Category Archives: home

Contentment

Standard

I am just reporting to say that I am happy.  Except for the very dark days following R Man’s death, I was never exactly unhappy, just sad without him and deeply settled into a most comfortable rut.  But selling the house and moving down into the Castro, gayest of gay neighborhoods, has certainly slung me out of the rut and I am better for it.

My old house was in this odd little elbow of San Francisco: a canyon almost rural with all its greenery and wildlife, but sort of suburban, all these Brady Bunch houses and living there only possible with a car.  Here, I am most definitely urban.  The main street of San Francisco roars past my front door and I walk everywhere.

My favorite coffee house is less than a block away and most of my favorite restaurants are within easy striking distance.  I will shortly have lived here for two months and have not cooked once.  Were it not for Super Agent Fred making tea, I would have no definite evidence the stove even works.  I was a good cook for decades and now I am not.  I like it.

And I love my odd little apartment.  It’s sort of a triangle with every room whatever that geometric shape is where there are no equal lines or angles.  It’s only about a quarter as big as my old house and I had to get rid of so much stuff, I thought I would be pining after it all.  Nope.  I managed to cling to my glockenspiel, what else do I need?

I’m settling in, which is an interesting phase, figuring out where things want to go and making other things work, especially rectangular carpets in pointy rooms.  Just yesterday  my beautiful blue and white rug got back from the cleaners and fits snugly in the extra room.  You cannot imagine the sense of relief after dark nights imagining composing for sale ads for it.

The sidewalks bustle with natives and tourists who obviously regard this as some kind of homogay Disneyland.  And cute, cute boys every where.  Ah me.

I’ve come to realize the big house was perfect for R Man and me.  We had room not to bump into each other, but we never lost track of the other either.  After his death, though, the place began to turn more and more into a husk for me.  A dead shell that I moved through without even noticing.  So I think this new phase of my life is a good thing. I’m happy and so are the cute, cute boys.  It’s a wonderful world.

tumblr_p7stmi6sl41wy8vyso1_500

Exhibit A

tumblr_mwjo8iXUWC1soudrzo1_500

Lighting effects are SO important

I am supposed to be getting my furniture back from the old house and after I get it tucked in, I promise a photo extravaganza of my new place.

The Towering Tower

Standard

My life, after the chaos of the past six weeks, has suddenly calmed down, which is nice, but it leaves me sort of twitchy. Maybe I have post- move PTSD.

Unknown

 

I spent the beautiful morning in bed with blankets taped over the windows because my curtains won’t be ready until next week and also that’s just how white trash I am.

When I finally dragged out of my home-made vampire’s lair, I discovered the most San Francisco lovely afternoon waiting for me. I am still revelling in the thrill of walking to all the places in the Castro I want, so I walked over to Peet’s both because I wanted coffee and just because I could.

Then I came home and tidied and hung art and rearranged the cat box. A sweet afternoon that wound up with me sitting on the floor of the living room watching the fog blow back and forth across the very Space Age-y Sutro Tower. Lovely.

Sutro Tower is the radio, television, microwave, cell phone broadcasting tower that looms over all of San Francisco and which we all ignore.  It’s this enormous tower that looks like something from an expensive sci-fi movie and none of us pay it the least mind.  It’s just there.

And now it’s the focus of my fabulous view.  I’ll try again to take pictures from my living room of it, but because the room is a triangle all

 

the windows face each other and all that glare means you get pictures of glare.

Anyway, the lovely, spacey Sutro Tower

952c6391f88d5e1c50b62b333330b692

and some towering boys

tumblr_ok7gbbJrXw1w47neso1_500

tumblr_p4ak3riSCs1u6bjjeo1_500

tumblr_nspfd8da5x1u8zjbyo1_500

 

The Whirlwind Whirls On

Standard

I think I sold my house. I have been in such a whirlwind of activity this last month, most of it much too physical for a genteel widow of my declining years, that the actual reason (selling the house for as many buckets of money as possible) kept fading from view. Over and over, I would just be in the midst of so many simultaneous crises that trying to keep them all from collapsing seemed to be the ultimate goal.

tumblr_p2ehvq5i6b1qbnt3lo1_500

Extra muscle pussy because it’s kind of a long post without much beefcake and so I decided to toss in a little extraneous This Season’s Fashion in Towels.  You’re welcome.

So today, when Wendy, my realtor, called with this offer and strongly urged me to go with it, I was sort of surprised. Oh. Right. Sell the house. It’s on my list.

