Hand Jumping June

Yesterday was ridik.

I had to take my car into the shop, which I think I've told you now 800 times, and you'd think I was taking it in to get it tricked out. You'd think my car was transitioning.

Do you know what I'd like? Is a little Fiat. I love those. In some zippy color like yellow or a light blue. I love having a yellow car–I can always find it in parking lots. I think I will never not have a yellow car. That was a beautifully constructed sentence. Anyway, I can't afford a new car. Mine is 8 years old but it has only 82,000 miles on it, so.

I have no idea how I got on that dull tangent.

Oh, so I had to take it in. And that young man of color who works at the desk, there, who checks you in and so forth? Hotteldy hot hot with a side of extra hot. Oh my god. And since I had to get up early, scream around here, take Lottie to daycare because I couldn't come back at noon to let her out of prison, I arrived at the car place with wet hair and halfway-done makeup.

Hey, Man of Color. Fly me.

That did not stop me from flirting like I was Blanche Devereaux, of course, clutching my pearls and rolling my eyes and so on. He got me checked in quickly and into a shuttle van with a woman with the world's worst personality. It was only after the WWWWP and I were on our way that I realized my pants had been unzipped the entire time.

Hey, Man of Color. Fly me.

So then I got to work and had to hurry hurry hurry because I had three articles to write yesterday, plus meetings of course, and I got only two of the three done as a result. If I didn't have to go to meetings to talk about work I had to do, and instead could–oh– do the work, I could get my work done.

Since I couldn't go home for lunch, I walked to the Iron Hen, which is a really good restaurant near me. I got this irrational fear that Ned would be there. His doctor's office is in the same parking lot, as is a liquor store, so all his needs are met right in one lot. The point is, as I was walking there, I was all What if he has an appointment today? What if he's right in that restaurant and I have to see him? Will I walk out? I'd already phoned in my order–pear salad with pecans and grilled chicken. Would I eschew my order to avoid Ned?

Food/Ned. Food/Ned.

I decided I'd be stoic. I'd be Scarlett O'Hara in that field, except I wouldn't quietly vomit my radish.

Anyway, all that buildup was for nothing, because really what were the chances.

I'd planned to eat lunch on The New Bench in this park near work, but right as I approached it, some EFFING BITCH got there too and took it, never looking up from her phone call. She had a paperback romance with her and I detested her entire being. So instead I walked back to work and ate at my desk and had to endure the 792 "Oh, that looks good! Where'd you get that?" questions that BORE INTO MY SOUL.

I HATE that. Do you hate that? Just let me eat pecans in peace.

Then the hot MOC from the auto place called to tell me I'd blown a fuse, and who knew, and had I been in any sort of accident with my car.

"No!" I said. Because I, you know, haven't. I tried to say "no" in an inviting way, though, just in case.

"You're sure?" he asked, "Really?"

Jesus Christ. No, I'm lying to you. I got in an accident and forgot.

That did not stop me from hurling myself at him at the end of the day, after the Woman with the World's Worst Personality brought me back to the shop. By the way, her driving made me nervous as shit. The whole ride, I was all, "Woah, woah, woah! That light has been yellow a long–"

–screech! With her brakes.

Christ.

Anyway, you'll be stunned to hear that Man of Color did not pick up what I was throwing down, and on the drive home I realized my pants had been unzipped again.

No, seriously, fly me.

I got Lottie from daycare after, and the good news there is that that was one exhausted animal. I'd checked on her on the webcam, and she was making friends left and right yesterday. She didn't stand stoically like Lu used to, in a field with her radish. She mixed and mingled.

But as soon as I got home I had to shower and change because I was…going out.

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The good news is, I don't have to figure out what to wear today because I already picked out something cute last night and wore it for only two hours, so. Silver lining.

