Spring Has Sprung

Judging by the number of flybys over and across my patio, the birds are not waiting for March 20, the official first day of Spring. They’re scouting locations for their nests right now.

Every Spring, for the ten years of living here, I’ve successfully discouraged birds from moving into the highly desirable eaves over to the side of the patio — the space behind where that bird is posing, because I don’t want to deal with the mess birds make. So, I’ve got my eyes on him just in case he’s thinking of staking a claim to that spot.

Birds are crafty little beings, and have outsmarted me in the past by nesting overhead, somewhere in the decorative roof tiles — where I can neither see or reach, but they leave me droppings to clean up as a sign they’re up there.

Happy am I when the seasons change and the birds go on their way — no daily cleanup of the patio duty for me, but now I see it’s that time yet again.

Birds all over the place, which I don’t mind seeing and hearing, so long as they don’t poop on my patio; and then there are the lizards on the walkway — which kinda creep me out. They’re everywhere, having baby lizards even, and don’t bother to move off the path when I’m approaching.

All this nature is really chapping my hide.

To top it off, two/three days ago, I saw a spider inside. Sorry if you’re a spider lover and it offends you, but I sprayed it to death.

I recently read an article urging us to not kill spiders. Something about their being necessary to the ecosystem.

Bump That, thought I.

The insect rule is, "I don’t bother you outside. You don’t come inside". 

Punishment for breaking that rule is bug spray.

Saturday was the start of my third year with Trainer.

Walking into the studio this morning, he had a surprise for me.

That’s right. He has relocated the warm up station, i.e., treadmill, for like the 7th time. It’s back to where we started three years ago.

Caution, Senior Drivers

Thus far, I've yet to see that Karen venturing out of her unit to cast an evil eye towards her upstairs neighbor.

I did see that somehow someway someone managed to take out the gate’s keypad.

From the looks of how the gooseneck pedestal has practically been knocked out of its concrete base, the bad driver would have had to hit the unit with sufficient force to cause quite a lot of left front or left side damage to their car.

Management had to leave the entry gate wide open so we could drive our cars in, which made us vulnerable to criminals easily getting in to steal catalytic converters and, because of the cost of gas, syphon gas out of our cars.

Fortunately, none of that happened and management managed to Mcgiver an attachment onto the pedestal, up righting it to where the gate could be closed, and our keycards would work.

However, with the pedestal still leaning somewhat downward, it took me Cirque du Soleil type acrobatic to reach through the car window, down and over to insert the keycard.

I imagine our less flexible seniors entering the gate would have to get out of their cars or go through the gate at the opposite entrance.

Taking out the pedestal isn’t the worse of what I’ve seen, as one resident actually hit and took out the gate a few years back.

Then there was the time I was sitting in the Community Room and observed a resident — who wasn’t supposed to be driving, back over the flower planter surrounding the tree in the middle of the front parking lot, hit and take a huge chunk out of the tree.

Flustered, she quickly drove forward, raced towards the entry gate and nearly took that out as well.

No. 9 — who I still have not seen, is really getting a dose of what it means to manage a complex full of seniors. First the Talker/Karen feud, the damaged keycard entry pedestal, and who knows what else.

Deciding to replace cookware that wasn’t working for me, because the non-stick coatings that was supposed to last forever was peeling off — as a result of my poor cooking skills, I made a Walmart run on Saturday.

It wasn’t bad, insofar as being around a lot of people, but good luck if you need makeup because everything is behind locked protective cases. And the workers manning the self-checkout stations were uber diligent to make sure all us customers scanned and paid for every item.

At any rate, leaving Walmart, I spied a woman asking for help with rent and food. She had a child with her.

I wanted to give to her but, from where she was standing, the number of cars behind me and the light changing, I could not have safely done so. Not safe for her, not safe for me, so I drove on.

Coming up on the other market — the one I began going to when that creepy security guard at the corner market became a problem, I decided to pull in, see if the roasted potatoes had made it through the supply chain and were back in stock, which they were not.

Exiting the lot, heading for home, I spied something that gave me pause.

Same wording on the sign as the one I’d seen at Walmart, same handwriting, and a child.

This must be the husband.

