Grounded

I never did make it to the dealership to look at cars on Wednesday because, shortly after breakfast, a gut episode came out of nowhere and grounded me.

I couldn’t trace it to anything I’d eaten that morning, so I took getting sick as either a sign from the Universe to not yet on a new car or a reminder of how I’m going to suffer if I eat biscuits and gravy at tomorrow’s Community Breakfast.

Problem with that is … if I’m already suffering, I might as well go for the biscuits and gravy.

At any rate, car shopping is on hold until I’m back to full capacity because, as of right now, I can’t focus and can only handle short nearby jaunts -- like to the market, craft store, Walmart and, this morning, to Starbucks to put in an order for a Traveler for tomorrow’s breakfast.

I had planned for a manicure/pedicure on Sunday because it’s time. My nails look awful from needlepoint and housework without gloves.

Progress May 2017 - February 2018

But the nail salon is on hold as well. I’ll just slap on some fresh polish to get me through to whenever I can make it to the spa, because the Valentine’s Dance is this coming Tuesday and I can’t walk around taking photos with ugly hands.

What to wear is on my mind.

I should have ordered that red tank top I saw last month when it crossed my mind February was coming. One part of my brain was telling me, “Order it, because you might need something red to wear”. The other part of my brain said, “No. You don’t need it. You have your red leggings”.

Had it been another potluck, I could have gotten away with my usual uniform – black tank top, hoodie wrapped around my waist, and switched my black or camo leggings for red, but it’s a dance and folks around here dress to the nines for that kind of social event. They break out their pearls, fake diamonds, fanciest dresses and my buddy Apache gets all GQ suited up.

I’m more the casual type, even when fancy dress is order of the day, but I upgrade my usual look with a blazer, fancy belt and boots. Had I ordered that red tank, my upgraded streetwear would have looked every bit the occasion in a laid back kind of way.

Now?

Who knows. 

I’ll have to rummage through the closet and see what I can come up with.

Speaking of what to wear, it was just last night’s episode of Project Runway, where the all-star designers were tasked with creating a look that was young hip Hollywood for Betty Boop. As soon as I saw the streetwear direction Joshua was going in, I pegged him for the win.

Wouldn’t you know that, checking email this morning, up popped Joshua's Collection at Torrid.

Eerie how the internet knows me better than friends and family.

At any rate, the promo of Betty talking is really cute and one look displayed was so totally my daily uniform that I was ready to order.

Except, the “cold shoulder” and deep cutout in the back makes it impossible to wear for us girls who must wear a bra.

The I Heart Betty doesn’t thrill me. It’s cute, but last thing I need is another regular tee shirt with just a different design that, from the look of the fit on the model, I’d have to cut and pimp to be more form fitting.

But I don’t know about the cold shoulder tee. It’s really calling my name -- plus I just happen to have a pair of shredded leggings and a red hoodie, so I may spring for the top and worry about how to make it work for my body type later.

Baby Steps

Once again awakened at 3:30 this morning by the roar of the washers, as someone was doing laundry, and unable to roll over and go back to sleep, my mind wandered.

Thinking it’s time to take my search for a new automobile off the internet and onto an actual lot, I thought today might be the day to put that plan into action. However, I’m thinking of not actually stepping onto a lot, being accosted by greasy looking characters pushing for a sale, but that I might first take baby steps -- just drive by the lot I’m thinking about, scope the dealership out, get a feel for the place.

If it feels right, I’ll park, get out, step onto the lot.

If not, it’s back to the drawing board.

Having narrowed the search down to a Jeep, specifically the white Wrangler with the black hard top, but feeling it unwise and unsafe to bring an expensive automobile into this neighborhood, looks like it’ll be a white Renegade.

The Renegade looks so similar to my Saturn that the fact there’s a new automobile in my parking spot might go completely unnoticed.

That thought about not being noticed reminded me of something said to me at yesterday’s Valentine Potluck by the resident who was coming on to me (let’s call him Handsome Guy).

