The Wait is Over

According to the "30-Day Notice to Change the Terms of your Rental Agreement" posted to my door yesterday, the rent increase I’ve been dreading jumps to an additional $81 beginning September 1.

Considering the level of greed other rental communities have been experiencing, and the fact the County received a $500 increase, for those they support on the complex back in November, $81 isn’t bad.

Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, I can't help but wonder if that FBI Raid on Cortland Management/Real Page over algorithmic price-fixing collusion to raise rents nationwide, I blogged about last month, caused Corporate to tread carefully, keep the increase within a reasonable range.

In other news, logging onto TikTok yesterday evening, I find I’ve 38 followers.

Interesting, especially since there’s nothing to see there, nothing in my profile — no videos, no content whatsoever. I’m just a lurker.

My sick sense of humor is especially fond of watching funny scare pranks.

So, with nothing to see there and no plans to be anything other than a lurker, I cannot but wonder …… why are people following me?

To top it off, I noticed one of the 38 is White Grandma (granddaughter’s mother in law).

First of all, I’m impressed White Grandma (WG) even knows about TikTok, knew how to log on and follow.

Second of all, WG is not someone you want following you on social media, knowing anything about where you go, what you do with your life.

Not the most pleasant human being — critical, judgmental, it’s all about her privileged Karen type, WG has caused so much distress for the kids (granddaughter and grandson-in-law), that she initially got herself banned from my great-grandson’s (her grandson’s) 2-year birthday party back in May.

After an intervention where the kids explained to WG what is and what is not acceptable behavior if she wants to be a part of their life, WG was reinvited to the party where she was warm and comfortable to be around.

But I ain’t trusting the intervention to take.

You know the adages ……… can’t teach an old dog new tricks, once a snake always a snake, buyer beware; so I would block her on TikTok, as I did when, some time ago, I became aware she was following me on Instagram, but inasmuch as there’s nothing to see there on TikTok, she can continue to waste her time following me to her heart’s content.

One Job, Four Years to Get 'Er Done

The extensive heat mellowed a little today. Instead of over 100°, we stabilized around 95°. However, the tradeoff for less heat was another earthquake.

By the time the shake rattle roll reached us, it was so mild that, but for the fact the dishes began rattling, I’d have not even noticed.

Earlier today, headed for the morning workout, I ran into the next-door neighbor of Not Dead Nancy.

Having previously heard from others that Nancy was back from months in the hospital, but not seeing her myself, I sought to verify Nancy’s status by asking her neighbor, "Did Nancy ever come back?"

"I don’t even know if she’s there or not", said she; and went on to say "They brought her back, and then they took her back. Her daughter was supposed to come help her other daughter take care of her and she didn’t. She never came. And her daughter, she’s a nurse, said I can’t be here all day. She wanted for me to come do it, but I can’t do it. So, I don’t know if she’s there".

That’s sad that one of Nancy’s daughters wants no part of caring for her ailing mother. The other daughter seems to care but, with being employed as a nurse, can’t be a fulltime caregiver for her mom.

I guess Nancy can’t afford to contract a caregiver, and as to why the nurse daughter doesn’t just move Nancy in with her and her family, who knows. But it’s pretty nervy to ask a neighbor to take responsibility for their mother’s care. So, I’m guessing Nancy’s next-door neighbor doesn’t know if Nancy is in there or not because she’s no longer checking for fear of having the job of caregiver dumped on her.

I don’t know what exactly is ailing Nancy, but I’m sorry she is having such a hard time of it, not going gently into that good night, but I can’t blame her next-door neighbor for not wanting to get involved. I wouldn’t want that responsibility for someone I’m not related to either.

In other news, I couldn’t get excited about the Olympics this time around and, seeing reports of bad food for the Olympians, so bad that they’re flying in their own chefs; bad living quarters, cheating scandals, Olympians and coaches and broadcasters leaving and/or being asked to leave, a disappointing Opening Ceremony, including introducing the South Korean team as North Korea, events cancelled for one reason or another, so on and so forth, it seems I made the right choice in not getting excited.

