In Which mrpeenee is Repeatedly Disappointed

Secret Agent Fred and I went out to lunch with the Fashion Sensation this afternoon.  I was  confused (which is no rare thing in the peenee Universe) because a couple of weeks ago, the Sensation had told me she was going to a silent mediation retreat somewhere up in Lesbian Land and then when she rescheduled lunch to today, she said it was because she had injured herself water skiing.

The idea of a combo meditation retreat/water sports event seemed unlikely, but vastly appealing, certainly more than just standing around being told to zip it, which is how I envision a silent mediation spree.  Turns out the two things were separate.  How cruelly disappointing.

Physically inept as I am, water skiing is the one sport I'm actually ok at, or at least I used to be.  When I was 11 years old and first learning how, I was so skinny, I could have probably been pulled up by a rowboat.  Fashion Sensation's injury just makes me think I should just let my past glories lie.

The Sensation wandered off somewhere or the other after lunch and Fred and I retired to the tastefully charming bar at the Fairmont Hotel.  We had only sat down when Fred was summoned away by a series of increasingly frantic calls from his old neighbors in Baltimore about some guys who claimed they were trying to change the lock there.  At 7:00 at night.  On a Sunday.  The calls escalated to a chat with the cops who showed up and who were sceptical about these guys' story, which I think showed real perception.

While Fred was outside dealing with all his Maryland based drama, the waiter obviously decided I had been stood up by my date.  He was a very cute waiter, as so often happens here, but before I could figure out how to finagle his sympathy into possible pity sex, Fred returned and we settled into simple drinking.

This is not Cookie schvitzing in Baltimore.  I'm pretty sure.

Speaking of Baltimore, Ask the Cool Cookie sent me a self portrait he had snapped while packing up Fred's house earlier this weekend and then asked that I not post it here.  I'm not going to (even though it had a certain naive charm) and I want full credit for my restraint.

Get out the way.

And speaking of bloggers who should be restrained, MJ, from Infomaniac, sent me a perfectly lovely card for my blog anniversary.   Saki has claimed it for his own and now sits on it blocking the view of all the good porn.  Life is so hard some times.

Because Viking Booty, That's Why

I haven't posted anything about True Blood this year because either a) you've been watching it and already know what tragic hash it has degenerated into or b) you're not watching it and don't care.   I think both camps will be satisfied with a report that Alex Skarsgard answers the universe's booty call by appearing naked on a chaise atop a glacier in Sweden.   And then bursts into flames.

Why?  Who the fuck knows?  It's True Blood.  Gibberish happens.  More importantly, let me repeat, Alex Skarsgard, naked.  What more do you need?

mrpeenee Has Fallen

You know how there are movies which you can actually feel removing points from your I.Q. as you watch them?  Which brings us to Olympus Has Fallen, a ripe piece of tripe that rolled out onto an unsuspecting mrpeenee this evening because once it started I was too lazy to change the channel to something better, something like Are You Being Served?

I had initially thought anything with Gerard Butler in it had to have something going for it.

I was wrong.  Plus he plays the whole thing wearing a long sleeve shirt which makes me suspect there was Spanx involved under it all.  And Angela Bassett, for god's sake, who certainly deserves better.  As do I.

Back Again

We had a swank hotel with this nice, big city view.

You know, Baltimore's not bad.  The architecture is charming, the food was great, even the weather, usually defining the word "miserable"in August, was balmy.  We got to hang out with Diane von Austinburg, who was there on a conference and that's always amusing.  We even got to see some losers tarted up in ridiculous costumes for the My Pretty Pony convention, the point of which still eludes me.

Sort of a Grey Gardens kind of thang going on.

Dealing with Secret Agent Fred's house, which was the point of the trip, was much more rough.  The place is seriously damaged and it was wrenching for Fred to see it.  He and his partner had lived there for years and made it a sweet little love nest before the partner died, so preparing it for sale would have been hard enough, without seeing the damage a couple of leaks had wrecked on the floors and ceilings.

But even with all that, there's a bright spot, and that would be Ask the Cool Cookie.  Cookie has launched himself into this project with the enthusiasm of a drag queen at the MAC counter at Macy's. On sale.  He was charming and funny and we all went out for some of the best crab cakes I've ever had because, you know, Maryland and all that.  Our friends, including his charming husband E, were very patient with us as we talked blog talk and gossiped about you guys.  Terribly amusing.

Best of all, we got to rescue a bunch of Fred's paintings from the attic there.  I've always loved Fred's work and this was a chance to see a bunch of them I wasn't familiar with, so yay.

Also, I went out for coffee about 5:00 one morning. I just pulled on some baggy chinos with no underwear since I was just running across the street and you know, even Diana Ross goes out with no makeup sometimes.  It seemed like a good idea right up to point where a benchful of Ladies at the bus stop felt free to comment, loudly, about my junk.  Astonished I looked over at them ( really, never a good idea) and the ringleader yelled "Yeah, you know we talking about you, white boy."  I scurried past, simultaneously mortified and immensely flattered.  I was cat called!

Baltimore.

Baltimore Bound

I mentioned in the post below that Ask the Cool Cookie has been helping get Secret Agent Fred's house in Baltimore in shape to be sold.  Cookie has been an absolute champ, dealing with plumbers, floor refinishers, dry wallers and various other miscreants.  He writes cheerfully about scraping off peeling paint and nosy neighbors and the fact that there are no working toilets.  He assures us that you cannot pee behind the garage because it's full of poison ivy back there, a report I, for one, am willing to take his word on.

Fred had entrusted his house to a property management company who seems to have taken their responsibilities with astonishing insouciance since they allowed two leaks to destroy the floors and the foyer ceiling.  Hence the no water policy and hence the no working toilets and hence Cookie back behind the garage.  I prefer not to dwell on what happens when one discovers the poison ivy mid-pee.

Nevertheless, Fred and I are off Friday morning to Baltimore (Charm City) in order to meet Cookie (I'm looking forward immensely to that,) pack up the last of Fred's stuff and attempt to avoid the poison ivy.  I have assured both Fred and Cookie I plan on pissing in the front yard, I don't know why anyone would be surprised.

Coincidentally, Diane von Austinburg will be there for a conference, so that will be amusing.  I had gathered this was work related for her, but now Cookie has emailed that there's a My Pretty Pony convention scheduled for next week, which seems awfully suspicious.