Handsome Guy has had a passing mention in the blog – first here, then here.

I actually didn’t realize, when he sat next to me and began chatting me up, that he was hitting on me until at one point, he said “I like your hair”.

Hmmm, that’s the flattery technique, thought I.

I was polite, “Thank you”.

“Dreadlocks?” said he.

“No, Sisterlocks”.

A little later, he commented on my clothing. I was wearing a headband with an American flag design and my Wonder Woman leggings. 

I don’t recall precisely what he said, but my response was that I like camouflage and americana.

“I like America”, said he. “I just don’t like the president”.

That set off a political discussion at the table, which stopped as Apache approached because Apache gets so riled up when anyone voices a dislike of his idol the Orange Idiot in Chief.

It didn’t register until this morning, when I couldn’t go back to sleep and my mind was wandering, that Handsome Guy’s attention to detail – my hair and manner of dress, meant he’d been sneaking glances, checking me over pretty good.

At one point in our conversation, we’d been discussing how the neighborhood has changed so much, and not for the better. He cautioned me to be watchful, be careful because, “You never know who is watching you.”

Did he mean him?

He’s not the least bit creepy. A Seventh-Day Adventist, he moved here to be near his mom, who lives over by the University, is retired from security at Santa Anita, and now has his own Armed Guard/Security Company and even has offered his services to management, at a reduced rate.

They said no because corporate management is cheap. They don’t want to pay for anything, not even at a reduced rate.

Handsome Guy stuck to me like glue through the entire Valentine Potluck, after which he began excusing himself  to check on his mom, who was fresh from a hospital visit; but then decided to stay and sit with me through the special meeting.

The meeting turned out to be two hours long but, I was pretty much feed up with the bullcrap halfway through and got up to leave.

Handsome Guy got up to leave as well, walked me out, held the door.

Nice guy, a gentleman, a lot going for himself but, just like I’d summed him up last time I blogged about him – when he followed me into the Game Room, as a bit lonely and bored, the way he clung and glued himself to me yesterday made him also seem needy. 

I’m reminded of the many different episodes I’ve seen on Investigation Discovery television programs where some woman had her life altogether, met and got involved with some guy, ended up with her life turned upside down.

Seventy-four years around the sun, I don't need this. I’ve reached a point where I’ve no time or room for some guy using up my time, being a lead weight around my neck, handsome or not.

Pizza and Sandwiches with a Side of Bullsh*t

Another food fest for the seniors today.

First was the weekly (Tuesday) pizza delivery, at 11:00.

No one stuck around to nuke their pizza and chit chat, because the Valentine Potluck was scheduled to begin at 1:00. So, I imagine pizzas are safely tucked in freezers for tomorrow’s meal.

I went back down at 12:30 to begin taking photos of the Potluck activities for our facebook page, but failed to get out of my seat, take photos and couldn’t tell you what was served, other than I saw plates piled high with sandwiches, salads, slaw and I don’t know what else. Then there was ice cream.

At first, I didn’t know what my deal was today that I didn’t take pictures. Apache even came over and inquired why I wasn’t. I just said there’s really nothing to take photos of, that I’ll take photos on the 14th at the Valentine Dance.

It hit me later that I lost interest in taking photos and withdrew into myself when, shortly after walking in, three different residents asked me to sign the giant Valentine Day Card.

I looked at the card, thought it cute, but just couldn’t sign it because, as I informed those requesting me to sign, I don’t believe in love”.

Trust me when I say I’m not being bitter, it’s just that that word “love” has always bothered me.

When James Lipton hosted Inside the Actor’s Studio, he’d end every interview with “What is your favorite word? … What is your least favorite word?

“Litigious” would always come to mind as my favorite, because I like the way it rolls around on the tongue. “Love” would always come to mind as my least because it has never felt right when I’ve had to say it – I feel like I’m not being truthful, and makes me feel uncomfortable when someone says it to me, about me or about anyone else.

So, anyway, that’s that.

After the potluck were presentations.