Paris had one job .... prepare and four years to do it but, from what I gather, it’s a cluster you know what.

I expect, when all is said and done, heads will roll.

Nighttime is Scary

Realizing I’ve not run into Compton and Gandalf’s mom in some time, I checked the camera footage back to the day I set it up, July 9, and find mom (Ms. Neighbor) is not showing up as still living here. She’s made an appearance, checked in a time or two since, but seems to be residing elsewhere — maybe with her daughter, maybe with a boyfriend.

My mom did something similar when three of my four brothers, still in their teens, lived with her in a one-bedroom apartment, and began wearing her down.

I was out at my own at the time, dealing with learning, growing and that cop I married.

My brother Johnny, four/five years younger than I was likewise also out on his own, starting a family when mom found herself a boyfriend — Morris, the man who would eventually become my stepfather, and escaped the boys by moving in with Morris.

My sister, a few years younger than Johnny, was also out on her own.

Mom paid the rent and utilities on the apartment, where resided the twins and my youngest brother; provided groceries, but never actually lived there while the boys finished school, did whatever it is teen boys do.

When mom married Morris and they bought a house, the three boys eventually made their way to living in the house with mom and Morris.

I don’t know all the details, but think it safe to assume Morris and mom could not afford both a house payment and the apartment for the boys.

My youngest brother finished school, worked through his teen angst, got out on his own, eventually bought his own home, started a family, worked for an oil company.

That left my twin brothers for mom and Morris to deal with.

The twins remind me of Compton and Gandalf — Compton appears to be working as nighttime security, Gandalf hangs around ………… one of my twin brothers worked menial jobs as a shoe salesman, the other lounged around, never held a job.

Neither twin ever left home. Never got out of the neighborhood. Never lived on their own, away from mom.

The last time I ran into Ms. Neighbor she’d changed her style — wore braids the entire time I’ve known her to live here, but had suddenly taken her braids out, was sporting a press and curl.

That kind of change translates boyfriend, rather than living with daughter, but either way, it’s still a lease violation for the boys to be here, in a senior complex — with or without her.

While reviewing prior camera footage, looking for the last time I actually captured Ms. Neighbor on camera, I saw two things I really wish I hadn’t seen.

Please watch this next video to end, tell me if it's as spooky to you as it is to me.

I’d like to convince myself this was just a cat, but what’s scaring me is knowing cats don't shimmy up walls like whatever this blur is did.

And for sure, whatever beast this is, it’s not a cat.

What with TinTin’s window coverings and Gandalf’s nighttime ritual, which he has now moved to daylight hours as well, things are weird around here, but nighttime is full on scary.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Another week has come and gone with no outrageous tales of the complex to report. It appears the excessive heat has taken the spit and vinegar out of us. I know it’s taking a toll on me.

But for the fact I’m committed to working out with Trainer three days a week, I’d not leave my unit until summer is over. I’d have groceries delivered and let errands that take me outside fall by the wayside.

I’m doing my best to avoid keeping up with what’s going on in the political scene. My goal is to stay in the moment, remain calm by focusing on the now moment, cast my vote when the time comes and be done with it, rather than obsess and worry on a daily basis until then. However, there are occasions when something political jump up and grab me by surprise before I can look away.

Such was the case when Painted Rock Lady (PRL — the the sweet old lady who brightens the complex up with rocks she hand paints) began spouting cruelties about Joe’s age on Facebook.

A lot of nerves, thought I, inasmuch as she’s no spring chicken herself — pushing herself around on a walker, strapped as she is to breathing equipment.

Surprised me it did to learn PRL is part of the cult, but everyone is entitled to their own opinion so I refrained from reacting to her posts; EXCEPT, her cruel words caused me to view her in a different light.