Since I already spilled the beans, I was out with The Older Man last night. The Younger Man is in Rio, and I have not at all sent 792 references to the song Rio in my texts to him or anything. He is doing something with the Olympics, The Younger Man is, and I feel like that won't narrow it down too much seeing as 792,000 people are doing something with the Olympics right now.

"I'm going to be in Rio as well!" I texted him before he left. "I'm the favorite to win the gold for the hand jump."

He told me there wasn't such a THING as the hand jump, and right then I knew.

"What if you screw up your job, and the Olympics are, like, ruined because of you?" I wrote him yesterday first thing.

"Wow, you ARE supportive," he wrote. "You're like Ike Turner."

"I prefer to think of myself as the husband in Rosemary's Baby," I said. "That was a guy who always had your back."

Really, I don't know why just everyone doesn't want to date me. Remember back when I was first dating again, in 2011, and that reader wrote in to tell me how obnoxious I was and that was why I couldn't keep a man? What a dick. And how clearly wrong he was.

Once I was finally settled in at home,

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and relaxing, I got a text from the headache study. "You haven't filled out your online headache diary!" they wrote, and son of a BITCH. But once I got on there and remembered my participant number and password ("GoldHandJumper"), it was pretty easy.

All right, I gotta go. Edsel, who has already been out and back in again THREE TIMES today, has been staring longingly out the door, but I just got up to let him out again–even though I've already said, "That's IT for going out this morning"–and as soon as I opened the door, he sauntered away. So I have to beat the dog and get in the shower.

Yours,

Ike

42 thoughts on “Hand Jumping June

  1. Apparently, they still are unreliable. My daughter loves those cute little Fiats. They have horrible ratings. Even the new, adorable baby SUVs have bad ratings.

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  2. With the mosquito scare at the Olympics, the newest competition is Synchronized Swatting. Not nearly as much fun as your Synchronized Slutting though.

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  3. Also, that’s one worn out, cute as a button pupper there. I love the sprawled out legs. If she had a zipper, it would be down as well.

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  4. I don’t mind the “that smells good! What is it?” as much as them putting their big stupid face almost IN my food to smell it. Ew! Please remove your stupid face from my food. Your cooties are now falling all over my food, and what if boogers fall out of your nose or something, INTO my food. Yeah, I have issues.

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  5. Every day I eat my lunch and read a book. EVERY DAY.
    The same women comes in and says to me:
    “That smells good! What is it? What are you reading? Is it good?”
    Look, LADY, I only get 30 minutes to eat and usually prep work takes at least 10, so I don’t have a minute to spare catching you up on my food or my book. BACK UP.
    Phew…that felt great to get off my chest. Thank you.

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  6. My brother works for a subsidiary of Fiat, even has the fancy pants embossed logo on his business card, but didn’t know the Legend of Tony. I enjoy reminding him. Not sure how these new models are doing, they’re cute, though really small. We have too many SUVs around here.

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  7. Is there really room on that couch for you? Lottie is like elasti-girl!
    I just went to the Duran Duran concert last week(ish) (long story). I have been singing old songs ever since. I think that is exciting to have your personal connection to the Olympics! So cool!
    Lovely post, lovely June!

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  8. “It was only after the WWWWP and I were on our way that I realized my pants had been unzipped the entire time.” Snort!
    Hilarious post.
    Lottie, sweet baby.

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  9. I think a hand jump is like a hand jive (that crazy hand jive) but with a Tracy Chapman muscularity, as is possessed by Joooon.

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  10. Hey, this is MY group! Except, I’m pretty sure I’m older than Sadie, so what group would that put me in?

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  11. I just texted him all the ways he could die there, in my Ike Turner way. Sequin allergy, impaled with a javelin, tripping over a gymnast, getting burned with a torch…

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  12. He probably enjoys the fact that you aren’t using your feminine wiles to try to use him to get closer to some hot Olympian swimmer or diver. Because I would be… I’d work it until I got to some Ryan Lochte.
    He also probably enjoys that he doesn’t have to talk Olympics all the time with you.