I know things are harder for some than others, but it’s difficult to know who is sincerely in need, what’s a con — especially when I see them using children as a sympathy ploy.

At one point, the guy actually leaned over, took the child's hand, motioned for her to wave as my car approached.

I remember once, when I was working in downtown Los Angeles, a young lady with a clearly visible disabled arm was asking for monetary help.

I gave, as did others, and later, looking out the bus window, I saw her around a corner, giving what she’d earned to a guy. As both she and he were trying to be covert, looking around to make sure no one saw so she could get out there and con the public for more, I knew it was a situation of him pimping out her disability, and her allowing it.

Then there's the time three teenage girls approached me as I was exiting a train, saying their mom didn’t get her welfare check on time, they had no food in the house.

I myself was a welfare kid. Knew what it was like for us when mom’s check did not arrive before we ran out of food, so I gave the girls all the money I had on me — something like $35 and would have given them more if I’d had more.

As soon as I gave them the cash, all of a sudden their mom came out of nowhere to thank me but then added how difficult things were for her and "Here I am, pregnant again".

I looked at her with such disgust and would have grabbed the cash back if I could have, because here was this old ass grown woman, with teens she already could not care for, dependent on welfare, and she had the audacity to get pregnant, bring another child into the situation.

There have been other situations of feeling like I’d been conned, situations that have hardened my heart, makes it less likely I’ll give. Sometimes the spirit leads me to give anyway and, if it’s a con, that’s on them. But what I saw yesterday — duplicate signs, duplicate use of children, smelled fishy.

It made me feel better for having not been able to give to the first sign, caused me to not think twice about pulling over, giving to the second sign.

Out With the Old

Headed out to the Pain Cave this morning, I saw our rock lady Jan struggling along the walkway. Now dependent upon an oxygen tank, she was on her way to the doctor's office for some kind of breathing test.

Life can change on a dime. From no problems with breathing, just her knees, she's had her knees repaired and now this.

That's why I take nothing for granted, generally prepare for the worse, as I did when I headed out yesterday for the dental office to have two of the old metal fillings removed and temporary crowns.

Just in case I died from the pain in Dr. C's chair, I made sure the unit was clean, dishes were washed, and I dressed cute in case the afterlife was what I've seen in the new comedy on CBS "Ghosts" where the ghosts are stuck wearing whatever clothing they died in.

On the way to the dental office, I looked for but did not see the Urban Geese when I drove by the Library. Returning a few hours later, having survived the dental procedure, I circled the block looking. Still no sign of the Canadian Geese.

The geese have either moved on or ended up the main dish on someone’s dinner table. Hopefully it’s the former, not the latter.

Arriving at the dental office five minutes early, I was called to the chair right away.

THEN, there was a long lag time before he got to me and long lag times in-between various stages of getting two temporary crowns. Gave me plenty of time to observe and listen.

After observing and listening, I've concluded that I need to find a new dental office, but good luck finding one with the old values, one I can trust.

What brought me to this particular dental office was a recommendation. I came, I saw, I’ve been coming back some 20 years. During that time, I’ve seen very few staff changes. Actually, only three — a hygienist who moved back to Hawaii, and two hygienists who retired after 30 and 35 years with this office.

Now, all of a sudden, it appears it's out with the old, in with the younger, fresher, new.

ALL the faces have changed, including McDreamy, whom they tell me is "on leave, not expected back".

Sounds like an oxymoron to me because "on leave" denotes coming back, while "not expected back" denotes gone for good.

So which is it?

I think what's happening is McDreamy, and the previous team have been pushed out, replaced with a team which appears to be comprised of all young people, and they are being vague as to where everyone is because they want to keep the established clientele, don't want to lose our business.

Everyone there now seems nice, friendly to us clients, appear to enjoy their work, their coworkers and I've no problem with the hygienist, but I don’t trust the dentists — not the one (Dr. S) I asked not to be pared with last visit and not the one I ended up with (Dr. C).

Back when McDreamy was working on me, he was working on ME. He'd chat at me, tell me about his family. While yesterday, when Dr. C was working on me, he'd get up, bounce from chair to chair, client to client. I felt like a piece of meat on a friggin assembly line.

