrying and taking the last names of their husbands.

No green bagels or green beer for me today, but I did color my nails and dress in a tee with those shamrock decorations.

Tomorrow is my second session with the Personal Trainer. 

I walked away from that first session feeling pretty good, but the aches hit me the day after, and the day after that. Today is the first day nothing hurt and we’re back at it tomorrow ─ Monday and then again Tuesday.

I saw results right away, just days BEFORE that first session, in that ─ after losing 20.5 pounds in 2017, the needle on the scale in the Game Room refused to budge.

No matter what I did, I could not lose, not a pound, not an ounce after that December.

Then, after deciding to sign up for personal training, I jumped on that scale and was down 5 pounds in one week.

I double checked on the scale in the Pain Cave, and it indicated I’d lost 6 pounds by then.

It’s almost like my being stuck since December 2017 was the Universe screwing with me, and when the Universe realized I was serious about the Pain Cave, it got scared straight ─ figured Oh Snap. She’s not messing around. I’d better show some progress can be made without all that effort.

Sorry, Universe. Too late. Besides, weight loss is not my goal ─ I’m training for strength and stamina, but I’ll take it.

The Pain Cave

Looks like I’ve had an amazing recovery from the time change blues, because I had no problem falling asleep last night and was up and at it early this morning.

After today's Saint Patrick’s Day Potluck, which was well attended, I took care of a bit of business that had been rummaging around in my brain ever since I saw a sign down the street, a few days ago, that so peaked my interest that I’d parked, gone into the business to investigate.

The yoga girl wasn’t available to speak with me, but I later looked on her Instagram and decided, though I can still do SOME yoga, my body is no longer flexible enough to do her kind of yoga. However, while speaking with the guy explaining the yoga schedule, I learned of other fitness options, including personal training.

Getting toned, tightened and strong is something I’d been thinking about, looking into and wanting for a long time.

Back in August, while out of the area hunting Pokémon, I’d spotted another sign and popped in.

Did not get a good feel for the location, the facility, the training methods or the trainers ─ not to mention the drive was out of my way, so I passed and kept intermittently considering other places.

The place down the street just popped up out of nowhere (in business since August they tell me), and "down the street" is just two blocks from the complex. I can walk there and back.

The guy/trainer I was initially speaking with seemed knowledgeable and had a really good feel about him, but I started hyperventilating when the subject of how much it was going to cost came up. Consequently, I'd left saying I'd think about all he'd told me. Plus, I checked Yelp (excellent reviews) and his Instagram (where I saw videos of his successful transformations).

After thinking about it and thinking about it and factoring in the cost, I decided, from prior research, the cost is comparable and getting off the couch, motivated once again, in shape and active, is worth the price.

I went in for yoga, came out with a personal trainer who calls his training room “The Pain Cave”.

He set me up for Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays beginning this Thursday, whereupon I said, “I’m scared”.

His response ─ “Don’t be. I don’t kill anyone right away. I bring them up slow”.

I just hope I don’t cry.

Springing Forward

It doesn’t seem logical that time springing forward one hour would throw me so off center but with that time change, along with all the chaos going on in the world running through my head, the day has been challenging. Starting with my not being able to fall asleep last night.

There I was ─ tossing, turning.

Sleep wouldn't come, so I turned on the lights and put in some reading time.

Unlike Bob Woodward’s book Fear, which was so boring that I’d get sleepy after a page or two, Cliff Sim’s book made not being sleepy worse because it’s so interesting, stimulating, a lot of laugh out loud funny.

It must have been around 1:00/2:00 that I put down the book, picked up the tape player and popped in a meditation tape.

That did the trick because next thing I knew, I was waking up ... but late, very late ─ 9:30 a.m.

Waking up so late didn’t give me the time to putter around that I usually need before I decide to start living. And, but for the fact I HAD to make a Sprout’s and Ralphs market run, because I was out of staples and also needed to pick up something for tomorrow’s Saint Patrick’s Day potluck, I’d have blown off the entire day.

Getting dressed turned into a circus because, after picking out a pair of warm socks, I lost one between the bedroom sock drawer and the couch.

After looking here, there, back/forth from one room to another, I gave up, sat down on the couch to collect my thoughts and ......