Introduced to us was a woman from the County Behavioral Health Unit, stating she’d be here on the property every 4th Wednesday.

She didn’t say why, no one asked why. We instinctively understood she’ll be here as a case worker to check on those mentally challenged residents I recently learned are being housed here.

Once . every . forth. week.

Hmmmmm?

My smiling and waving and the talk I had with the weird resident downstairs (Let’s call her Little Miss Loony Tunes) seems to have had a positive impact. When she saw me outside this morning, as she was leaving, she smiled and waved at me.

I still won’t open my door should she ever knock, because better safe than sorry.

The second presenter was a woman who had a Doctorate in Clinical Psychology. Her specialty was Emotional Support Animals.

Her presentation was upsetting to the entire room, and the room was packed because residents are concerned about the pit bull, which has not only chased a resident, but tries to jump over the railings to get at anyone passing by and has been reported to be off leash, with the owner allowing it to run around the grassy knoll, late at night.

All we heard from her was bla bla bla, Fair Housing, bla bla bla service and emotional support dogs have the most rights in fair housing, bla bla bla fear and anxiety is not a reason to exclude a service or emotional support dog. Bla bla bla double talk, safety in community is a viable issue and bla bla bla responsible owners, full control, insurance. Bla bla bla double talk some insurance companies won’t insure pit bulls as mental health dogs because the breed is so dangerous.

Bottom line is management is not going to do anything. Like with all the other issues, we’re pretty much told it’s our problem, we have to handle it on our own, “Contact Animal Control”.

One old gentleman in a wheel chair had a better idea and shouted out, “Shoot it!”.

Awkward silence.

Amidst all this, I got hit on.

Second time in a week, both times by gentlemen I’ve seen around for several years.

Is it the time of year or what?

After the meeting, walking back to my unit, I heard a voice behind me say, “Was that helpful?”

It was the Activity Director. She’d made arrangements for the second presenter and was asking for feedback as to whether the presentation made things better about having the pit bull on the premises.

“No” said I. “It was bullsh*t. We didn’t need to hear about all that rationalization. We just want the dog gone before it kills or gets killed”.

Sometimes you just gotta tell it like it is.

A Funny Thing Happened …

... On the Way to the trash receptacle yesterday.

I saw the illusive unfriendly strange downstairs neighbor, the one who doesn’t want anything to do with any of us because, as she puts it, “I don’t like people!” She was parking her car.

I wave at neighbors, whether they’re friendly or not so, like I’ve done twice before when I happened to see her sitting in her car, I smiled and waved.

Those other two times, she just glared at me all mean faced.

This time she smiled back.

What?!

Then she rolled down her window and said “Hey girl, how are you?”

What?!! What?!!

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Okay, but let me ask you something. What are you doing between 3:00 and 5:00 in the morning?”

“Sleeping, why?”

“I have insomnia. It’s hard for me to go to sleep and that noise you’re making at 3:00 in the morning is disturbing my rest. I’ve complained many times to the office about it and keep asking if and when they’re going to talk to you. Have they talked to you?”

“No, and I’m not making any noise during those hours because I’m in bed asleep.”

“Well something up there is making a sound like you’re rolling something around. I’m glad I caught you to ask about it because I was thinking of knocking on your door.”

If the weird one had knocked on my door, day or night, I would not have answered and probably would have called for backup because it was obvious, from that first hello/welcome, that something is just not right with her.

So anyway, as we went back and forth -- she accusing me of making a noise, I saying no noise, I’m asleep, it suddenly occurred to me.

Remember when I blogged about being awakened at 3:30 in the morning because someone was doing laundry? It turned out, I could hear it because we now have new high-powered washers and dryers and, when the world is quiet that time of morning, I get the faint sound of water running into the washers and the whirling of the dryers. Deaf in one ear, I can easily roll over, not hear the sound and, most of the time, go back to sleep, but I’d blogged about feeling sorry for the weird lady downstairs because her bedroom is right next to the Laundry Room.