Suffice it to say, she will not be my plus-one at this year’s Breakfast with Santa as she was last year, and that was that.

UNTIL, PRL yesterday crossed the line by posting a prayer for Old Diaper Ear — beseeching/bothering God with "protecting him from his enemies".

That got some push back ………

One person commented "PROTECT THE DEVIL?!... LOL".

Another commented "Bull 💩".

PRL countered with "Just praying that the Lord keeps him safe. If you don’t agree with my post than you are not a Christian. I will pray for you as well".

Wowza!

Of course that brought up a counter comment to her counter "So what your saying is a Christian goes around raping and molesting minors... incites violence in his country he "loves" so much! Commits fraud and infidelity in his marriage. I could keep going but sorry that's NOT CHRISTIAN... we must be reading from 2 different Bibles!".

Good one, but PRL managed to counter the counter comment to her counter with, "Are you so perfect that you don’t need prayers? What minors has he molested and raped? (I guess PRL forgot about the underage girl(s) allegedly provided to him by Epstein) I will not change your mind and I am not trying to. Just pointing out that it was a prayer. I guess you don’t deserve it either but that would not be very Christian of me. So I will pray for you as well".

I gotta give it to PRL. She's holding her own, but now I'm invested and itching to add my two cents, stand up for the "not a Christian", so I shut her down with something I was certain would piss her off, especially since it was coming from me.

What PRL’s posted

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

I wasn't expecting her to comment on what I'd posted, and she didn't. But no doubt she's "praying" for me LOL, and is now no less interested in being my plus-one this year as I am in having her.

Other than that, in checking the camera when I awake in the morning, finding nothing I need concern myself about but seeing Compton’s brother step outside this morning at 12:16 a.m., 1:42 a.m., 2:13 a.m., 3:26 a.m., 4:22 a.m., walk to the end of the stairway and no further, just get to that point, look to his left, then turn and go back inside, I decided to give brother the blog name of Gandalf, because his standing at the edge reminded me of Lord of the Rings Gandalf, who so famously said "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!".

Lastly, something told me to take the pad hanging from the ear of the voodoo doll, wrap it from his uninjured ear, across his face, to cover his mouth so he can no longer speak.

You can thank me later if Old Diaper Ear suddenly loses his voice.

Oh Brother! Then There Were Two

Last week’s peace calm quiet extended through the weekend. No little knock knock knock at my door, no annoyances from Compton — which may be because I’ve not been outside to see/be seen, and the new window camera has caught him doing nothing suspicious.

Nothing "suspicious", but it is weird that he’s so active in the wee morning hours — going out when there is absolutely nowhere to go, nothing to do anywhere near this area; sometimes he steps out, stands at the edge of the stairwell doing nothing, just looking, surveying the area when there is nothing to see during those early hours.

Weird, but so long as he’s not bothering me, no longer thinking of me in terms of a MILF, I’m good with whatever else.

I was surprised that the camera footage showed it’s not just Compton living with his mom, it’s also his brother.

It was either Red Light or Next Door Neighbor who, a long long time ago, told me both sons were living with mom (Ms. Neighbor on the blog because she once gave me a Christmas Card and instead of simply writing her name added a Ms. in front of her name, which I thought presumptious. Not to mention, if you want to get jiggy with it, since it’s obvious I’m older than she, I should be the one addressed with a Ms. in front of my name). But, as I was saying, it was either Red Light or Next Door Neighbor who’d said both sons were living in that tiny one-bedroom unit with their mom.

At the time, the info went in one ear out the other because I didn’t care and, inasmuch as I'd never seen the other brother, I wasn't sure that rumor was true.

I'm now realizing I have seen the other brother, but the two look so much alike (twins maybe) that I didn’t realize it was two different sons I sometimes saw, thought it was Compton walking around without his ever present cap on; and even seeing them go in/out on the camera, I still didn’t realize it was two separate beings until I saw Compton leave, his brother step outside two/three minutes later and then, yesterday morning, seeing both of them together around 4:30 am.