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  13. Gee thanks, Amish. Now I need to practice somersault and tree climbing for the ancient-age category. Good thing I’m ready for the wine-glass-lifting competition.

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  14. Wow. The arm hang. Dang, you’re the shizzle, AA!

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  15. ok, here’s a piece of advice – get this song by Megan Trainor, “No”, put it on your phone and play it for all those doinks.


    I even searched for the ringtone: http://gallery.mobile9.com/f/4618592/
    Of course, not for beautiful black men –
    In closing, I would love to date a man with your wicked humor. Just sayin’.

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  16. I used to have a coworker who EVERY DAY would ask what everyone had brought for lunch. EVERY DAMN DAY. “Whatcha got there? A sandwich?” One day I just snapped. “Yes, Steve, I have a sandwich! And baby carrots, some raisins and some yogurt! Later on for dinner I’m having grilled chicken with steamed vegetables! Is there anything else you need to know????”
    He never asked anyone about their lunches ever again.
    I am still to this day, considered the office hero.

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  17. If we ever have a Piefest, we must incorporate these games into the itinerary, PieOlympics. There needs to be age groups though, I ain’t-a competing against no 28 year old in the somersault or tree climbing competition.

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  18. Anyone know what the crab walk is? I am completely serious when I say I am unable to do that. Whatever muscles one needs for it, I don’t have it. The instructors at boot camp never believed me and when I attempted it forty five thousand times, then they finally believed me. Other women at boot camp loved pairing up with me. Not.

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  19. Apparently I am the only one who read the subject line too quickly and thought that it was the first two words that began with the same letter and not the second two words. ahem. Sorry, June. Lovely post.

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  20. 23. What’s a hand jump?
    aa. Is it a cartwheel?
    x. I held the arm hang record for years at my junior high back when they called middle schools junior high.

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  21. Lottie really needs to learn how to relax.
    I would gladly compete with you in the hand jumping competition. It sounds like it wouldn’t involve a lot of jumping around and exhausting activity and I’m all for that.

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  22. Here are the Qs I’ve asked him: What if you screw up? Are there Rio prostitutes? Are you worried you’ll have Duran Duran’s Rio in your head the whole time you’re there?
    That was followed up by 394929423 texts with various lyrics from Rio in them.
    Hey, now, WOOO!! lookie there. It’ll really run you down.

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  23. The visual of Lu standing stoicly in the dog day care eating her radish made me laugh and tear up.
    I’m DELIGHTED that your younger man is in Rio. I find it ironic that you might/could have all the Olympic coverage with a personal view and you don’t even enjoy sports. I would bug the hell out of YM, asking a brillion (yes, I made up a word) questions. My dvr will be completely out of storage before this weekend is over.

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  24. Another entry for best post ever!
    Lottie is soon going to need a bigger couch to stretch out on…I can’t believe how quickly she’s grown!

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  25. We (OK, it was me) made a rule at work that no one could make a comment on someone else’s lunch. No…”What is that?” …… No…..” Is that what you’re eating for lunch” ……No…”Do you know how many calories/carbs/grams of protein are in that?
    No input from the people who don’t eat meat or from the people on Weight Watchers. No vegan comments. No Palo diet and sure as hell no gluten free comments.
    It was one of the best things I ever did.

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  26. Again, I’m exhausted just from reading about your day. Exhausted like Lottie after a day at daycare.
    Go with your gold-hand-jumping self.

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  27. I would think the zipper being down would be an open invitation, but if the hottie MOC didn’t immediately pick up on that, he’s not good enough for you.

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  28. Right then you knew. I’m giggling and smirking way too much over this. And thinking of all kinds of supportive texts to send.
    I watched Lottie, yesterday. My 14 year old really didn’t understand why I was watching a live cam of dogs at day care, because none of them were our dogs. Poor child, he worries about my sanity.
    Lovely post, lovely Joon

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