Listening to his conversation with the woman in the chair nearest to my station, I heard "crown", then I heard "root canal".

Off in the distance, I heard the other DDS discussing "crown/root canal" with a patient.

Reminded me of when, back in 2006, I’d taken a car in for service and heard the service manager come into the waiting room and tell woman after woman after woman they needed something that would add approximately $500 to the bill.

Seeing the pattern, I told myself if he came in and gave me that line, inasmuch as I'd been thinking of purchasing a new car, I’d take it as a sign it was time to buy.

He did, so I did.

I declined the work. Wanting a female to get commission for the sale, saw they had a female salesperson, I walked over to her, used the car being serviced as a trade-in, drove away with a new car.

I saw the same pattern at the dental office yesterday when, sure enough, once the work was completed, Dr. C said he’d seen a lot of decay when he’d removed the metal filling, had cleaned it out but a root canal might be in my future.

I didn’t say anything out loud in response, but my inner Anne Marie came out. I heard myself saying to myself that This MoFo thinks I'm stupid. I'm not having any G’Damn F’ing root canal!

When asked if I wanted to schedule the additional work when I came back for the permanent crowns, I paused to think it through and felt pressured when his assistant kept saying she needed to know so she could schedule his time. She wouldn't give me time to think, just kept saying she needed to know for the doctor's schedule, so I said I wanted to think about it and scheduled myself to come back in two weeks only for the permanent crowns.

Until the Universe leads me to where I am to be insofar as a new dental office, I’ll go back to the hygienist for cleanings but the plan is to have nothing to do with the dentists.

And btw, I passed on the nitrous oxide because, if it wasn't going to give me a 60's buzz, I didn't need it. Two numbing shots dulled the senses just fine.

As far as plans for this weekend, the price of gas is dictating my activities.

No more driving out of the area for entertainment purposes. Gas will be used for essential travel, like to/from the dentist, a trip to the medical center for a blood pressure check the doctor recently requested and possibly a trip to the nail salon next week.

This weekend will be catching up on recorded TV programs, working on that needlepoint project, and keeping an eye out for Karen.

Returning to my unit from the dentist yesterday, I happened to look out the patio window and there she was.

Rarely seen in the wild, Karen was standing outside her unit glaring up at the Talker's unit, no doubt irritated by some sound and probably wishing bad things on the occupants.

Before I could grab my phone and take a photo for you, she'd slunk back inside.

So, adding to TV and needlepoint is being on Karen Alert, waiting for an opportunity to catch her outside, giving the upstairs unit the evil eye.

Sushi Pizza

A few days ago, Debra at She Who Seeks, did a post that mentioned Sushi Pizza. Never heard of it but sounded like my kinda thing, so I began looking for recipes.

Though none of the recipes I found would work for me — either because of ingredients I didn’t care for or the time involved in putting it together, I did glean enough to come up with a pizza using a full sheet of Nori, Sushi Rice, Cod and Spinach.

Insofar as taste, it was delicious, but the slices did not hold up.

Nori isn’t strong enough to support a heavy layer of sushi rice.

Returning from this morning’s workout, I gave it a second try — this time with a much thinner layer of rice.

It slices, but still no dice insofar as holding up like a pizza.

Also, calling it a pizza is misleading. The head knows it's fish not pepperoni, but the word "pizza", tricks the mind into thinking it will taste like one.

It doesn’t.

Instead, the taste was that of a delicious sushi roll, especially with a drop or two of Coconut Amino, so delicious that plans to eat half for lunch the other half for dinner didn’t happen yesterday or today. I ate the whole thing both times.

All in all, it was an interesting experiment, but I’ll be saying no to slices, sticking with rolling my sushi.

Heading back to my unit from this morning’s workout, I ran into Red Light District (RLD). She invited me to lunch this Saturday with herself and the Talker. Of course, I had to say no because of my gut issues, but I probably would have declined anyway because I’m kinda feeling RLD is trying to get too close. I like her as a neighbor, but I’m not feeling her as a friend.

Though I said no thanks to lunch, her talking fast, jumping from topic to topic — her medical issues, her daughter’s medical issues, with me trying to walk away, her following so caught me off guard that when she told me to put my telephone number in her phone, I messed up and gave her my number. I also forgot to ask how Painted Rock Lady (hospitalized with COPD) was doing and what’s happening with the Talker and her Karen.