I’m fairly certain the brother does not work. He rarely even steps outside and doesn’t seem to go any further than the edge of the stairway, watch Compton leave.

It’s understandable families have been forced to squad up in these difficult financial times, help each other, and I am a bit envious I don't have a family that helps each other, but this is a senior community and the estimated 597 Sq. Ft. units we’ve been allotted is barely enough space for just myself, my crafts and exercise equipment, so I can’t imagine what that unit looks like inside with two grown-ass men living with their mom.

Where do they all sleep … hang their clothes … store their body essentials?

It must be a mess down there.

Speaking of mess. I had planned to shampoo the carpet this weekend, ended up not only not shampooing but not vacuuming with plans not to vacuum for however long it took me to find my favorite tapestry needle.

On Saturday, I’d been working on that never ending needlepoint project, begun in June of ’21 with still no end in sight, when my favorite needle vanished from my fingers.

I had it one moment, the next moment it was gone and no amount of checking every nook and cranny of the canvas or crawling around on the carpet located it.

I have other tapestry needles, but that particular needle was my favorite; we’d completed many projects together, so I had no plans to shampoo or even vacuum the carpet until the needle was located, as it would have hated to hear the sound of it being sucked up by the Dyson.

Yesterday morning, when I wasn’t even thinking about looking for the needle, just knowing it would show up eventually, the light drew my attention to something shiny on the carpet.

I looked down, gasped out loud and said "There it is!"

My Precious

How the needle got so far from the canvas is a mystery — maybe stuck to my clothes and fell off when I got up to look for it, but vacuuming is back on and maybe I’ll get around to shampooing this next weekend.

When I logged into Facebook yesterday morning to play Candy Crush, I was first met with a question.

Expecting to find I was committing a fashion sin by wearing the trendy shredded denim shorts, I was ROFLMAO when I read ……

• Maxi pads on the right ear.
• Maxipad Ear covers.
• Red caps accessorized by gauze on one ear, the new swastika armband.
• Maxi pads on the ear tinged with orange foundation.
• Red hats, Ear Pads and cruddy Toupees.
• Red caps and Kotex ear bandages.
• Panty Liners as fashion accessory.
• Maxipads in places they don't belong.
• Maxipad on your ear when a butterfly bandaid would work.
• A mini pad hanging off your ear.
• Ear diapers.
• Performative bandages on completely uninjured ears.
• Ear patch
• Deer tagging own ear.

ROFLMAO! I can’t with these people 🤣

The previous day, before I even saw this question/answer posting, I'd made changes to the voodoo doll to reenforce the bad juju.

What If

Believe it or not, I’ve got nothing.

This past week has been the quietest most serene week I’ve experienced in ages.

That may be because, other than Trainer, I’ve not seen nor spoken to another individual. I also stopped watching the news, because all the political stuff was causing me to become depressed, worried, demoralized.

I’m just gonna trust the Universe, prepare myself emotionally for the worst possible outcome in November, lay low until then, keep my thoughts on it all to myself because I don’t want or need the Secret Service coming after me.

Except, I will say that inasmuch as I am not keeping up with the news, Trainer has all of a sudden taken an interest in the news and tells me the female agents are being bashed because they did not respond appropriately/quick enough.

He tells me the scuttlebutt is the females failed because, instead of the females being required to meet the same standards as the male agents in the hiring process, the standards of the position had been lowered for the females.

I don’t know how true that is, but I told Trainer the females might have hesitated because they really didn’t want to touch his body with theirs, and can you blame them because he’s so icky.

Halfway through six seasons of the Peaky Blinders on Netflix, watching how Tommy Shelby is being used and abused by those involved in the British government’s espionage program, I got all conspiracy theory Tom Clancy like and said to Trainer what if ………… what if you know who was not the target. What if the event was used as a smokescreen to take someone else out because everyone would think he was the target when, in reality, he just got in the way.