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.
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,
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