Again, I said, “I’m asleep at 3:00”, then added “But I’ve been awakened two or three times by someone doing laundry and, since your bedroom is next to the Laundry Room, that's what you're hearing.”

“That’s not it. The Laundry Room is closed. I went by there one day and it’s posted that it closes at 10:00”.

“It’s also posted there is to be no smoking, but people smoke.”

“That’s true.”

“People also do laundry past 10:00.”

“But it’s locked. How do they get in?”

“They use their key.”

“But it’s locked!”

“Not on a timer. The door opens with a key, and there are people who like doing their laundry at 3:00 in the morning. You need to go down, find out who it is, take a picture, let management know.”

Apache is one of those people, but we have three Laundry Rooms and he uses the one over by his quad.

Finally, the lightbulb went on in weird lady’s head and she got it. Understood it wasn’t me, it was the Laundry Room, and said, “I am so sorry, I’ve been blaming you all this time, but I’m not going down there at 3:00 in the morning. They need to move me”.

I’m down with that, but it’ll be the same problem for whoever else moves into that unit.

Later, in the Community Room signing up to bring Starbucks to the Community Breakfast, I ran into Community Manager and told her I’d just been told, by the woman underneath my unit, that she’d been complaining about the noise I was making, that I wasn’t making any noise, that it was the Laundry Room.

Community Manager said, “You’ll notice I never approached you about the complaints because I figured you were sleeping during the hours she complained about.”

“So, did you think she was hearing things? Did you think she was crazy?”

“No, not crazy. I know she has issues, and I’m trying to work with her issues.”

Issues/Crazy … Potato/Potahto.

“She keeps to herself and only talks to people she knows and are comfortable with,” said Community Manager. “But I’m glad she talked to you about it.”

“I’m glad too because, if she’s not wrapped too tight, she could have gone ballistic and done something awful.” (Weird neighbor did say, she yelled for me to stop making that noise a couple times. Of course, I didn’t hear her because I was asleep).

“No. She’d not harm you. Her issue isn’t like that”.

Discussing the whole thing later with The Baker and The Seer, I learned weird lady is the product of a new program management has worked out with the county. They reminded me about the twenty units that, some two years ago, had been set aside for hospice people. An office had even been prepared for hospice workers, then nothing. The units were otherwise leased, the office went vacant and is now where the Nail Salon resident locks up her supplies.

The corporation that owns this complex, being in the business of making money for its shareholders, has worked out a new deal with the county. For tax credits, and the fact they can get double what we pay in rent from the county, twenty units have been set aside for the “mentally challenged”.

It’s all becoming clear … why I’m seeing residents I’ve never seen before and why we’re now experiencing people who are obviously sick in the head, like the pervert at the mail box and now a naked guy running around. Management is turning the complex into a mental institution.

It’s not looking good. 

One side of me is saying the end may be near, that management doesn't care about its senior residents when they can get double for housing the troubled souls sent over by the county; but I’ve got it too sweet here to cut and run, so I’ll hold on, see how the atmosphere progresses, stay paranoid and prepared.

Oh No They Didn’t

January went by so fast that I didn’t realize today was February until I found this month’s Activity Calendar had been posted to the door.

On the calendar is a Valentine’s Potluck on the 6^th – “Sandwiches and drinks will be provided. Please sign up for a side dish”.

I’ll of course go, to hang out and take photos for our facebook page, but don’t feel compelled to bring anything as I won’t be eating or drinking.

There’s also a Community Breakfast on the 10^th.

That’s going to be a powerful temptation if the Baker makes her famous biscuits and gravy, even though, last Community Breakfast -- when I took a chance and indulged, my taste buds had changed and her biscuits and gravy didn’t thrill like they had in the past.

Not to mention, I ended up with a gut episode.

Some people just never learn, and I may be one of those as I’m thinking maybe I’ll give one little small biscuit a try.

Either way though, whether I take a chance and eat or don’t eat, I’ll go and contribute a Starbucks Traveler.