There the missing sock was, on my left foot.

I began to reconsider trusting myself outside, but carried on.

The wind was howling so, not wanting to drive 20 miles, I took a chance on that new Sprout’s ─ where the parking lot had been so crazy.

No problem today. There was not a line at that chicken place, no armed guards, and plenty of parking. However, I did see a sign on the door of Sprout’s that I’ve never seen in any market anywhere, any time.

I got in, out and on to my next stop without getting shot, but what the heck is that sign about?

Did someone actually come in and do their grocery shopping while carrying a gun?

At any rate, I hurriedly picked up what few items I couldn’t get at Sprouts, and something easy peasy for tomorrow’s potluck at the next stop.

It’s a good thing that Sweet Tooth had run its course, and I’m now not remotely tempted, because these on my counter overnight would have been dangerous.

At any rate, as I turned to push my purchases away, after going through the checkout line, the casher got my attention with “Ma’am, Ma’am”.

I turned, puzzled and asked, “Did I not give you enough (money)?”

“You didn’t give me any”, said she.

Still puzzled, trying to put it all together, I realized the cash was still in my hand.

“Oh”, said I. “That’s why I’m carrying this in my hand”.

I made it home without further incident, but I can’t wait for this day to end, and will probably stay home until my mind, body, spirit adjusts to this time change.

Senior Moment

Thinking tomorrow was the 12th of March already, I headed to the market for a dish for tomorrow’s Saint Patrick’s Day potluck.

We’d just had the Valentine’s Day (Sweetheart Potluck) event last week ... very late because of budget issues, so I was surprised to see yet another potluck so soon on the Activity Calendar.

Nevertheless, I signed up to bring a dish and was thinking along the lines of Starbucks Coffee or some kind of green Ice Cream.

Tomorrow, and the remainder of the week, is not looking good for us seniors weather-wise here in the Inland Empire ─ cloudy, rain, rain, showers, rain, rain, cloudy.

Consequently, I decided against driving to Starbucks tomorrow to pick up a Starbucks traveler, lug it in along with creamers and cups in the rain, and headed to the market for ice cream this morning.

Then I saw a sale on Slaw.

Corned beef and potatoes are on the menu, so cabbage slaw would be a good accompaniment, thought I, even though it’s Asian slaw. Plus the price was right ─ two for $6.00.

Once back at the complex, it occurred to me that we’d gotten two weeks into the month of March awfully quick, so I looked at the calendar to recheck the date, only to see today is the 4th, not the 11th.

I don’t think the slaw will do well after sitting in my fridge for eight days, so I’m stuck with two packages of Asian Slaw I can’t eat because the vinaigrette and wontons have ingredients dangerous to my health and well-being ─ wheat, corn starch, soy. To top it off, I looked at the receipt and noticed I was charged regular price ─ $3.99 each.

I’d take them back, except, I’m overcharged only $2.00 and the market was not the local corner store, but the one out of the area near Costco, because I drove there for gas ─ too far to go over a $2.00 overcharge.

While watching Chopped on Food Network, I had the bright idea to use the veggies, toss the other stuff. A shirataki noodles stir fry was my first go at repurposing the slaw.

It worked. After adding almond butter, coconut amino and sriracha, I had a meal which was better than take-out.

That’s half a package of slaw down, one and a half to go.

Shortly after I returned from the market, Head Maintenance Guy (HMG) showed up in response to that maintenance request for new blinds for the kitchen.

I was glad it was he that responded, rather than his assistant. However, instead of bringing up new blinds, he decided to “fix” the broken string.

He looped it together somehow, got the blinds back up, but the blinds now look squished and slanted and so precariously put together that I don’t dare touch them for fear of their falling apart again.

HMG himself didn’t express much confidence in his work, saying, “I fixed it but, when it falls apart, I’ll order new ones”.

Why not be proactive and order new ones now?

But you know what? 

If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you know I’m not the type to make a big deal. Instead, I lay low, bide my time, wait for the opportune moment and then BAM!

I’ll live with the tacky looking fix until we next have an inspection. Then I’ll nonchalantly open the blinds to let the sun in, and watch the blinds fall apart in the presence of the inspector.

