I still don't have bed bugs.

I've had two critter inspections and come out clean.  So I told the fellow "Fine, DON'T come back and [fleeking] spray!"  My week is shot.  All the people who wanted to talk to me or get together last week are now phoning me and asking if I'm dead.  The apartment is a trash pit.  Tomorrow I am going to start putting things back together.  Slowly, with a nap or two in between and the phone disconnected.
                                                   
We had storms last night, very hefty ones, and the winds blew the big screens off the windows and out into the lake where the ducks used them to fish from.  Maintenance brought them back today smelling like Trout (Fishing in America, remember that old book?)
                                                          

Aging gracefully?  I'm not sure there is one.....   A 91 year old lady made eyes at me and told me she preferred Younger men.  She was wearing a sign around her neck: "Don't put your hands on me unless you mean business."  When young girls start calling you Sir, you know you're on the downhill slide.  When they tell you you're sweet and you remind them of their grandfather, you've just about hit bottom and you better find an Older Woman for yourself. When I finally hit bottom I am going to sit in the sun and dream and hit people with my cane!

More sooner or later when I get the place back into shape.  Ta!

I don't have bed bugs.

When your clothes
are in bags
you dress
in rags.

Mostly because  last week I saw a critter on the arm of my easy chair.  We're not going to use the hated word 'bedbug' because too many people are making too much money off them.  This place has 435 units and, at any given time, two or three units have the problem.  I am told.  The management is so proactive that if anybody even has a dream about having critters, they make an appointment with the bug  killers (Extermital) to do an inspection.  Which, of course, happened the next day.  I had saved the critter sealed in plastic, in the freezer, where he died from terminal retardation and the inspector agreed it was a genuine critter.  He then tore the place apart and looked in places I didn't even know I had -- and told me that if I had any critters he sure couldn't find them.  He has a degree, he should know.  Bugatory, PhB, LLC.  But said that, since I had found one on the premises, they would be treating my apartment.  Badly, from what I hear.

I have had to pack all my clothes, bed linens, bath linens, caps, jackets, boots in bags, all of which to be run through the dryer in the laundry for 20 minutes to send the critters to their reward.  And placed into new clean bags for the next four weeks (4 treatments). All my framed pictures had to be taken down and placed on display, for inspection, all the furniture moved three feet from walls (one of the guys is pretty fat...)

This past Friday was treatment day and I stayed home all day with my door open, from 7 in the morning to 4 in the afternoon.  Nobody showed to tear up the place and make it smell bad.  I reported this to the Front Office today (Monday), they got the info from the Terminators that they were here and nobody lived in that apartment.  They finally decided that I did live here and there was going to be another inspection this week.  If there were no signs of 'activity' found, there would be no treatment.  Apparently the single critter I captured got drunk one night and wandered in the wrong apartment door.


I have about 14 bags sitting on the floor.  A half dozen framed pictures.  I trip on them when I go to pee in the middle of the night.  A thrill a minute.  Extermital gets about $100 per hour.  They are driving Cadillacs to and from work.  My place looks like the great windstorm of 1937.  I can still reach my mystery books and my pipe.  All is well.  Until next visit.  Ta!

Nurse

I call Jane my Resident Nurse and Case Worker.  She has fine medical advice and knows where to get your taxes done or your hemorrhoids shrunk.  If you're a senior.  And for free.  Back in the day Jane was a fine Biker Bitch with all the appropriate habits.  She looked exactly like Faye Dunaway and had a Hungarian mother (she says closer to Transylvania than Budapest...) and a father of some eastern European type.  One day she saw the light, turned herself in to the police, got probation, completed nursing school.  Became a nurse and retired from that.  Found God.  Embraced celibacy .  Has a fabulous sense of humor.  Was married to the same guy, earlier, that one of my girlfriends was married to later.  Is now 74.

                                                               
If I write a poem here it will perfectly describe her.

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle
of her forehead.


When she was good
She was very, very good.
And when she was bad,
She was horrid.

Ta!

Pretty Quiet

I feel rushed today.  I am supposed to meet with a Rotten Kid, have new brake pads put on the car, have an air conditioner installed, for which I'm supposed to be present.  I stewed about schedules until this morning and then decided to just stop everything in its tracks. Instead I went to a tobacco shop, Kroger's and a drug store and then came home and took a nap.  The place needs cleaning and that will just have to be accomplished tomorrow.  Tonight I am lounging in ratty old clothes watching NCIS and, later, drinking chocolate milk.  Tomorrow everything will still be where it is today and I can tackle it then.  

I am learning how to eat out again.  Finances have improved considerably since I moved here and have no utilities to pay, and less rent.  I cook most of my meals because I like to cook and I'm pretty good at it.  But it's nice, for a change, to head to Frisch's or Moonlight Chili on the odd night I don't feel like working in the kitchen.

                                                      
It is Flood City in the area here.  We don't see any of it because we live in the highest part of town.  People keep driving through water covering roads and getting stuck, giving the Fire Department plenty to do.  This Senior Living is good for that.  I don't have to go anywhere.  Groceries will deliver food in a pinch for a moderate $10 fee, or I can take the Project Mobility bus to any of the big stores and let them drive around the puddles.

It's quiet.  It's raining.  I'm snugged up and happy inside and nothing much is going on.  Ta! 

All gone

A little something to cheer up your Monday. 

                                                                              

Not a good day for Osama. First, he doesn't get a Royal Wedding invite, then they blow his head off.