On the 15^th is another Residents/Management meeting.

Rumor is that the pit bull is still on the premises, so I’m sure residents will be pushing management for a resolution. Also, the notices threatening immediate eviction if caught smoking has done little to squash smoking in units.

When Apache came to walk me over to the pool area to watch the lunar eclipse 3:30 Wednesday morning, he passed a unit where he could smell cigarette smoke as the resident, in an attempt to not have his unit smell like smoking had occurred, had opened the door to let the smell float out.

BTW, there has not been a second sighting of Naked Guy. Apache says he’s taken upon himself to roam the property early mornings just in case the guy does make a second appearance, so he can identify and/or catch him.

As to residents continuing to break the no smoking rule, one side of me is wondering if management can refuse to lease to smokers. The other side of me is already hearing management say “No. That’s discrimination”.

But it’s a thought. I might bring it up at the next meeting.

I guess The Baker’s setting up cupcakes for January birthdays, to circumvent my not wanting my birthday recognized, has restarted Birthdays of the Month celebrations because the calendar shows “Birthdays of the Month Cake” on the 20th. This is the Activity Director’s event and, knowing her as I do, I seriously doubt she’ll carry through each and every month.

THEN … on the 26th, in big bold letters is HAPPY BIRTHDAY ____ (Head Maintenance Guy).

Oh no they didn’t, I said to myself.

Who’s idea was that?

Management has never done it for any other staffer and knowing residents don’t think much of HMG (In fact, I heard one resident recently refer to him as a surly slug), I can’t wait to hear the feedback.

Super Blue Blood Moon

What was I thinking?

I nearly froze to death.

Sky watched from 3:30 to 6:00 this morning, wearing two pairs of leggings, two hoodies, gloves, boots in 40 something degree weather and, when it was all over, I was chilled to the bone and couldn’t feel my fingers. I don’t see how people who live in the degrees below areas manage. I’d die.

To top it off, none of the photos came out well enough to use because there’s not a night setting on my cellphone.

My cell phone being several generations behind, I do believe it’s time to look into an upgrade to something that works as well night/early mornings as it does during the day.

The first hour sky watching was just Apache and myself. Later, a resident out walking her dog was the first to join us, followed by The Baker, The Seer and a resident making a reappearance in this blog, after a long period of no mention -- The Lady that Wants Braids.

The Seer, having finally gotten over being angry at the Universe, is back to her old feisty self and, cold as it was, we had a good time.

Too good.

We’re sure other residents are going to complain to the office about a rowdy group at the pool disturbing their peace 4:30 to 6:00 in the morning, and decided in advance we’ll just apologize and promise not to do it again for another 35 years.

Trying to thaw out later, I used the new coffee machine for the first time and OMG, what a difference. Making coffee is now so much easier.

I wouldn’t say I’m cheap, more like fugal in that “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” and why buy a pour over brewer when, with a little ingenuity, I can make do with the stainless-steel percolator?

I’d first boil water, then put grounds in the percolator’s holder, and manually slowly pour the boiling water through. Now that I tired of the struggle and upgraded, I simply put coffee in the FlexBrew holder, pour water in the reservoir, push the little red button and go about my business, coming back seconds later to good hot fresh coffee.

So, it’s out with the old, in with the new, but I’ll hang onto the percolator for when new breaks down, as new always does. Old lasts forever, new … not so much.

Lastly, looks like I won’t have to return to the dealership at all because, driving back to purchase the coffee machine yesterday, I’d forgotten the driver side mirror needed replacing and couldn’t be adjusted to where I’d get maximum coverage to see what’s coming as I drove onto the freeway. Without thinking I pushed the adjustment control and the mirror moved to where I needed it.

I think what happened was, when whoever it was bumped it out of placement and the mechanic removed the mirror to put in the new part, saw the new part damaged/unusable, he put the old mirror back on and that resolved the problem, saving me $450 and another 3 hours in the waiting room.

Now how to tell the Service Analyst I don’t need the new part he’s rounding up.