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.