I may be overreacting in thinking she’s trying to get close to me specifically, because RLD appears to be getting close to quite a lot of the residents — knows everyone’s business, probably has all their numbers in her phone.

My spidey sense tells me to be careful what I say to her, just listen, use her as a source, but give her nothing I don’t want to see posted on a billboard — if you know what I mean.

At any rate, I let you down insofar as the latest tea on the Talker/Karen drama, but while talking with RLD, I did see Handsome Man drive into the complex — which verifies he is still living here.

He slowed, as though he wanted to stop and chat but, seeing RLD, he waived, and I waived back as he sped off.

If and when I ever do get to talk to Handsome Man again, not wanting to embarrass him, I’ll play stupid — not mention his son, act as though I’ve heard nothing. It’ll just say "Hi, haven’t seen you in a long time". He’ll ask how I’ve been doing, what I’ve been doing. "Same ole same ole" I’ll say and that will be that.

UPDATE: Just before publishing this post, realizing I'd left my water bottle in the car, I paused this post for a trip to retrieve the bottle and ran into the Talker.

Management has told her nothing BUT the Talker tells me that her Karen is smiling at her, asking her how she's doing "All of a sudden trying to be nice".

That tells me Karen has been given some kind of warning from the office.

The Talker says "I'm not trusting it. It's fake" and I agreed telling her Karen won't be able to maintain for long.

So, the clock is set for when Karen next erupts, but I bet she won't be calling the cops again.

Also, after a week of having been hospitalized, our Painted Rock Lady was released and has returned to her unit.

Cleaning in the Rain

This little boy, heading off to face a new week, is all of us who are not fond of Mondays.

The vid is so relatable that it went viral — from TikTok to mainstream media, with his mom saying he was OK, had a flair for drama and "just wasn’t having it on a Monday".

Poor baby, feeling it already at only four years of age.

Speaking of TikTok, there's an unfolding drama — shades of Tinder Swindler. Only this pretty boy is using the lure of a serious relationship to talk women not out of money but into his bed.

It's not something one sees on TikTok, nor is it what the platform is for, but as the women have become aware of not being the only one, they're coming forward to out this guy, posting videos of how they've been used.

One woman is supposedly now pregnant by pretty boy, and it's just been discovered .... HE'S MARRIED.

Pretty boy has a brother on TikTok, equally pretty, and it's beginning to look like he's working the same scenario.

I hope Hollywood is paying attention because I see a movie.

Saturday was a drizzly day. So instead of checking out the Farmer’s Market — which a little rain would not have put a damper on, I instead decided to tackle housework that had been put off for way too long.

It started off with just laundry, but morphed into an all-day Spring Cleaning marathon — more specifically almost a 5K as I logged in over 6,000 steps.

Stiff and sore from bending, lifting, pushing, down the outside stairs, up the outside stairs, up down, down up, it was a long Epsom Salt soak Sunday and this morning, so I could get through this morning’s training session.

No news as to resolution of the situation between the Talker and her Karen neighbor. However, Red Light District (RLD) tells me the meeting was with Corporate, at Corporate, but the two warring parties were left out. Both are waiting to be told what's next.

When I ran into RLD on Sunday, she was using a walker. It’s her knees, she tells me — which accounts for the day she tried to climb the stairs to my unit, ended up stuck, on her knees.

A lot of residents with knee problems around here. I was one of them until Trainer began designing workouts to strengthen the muscles around the patella.

Our Painted Rock lady finally was able to get the operation on her knees, was looking forward to being able to throw the walker away, but now is hospitalized with COPD.

It's two steps forward, one step back for some of our seniors.

Neighbor from Hell

Running into the Talker yesterday, I saw how tired and worried looking she's become, as the result of an ongoing problem with her new neighbor.

For purposes of the blog, let’s call this neighbor "Karen". That’s not her real name, but a Karen is what she appears to be — using her frailty and the color of her skin as a weapon.

After the long-time resident of that unit beneath the Talker’s unit passed away, Karen moved in and from Day 1 has done nothing but complain.