Bet I get new blinds lickety split then.

Sweetheart Potluck

Though Activity Director’s late nod to Valentine’s Day ─ yesterday’s Sweetheart Potluck, was well-attended, the event had nothing to do with Valentines or Sweethearts.

It was too late. The seniors were over hearts, flowers and sweets.

The Community Room decorations had already been switched out for the next thing.

And instead of the plethora of desserts one would expect for a Valentine’s Day event, the menu was savory not sweet ─ Sandwiches, Chips, Macaroni Salad, Potato Salad, Lettuce Soup.

Lettuce soup was new to me. It looked delicious and everyone said it tasted so.

I couldn’t risk the soup containing ingredients I can no longer have, so I passed on it ─ and everything else. I did however later do research and located several recipes online, finally finding a recipe I can incorporate into my meal plan.

Greedy Grabby not only contributed to the potluck, but went all out with a platter of Grape Leaves, Rice with Chicken. (Trying to make amends perhaps).

One dessert did end up on the counter ─ Two containers of store-bought cupcakes.

Monthly birthday celebrations are a thing of the past. Another resident, wanting everyone to know the day was her birthday and wanting a celebration, brought her own cake.

I can’t decide if that was being desperate for attention or to be applauded as a ballsy move.

Apache, waning for attention, stood up and announced he was wearing his Success by Trump Cologne and asked how it smelled.

No one took the bait but me.

“Smells like skunk”, said I.

He laughed. He likes me like a sister, so I can get away with denigrating his hero, whereas he ends up in an argument when others do so.

Later, I was more truthful and said I couldn’t smell anything.

Apache offered his wrist for me to sniff. “Oh, I smell it now. But it smells weak, like the traitor”.

That was the truth. The cologne isn’t very strong. You have to focus to catch the aroma. It’s weak.

But to each his own.

A few residents, who were not present last time I showed up, were surprised to see me. Saying, they’d been asking around as to whatever happened to me ... “Did she move?”

Guess I’m going to have to get out more often.

Inasmuch as Apache is our unofficial mayor, the person willing to tackle Corporate, residents bring their issues to him. He in turn rats management and Corporate out to the county folks. (There’s an issue going on now where management took advantage of not having a manager and locked the doors for four days. No one could enter the office area through the front, no one could get to the Game Room. In fact, Assistant Community Manager wasn’t even in the office and the maintenance guys were observed, through the windows, to be in the Game Room playing pool. Apache got on his phone, turned them all in, and is once again persona non grata. Corporate has had enough, wrote him up for creating a "disturbance", trying to get him outta here. Apache, of course, like a true Trump supporter is enjoying the fight and has no intention of backing down.)

I was sitting with Apache when a resident in a wheelchair rolled over to tell him someone had stolen all her towels from the dryer.

Seriously? Stealing laundry? How low can a person go.

Apache said he’d report it.

In all fairness, I don’t see what management can do about that. There’s no camera in the laundry rooms, so we’ll just have to not leave our laundry unattended. Apache, on the other hand, sees it as one more nail to hammer management with.

Before I headed back upstairs, after the event, I popped into the office to put in a Maintenance Request for my overhead kitchen lighting. Assistant Community Manager took the request and asked, “What’s your unit number?”

All of a sudden I drew a blank.

My mind went completely empty ... there was nothing there. I could not remember where I lived!

She had to look it up on the computer.

At any rate, the Assistant Maintenance Guy showed up pretty quick, replaced the burnt out tube and, before leaving, pointedly asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I quickly processed that statement as strange … nothing any of the many maintenance guys has ever said to me before and not sure if I was reading more into it than was intended.

The women around her have in the past been very flirty with the maintenance guys. I know one who told me she’d asked one of the guys out on a date. Other maintenance guys have told others they’ve been sexually harassed by some of the women. I believe it because Apache has also been approached, only he likes it.

So, it wouldn’t be out of realm of possibility that this new guy thought I might be one of those women and threw me a line.

Deciding the best course was for me to play dumb, not take the bait, if there was bait to take, I stuck my head back into my needlepoint and tried to sound nonchalant with “No thanks”.