In Which We Lounge

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Many thanks to my sweet niece Amber for reminding me that I have a blog. It sometimes slips my mind. You can tell when I’m absorbed in reading because my posting here becomes more erratic than usual. But it’s important to keep the dust from getting too thick in these parts, so post on, baby.

I love my bedroom so very much. Since I sleep during the day, it’s important to have the room as dark as possible; this deep blue, almost indigo is plenty successful at that. And pretty. The beautiful California sun is very soft and gold this time of year and it makes doing nothing even more appealing than usual.

The author, busy doing nothing.

just the other day I was remembering my recent trip back to Texas and recalling that some of my favorite parts of it were lying on my back on Diane von Austinburg’s couch, having very firmly evicted her from it. It’s a very comfy couch and just hanging out there chatting with her was a great luxury. Cats were occasionally involved.

Also, just as a sort of PSA, let me announce that I stubbed the fuck out of my toe recently and now it hurts like a first time pussy boy who has forgotten the safe word. Everyone should immediately feel very sorry for me and possibly start making novenas. What makes this all the more annoying is that I have no memory of whacking my toe on anything. How is that possible? It’s red and swollen and HURTS, I must have landed a really solid blow against it, seems like it would stay in my teeny tiny brain, but nuh uh.

Guys who should be here tending to me:

This guy could just carry me around to protect my little piggies.

The lovely Adriano Marquez, who once said in an interview that he had never done a crunch in his life.

Splooge

So beefy.

Beach weather is almost here.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

16 responses »

  1. I think our whole circle with exception to dear Jon has been lax with blogging lately dear. I ‘ve just returned from almost a month gone. No toe stubs here though.

    How adorable is the mole on the first man’s buttchops?!?!?

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  2. You stubbed you toe? Oh, Mr Peenee, you poor thing! I do feel EXTREMELY sorry for you, and I’d make you a novena if I knew what it was. Do those socks take your mind off the pain? I wish I had a pair like that – they’re fabulous!

    P.S. I’ve just returned from the beach, but I didn’t see that specimen in the last picture unfortunately. If I had, I wouldn’t be back home looking at your socks, that’s for sure.

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  3. I truly hate to say this, but have you considered that it may be gout – the affliction of kings? The fact that it came on suddenly without a specific injury makes it a possibility.

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  4. See? If I were there this weekend you wouldn’t be able to hobble anywhere; another reason postponing was for the best. (Also, thanks, Amber!)

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  5. So yesterday, Sunday, a day I avoid Costco, I went. Stupid move.

    I hate Costco, but I’ve especially hated the way the cashiers’ push you through turbo-style. I’ve no doubt they’re told to do this-

    “Keep movin’, movin’, movin’
    Though they’re disapprovin’
    Keep them dogies* movin’
    Rawhide!”

    So I was slightly less miserable when Costco installed self-serve aisles. Now I could get my frozen stuff packed the way that makes ME happy.

    So, yesterday I saunter over to the do-it-yourself lane & a woman confronts me with a scanner gun. I tell her, “Thank you, I’ll do it,” & she says, “Let me, it’ll keep things moving.” I fumed, but threw my hands up & let her do it (okay, so I probably intimidated her a little, but heck, I had a mask on!). When I got to the door, greeted by the Costco gestapo, they found there was a discrepancy with my items & receipt. She slowly counted twice, then told me to wait, she’d get help.

    Now I was standing there, being glared at by the throngs. Nice.

    Finally some sort of manager arrives, counts my stuff & figures out that my blueberries & yogurt weren’t paid for. I’m telling him that I didn’t do this, that the woman at the register did it. Manager keeps saying he’s sorry, “It’s our fault,” but asks me to come over to a register & pay. Over and over, “It’s our fault.” Don’t you just hate it when you’re the subject of the meeting HR did with the employees?

    I hate them. Thanks for letting me vent.

    Hope that toe’s calming down sweetheart!

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      • Oops, I take it back. I googled “Karl Lagerfeld blue couch” thinking it was too vague of a search and amazingly it worked. You’re right, fabulous, kind of art deco and beautiful. with an arm chair to match

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