In Which We Groom

 

Apres les deluge.

My poor old cat Octavia is so old and poorly, she can no longer clean herself the way cats so fastidiously do.  She has bad arthritis and just can't bend around to commit her cat yoga.  I totally sympathize with having a stiff back, still, she has fairly long hair so the area around her pee hole has really absorbed a lot of unfortunate liquids and she has started to smell like an overworked petting zoo. 

I have washed cats in the past and learned the very hard lesson that that is not something I wish to repeat, so I hired a mobile cat groomer to come and give her a good scrub.  I also wanted her nails clipped because they are like some kind of Asian martial arts weapons.  And since the groomer was here, they also could take on the claws of my other cat, Toby.

It seems really bougie to outsource nail clipping; I have always handled that myself, even the evil and adorable Saki.  Although he frequently left me in bloody tatters otherwise, he was perfectly casual about getting a pedicure from me.  He would always sit in my lap while I was at the computer so I would just clip his little kitty killer clown claws then.  But Toby, who is otherwise the world's friendliest cat, refuses to settle in my lap and turns into a whirling dervish whenever I try to hold him down for a beauty session. I suppose it would be no big deal to let them go except he likes to pat me gently on the cheek while I'm reading (Adorable!) and occasionally his dew claw, the feline scimitar of death, will snag me on my lip (Not Adorable!).  That is exactly as much fun as it sounds.

I had to stop writing this because the groomer called to say they were all through so I went down to rescue my bad little pussies.  It turns out Driving Miss Octavia could not have been less troubled by the entire event.  Toby, America's sweetheart, on the other hand, pissed in his carrier and BIT the poor guy when he was trying to clean the pee off him.  Toby claims this report was exaggerated, but I tipped the groomer extra anyway. 

So now we're all clean and claws are blunted.  I don't know if I'm going to go through this again, the cats didn't like it and it was not cheap.  I could have splurged on a spa day for myself and we would have all been happier I think.

Dudes:

Frequent commenter Jeff sent me this lovely shot of Alexander Skarsgaard and his Skars Dick.  Is it real?  Who knows in these unhappy PhotoShopped times?  Mostly, I am SO jealous of whatever photographer got to spend a snug little time with a naked and erect Alexander in the hot tub.

Bootylicious.

Muscle boy with his muscle car.

It's unusual for a lanky youth to have such a shapely pussy.  I congratulate him on it.

That is a "come hither" dick if I ever seen one.

Cowboy booty.

Why so glum, chum?

Open for Business.

In Which We Focus

 

After I got my cataract surgery, that practice gave me a new pair of glasses with a new, supposedly improved prescription.  The glasses absolutely sucked.  I  could only see in bits and patches.  The ground at my feet was out of focus which resulted in me tripping even more than usual.  I could see across the street okay and oddly enough the microwave tower on the horizon was crisply in focus.  Not particularly useful, but crisp. 

So last week, to get proper glasses, I  went whining off to my regular eye doctor, who is charming, his office well decorated, and his bill enormous.  I got my new glasses today and I am here to tell you, being able to see is worth the money.  Plus I was able to reuse the frames I've had for a couple of years and really like, so yay. 

Also out getting coffee and then on my way over to pick up my glasses, I noticed several people, including a couple of attractive young men, giving me the eye, as they say.  It improved my mood considerably and made me think "mrpeenee still got it, yeah bitch."  And then I realized they were simply struck by my new t-shirt, a masterpiece of graphic art that represents Godzilla eating a subway car, a classic scene from a couple of Godzilla movies and one of my favorites.  

mrpeenee, avec new glasses and a seriously groovy Godzilla shirt.

Guys to pay attention to:

The luscious Keegan Whicker and his whicker whacker.

A lot of today's nekkid guys is brought to you by the letter ass.

I have returned to drinking coffee, not because I am weak, but because I WANTED to.

Matty Gilbert, superior quality daddy.

Open for business.

Beefiness.

One last extra fine buttchop.

In Which We Ride with the Future

 

Diane von Austinburg came out to visit last week.  As usual, it was delightful.  Diane remains the best house guest I could ask for.  I stay up all night, sleep all day until about 2:00 in the afternoon at which time I get up and wander down to Peet's for my afternoon constitutional, come home and go directly back to bed for a few hours until dinner, after which I return to bed for perusing random useless internet sites on my phone and start all over.  And Diane adopts that ridiculous schedule as her own.   God love her. 

An important part of the bacchanal is that the evenings we don't cook, we go out for dinner and this time all of the dinners were ridiculously successful.  Since I no longer have a car, getting to a restaurant now involves somebody else driving.  I've been using Uber all this time, but now I have switched my allegiance to Waymo, the self-driving cab company.  Diane was very suspicious of the whole idea of wheeling about with no human pilot, but I think any time I can complete a task without dealing with another person, it's a win.  The cars are very clean and comfortable, the ride is smooth, and there is no driver bothering me with attempts at conversation in a language still heavily influenced by the Old Country, whatever that might be. 

One of my favorite things about Waymo is that apparently when I set up my account, I was asked how I wanted to be addressed and I specified "peenee" probably assuming I would never hear about that again.  But no.  When you get in the car, the computer cheerfully welcomes you, in my case, it chirps in a perky voice, "Hello peenee" which I think is absolutely hysterical, mostly because I am easily amused.  Initially I responded with "Fuck off, cocksucker," but now I have calmed down.

Boys who I hope will never be replaced by technology:

I went back to previous recent posts to see if I had featured these lovely buttchops before.  You will be glad to hear I have not.

Nor these.

Sorry if my comments on the boys this week are lacking, but I'm eating a really delicious pizza and my priorities right now are with my stomach.

I'm sure there is some pizza joke about sausage or meat-lovers for this.  Fill in the blank.

It's still warm enough here for al-fresco dick.

I just love pictures where you get both butt AND dick.