I Knew It!

The painters removed the orange cones and no parking signs yesterday afternoon, so the jeep is back to its regular spot.

Hopefully this means the painting project is done and over with, but as I was yesterday doubting that and wondering what fresh new hell Management was planning for us, little Knock Knock was at my door.

That’s three days in a row she knocked just to give me a hug — which is kinda nice, but kinda not; and this time, when I asked where her grandma was, she said Talker was sitting with the girls on the benches by the laundry room, discussing notices of a $94 rent increase being attached to doors.

There it is, thought I, the fresh new hell I was wondering Management would come up with.

Said notice hasn’t made it to my door yet, but there’s no doubt it’s coming and I’m suspicious of the timing.

In the long long ago time, Management would at least throw us a party, begin posting rent increase notices while we were distracted at the party. This time, notices began just as the painters were completing the upgrade on the complex, like giving us a bill for services rendered.

We didn’t ask for the upgrade, we’d rather have had a party, but it looks like we’re paying for the paint job instead.

Oh well, nothing we can do but tighten the budget belt.

In other news, Her Royal Highness — the young Black girl helping out in the office during Assistant Manager’s pregnancy leave, that managed to get on my bad side by talking to me like I was a child that needed correcting, is no longer here. She quit … supposedly because she didn’t like the drive from her home in Pomona.

The drive from here to Pomona is only 39 minutess, 33 miles, so I’m not entirely sold on her leaving because of dissatisfaction with the drive.

Last few times I caught glimpses of her, her aura looked dimmed, she seemed not so full of herself as when first arriving.

Water reaches its own level so, with her original inflated sense of self, it probably deflated her that this is not a place where she can flex, no one here to impress or seem impressed by her, so she moved on.

Whatever the reason, her highness is gone, no loss to the community.

Talker’s 40-year-old may soon be getting his walking papers. I’d previously reported Talker saying he was at the "getting on her nerves" stage. Now, she says, "I’m getting tired of teaching".

A 40-year-old isn’t all that young, should be well versed in what it takes to keep a woman’s interest, knew very well the woman he was taking on is 72-years-old so I’m not so sure how he’s failing; but it’s looking like he’ll soon be history.

Today was a Namaste Bitches kind of day.

Heading out for gas and groceries, I spied the door to the Pain Cave wide open … an invitation for me to pop in, mess with Trainer, yell "Namaste Bitches" as I walked in the door.

His wife was in the studio, gave me a big hug, said she had not been aware that the Ms. Shirley she followed on TikTok was my daughter.

She and Trainer began talking about things … good things they’d seen, read about, etc., but things I’d rather not hear or speak about because it’s still too raw, sets off the waterworks. So, I turned the conversation onto the fighters and why was the door wide open.

Trainer said he doesn’t want to change locations, but needs to upgrade the studio, so he and wife were there to figure out how to do that, make the studio less cluttered, more bougie.

Wife said she got on his case about my leaving because he kept moving me around, not paying attention to my warnings about it.

I said I was okay with it until that last move had me in a tight corner by the bathroom, that nobody puts baby in a corner.

She said she’ll try to work out a proper space for Personal Training in the new plan. I told Trainer to send me a picture when they work it out, and we’ll talk.

So, we’ll see about my returning to the Pain Cave.

My body would thank me but, with the high cost of groceries, the rent increase, and with the 15 years of distribution on my other sources of income rapidly coming to an end, I’m not so sure I can fit it in the budget.

We’ll see.