She’s complained to and about the Talker — that the Talker and her severely disabled brother make too much noise going up the stairs, down the stairs. She’s complained about the sound of music, the noise she says she can hear when Talker is riding the indoor bike, everything and anything.

Telling the Talker that she is sick, needs peace and quiet, the Talker says she’s been walking on eggshells trying to accommodate and not disturb the Karen.

My take on "I’m sick, need peace and quiet" is that’s a personal problem, has nothing to do with the Talker, and that perhaps Karen should book a private wing somewhere rather than in this community with others.

At any rate, Karen has involved Management in her complaints about the Talker.

Assistant Manager contacted Talker. Talker said, because of the constant complaints, she’s no longer happy or comfortable in her own space, that maybe she should move.

Assistant Manager told her "Oh no. Don’t do that" and concluded that, inasmuch as there were no complaints from the prior resident in that unit, the problem must be the Karen, and that was that.

Running into the Talker yesterday, I asked how it was going, if Management had handled the issue, quelled the Karen.

The answer was "no", that the situation is making her ill and has gotten to the point where she’s thinking of booking time in a hotel so she can get some rest.

She also said there had been an incident at the gate where her disabled brother — who can walk, can say "Hi", but otherwise is like a child, was coming back in. Karen was at the gate, confronted the brother who, being an adult with a child's mentality became afraid.

Fortunately, another resident came along, stepped in, read Karen the riot act, "That’s my neighbor’s brother and how dare you" yada yada yada.

Good on that resident say I.

The incident was reported to Management and whatever the outcome of that was evidently angered Karen, because she used her frailness — "I'm sick, need peace and quiet" and her skin color to get the police involved.

The night before, 10:30 p.m., the police showed up at the Talker’s door in response to Karen calling them about the Talker supposedly making too much noise upstairs — "Stomping on the floor".

I can’t believe the cops showed up on that kind of call.

I also couldn’t believe it when the Talker said the cop chastised her for stomping, advised her "Your neighbor can sue you for what you’re doing".

WTF kind of cop bull crap is that?

I asked the Talker if she set the cop straight about bending over backwards to accommodate Karen — no music, TV down low, no indoor biking, staying away from home as much as possible, walking on eggshells, that the woman was a Karen and she said "No. I just said okay".

That was weak. Can’t respect not standing up for herself, but it’s her way to allow herself to be the victim, a martyr, "You're too nice" is what I told her, and it’s beginning to show in the way the life is draining from her body, how she's now the one becoming sick.

Upon Manager No. 9’s learning the cops were called, she asked the Talker if she would consider moving to a downstairs unit.

She said "no" because she would not feel safe downstairs as she keeps her patio window open at night to get fresh air, to which I pointed out how unsafe that is and outlined all the ways a determined criminal can get up to the balcony, enter that open window.

With the Talker saying "no" to moving downstairs, what with Karen complaining about upstairs, the police being involved, No. 9 said, "I’ll have to talk to Corporate about this".

Oh Snap! So now Corporate is involved.

The rule as I know it is that if two neighbors cannot get along, both are asked to leave or suffer eviction. Consequently, if I were the Talker, I’d accept the offer to move to a downstairs unit and then leave Management to deal with the consequences when Karen began complaining about the next resident — which she surely would. Maybe not, depending on their skin color, but that’s something we can’t know for sure until we see it played out.

There’s to be a meeting between No. 9, Karen, the Talker and someone from Corporate. We should know by end of the week how this will end.

They relaxed the rule for Handsome Man — let him keep his unit (though I’ve not seen him or been able to confirm it to be true that he’s still living here), so maybe they’ll relax the rule and let the two feuding neighbors remain … if one of them is willing to relocate elsewhere on the property.

In other news, Twin 1 has a nice mention in February’s Cosmopolitan.

I was a Cosmo girl during the years of Helen Gurley Brown, but haven’t purchased or even seen the mag for sale since then.

So, unable to find the story online, I went looking for a Cosmo. No luck finding one at three different supermarkets, a couple drug stores, liquor stores, even Barnes and Nobel. I ended up ordering a copy from an online emporium at the inflated price of $18 for a $4.99 mag.

At any rate, it's a good spread, upbeat and just the facts.