Tree man of San Diego, the last vaquero, C.A. Smith’s repairman, when you win the lottery, largest rancher in San Diego
Various Authors 11:01 a.m., Dec. 10
I was trying to get out of my apartment. I had to move out of the crazy building due to my landlord putting the complex on the market. Or maybe I was really moving because the landlord had an obsession for me that was being played out by telling me my boyfriend was going to need a background check to stay with me for more than three days. Either way, it was time to leave Cardiff.
As I was cleaning frantically- in order to get my deposit money back, I heard something coming from next door, “Beauty is not made, it is found.” It sounded like a self-help tape and a woman repeating back what had just been said, “Beauty is not made, it is found.” Dear God, is that my neighbor? I stepped outside to find her sitting on the joining balcony with ice packs on her boobs. She was clearly drugged up on pain killers. She says to me, “Hey Jane, would you mind going over to Scripps to get me a special bra that I need? I can’t drive right now. I think it’s like twenty bucks. Could you spot me? I need the bra real bad and I just spent a crap load of money on my surgery. I’m broke girl.” Was this woman that I barely knew talking to me? I could only respond with my first reaction to the absurd question, “No.”
“Please Jane, I’m desperate here.” “No.”
I went back to cleaning and packing up my stuff. The tape continued to reel, “You will find your beauty within. Your heart is pure and beautiful. Your body is just an illusion.” Then I heard my neighbor’s voice drowning sleepily to say the same thing again. Was she for real? Was this really happening or was I in some messed up reality T.V. show?
My boyfriend arrived just in time to help me with the heavy stuff. He was stunned by the scene before him. My neighbor with the new boob job had the nerve to sit there in her bikini top stuffed with ice packs and flirt with my man!
As my boyfriend and I were hiding inside trying to ignore the scene on the porch, I heard my name being slurred from outside, “Jaaane…Jaane! What day is it?”
“It’s Wednesday.” I replied reluctantly. “Wednesday? Oh no! It’s Wednesday! I forgot I have a birthday party to go to.” Confused as to how this inebriated woman was going to get anywhere on this particular day, I decided to shout out the window, “Well, it looks like you’re going to have to cancel.”
The next thing I know my neighbor’s friend had arrived with the “special” bra she was begging for. They proceeded to ask me if they could use my bathroom to try it on for size and comfort. I was thinking, “Wait don’t you have your own bathroom?”
I must have had a temporary lapse in judgment because the next thing I know I was leading them to my bathroom and closing the door behind them. I stood there listening intently at what was being said behind the door. I remained there, tripping for a good fifteen minutes wondering what in the heck was going on in there. When they finally did emerge I pushed them out the front door and returned to the bathroom to do a last minute scouring before leaving my apartment for good. And what did I find there in the middle sparkling clean floor? To my dismay it appeared to be a Lee Press-On Nail. Cringing, I took a tissue and put it in my last plastic trash bag. I tossed it in the garbage at the bottom of the stairs and left that bogus Cardiff apartment like a bat out of hell.