And even though all this crazy, complicatedly synchronized knife juggling has been furiously paced (We’ve only been doing this for a little over a month) this REALLY seemed to have just appeared out of the thinnest of airs. Three open houses over four days. I am, most assuredly, not complaining. I am just sort of stunned. I never even had time to bury a statue of Saint Joseph upside down in the backyard.  For those of you trying to pass off your dog of a house to some unsuspecting sucker, the fabulously straight forward named Discount Catholic Products, for all them Discount Catholics, offers a whole Saint Joseph kit to help you slip that troublesome radiation leak in the basement past your potential buyers.  I was going to include a link, but the URL was so long and looked so very much like some Ukranian scam, I decided to spare all of you its potential bad juju.

Of course, there’s many a slip etc., etc., etc., but at least it’s in the cup and headed in the general direction of my lips. I am concentrating on thinking positive thoughts.  Those of you still capable of thinking, please join me.

Oh, Saint Jospeh, pray for us sinners now and at the moment of closing.

tumblr_odrhcixGW81uyt9lzo1_500

Kneeling at the altar.  Haven’t we all been there?  Saint Joseph is also the patron of Families, so when you fervently, but silently, ask “Get Aunt Winnie and the girl from accounting she wants to set me up with off my back,” you are praying to St. Joseph.  Bless.

The Struggle is Real

Standard

My goal since resigning myself to moving out so the realtor could stage my house (and hopefully rid it of the stinky cat stink) has been “do one thing a night.”  And I have.  I truly have.  I organized, relocated and off loaded my massive porn collection.  I got the gutter fixed, which has been broken for more than 2 years.  My solution was to place a washtub under the place where the painter leaned their ladder and created a new, and unexpected, fount in the middle of the gutter.  During the rains the water pouring from he break into the tub sounded like a charming fountain.  I was very fond of it, but my realtor took a more dim view of it and so now it’s repaired and during the last few rainy nights, I have missed it.

tumblr_oferxdg5vg1ufc6n6o1_500

 

 

Anyway, I have cleaned up and patched and replaced and removed all kinds of little things that as a homeowner you just ignore, but as home seller, you need to deal with.

For instance, in July, my washing machine, god love it, finally died.  When we bought the house, 21 years ago, the seller insisted, in the contract, that we take the washing machine with the house.  In fact, it was the only stipulation she made.  It seemed odd, but we didn’t have a washer, so what the hell?  And the old warhorse has ground along all these years just fine until it just gave up in the middle of one load.  Super Agent Fred and I had to bail out the water and wring the clothes out and let them dry out on the patio draped over this and that.  Very Beverly Hillbillies.

 

tumblr_nacqbdgr2P1rdymflo1_500

I had been using a laundry service ever since.  They came and picked up my dirty clothes and returned them washed and folded.  I liked the service so much, I just never got around to replacing the broke down machine.  But people buying a new house do not want to inherit old problems, so I bought a new washer and dryer.  The guys showed up yesterday to install them and that’s when I found out why the previous owner and been so insistent that we take the old one.  They will not fit out of the laundry room, nor the new ones fit in.

tumblr_oagvpobpWG1ufc6n6o1_500

Those tits!  Them  biceps!  And glasses!

The owners two before us had built in a number of shelves and cabinets and closets around the house, all very beautifully constructed and which I have tried to keep cause I can appreciate how much work they represent.  Some I’ve had to tear out, just because they didn’t work with how I wanted to use the room, or they were in the way, but plenty I still use and am grateful for.

One of these closets is in the little passageway between the kitchen and the laundry room.  The trim work on the side in the laundry room makes the space to pass through 28 inches wide  The washers, both old and new, are 28 and a half inches wide.  A half fucking inch.  That’s what ground the whole project to a halt.  I wound up telling them to just unload the new machines in the garage and I would deal with it.  They seemed very contrite as if they had let me down, when in fact, it was my architecture’s fault.

tumblr_onszl2loAI1t9v129o1_500

Anyway, that’s where my “Do one thing a night” program simply ground to a halt.  The delivery guys left, taking their overwhelming cloud of perfume sort of with them (and why is that?  Why do delivery and installer guys all wear such liberal doses of scent.  Worse, why is it so often the very kind of perfume that gives me headaches?)  they left, I went upstairs, took an Ativan and my pain medicine, fed Saki so he wouldn’t harass me overly and then climbed in bed.  Good night and god bless.

tumblr_onwfd983Cu1ufc6n6o1_500

oh.  my.

What I have since come to realize is that the cabinet maker owner must have built the closet while the machine was there.  Those owners were only the second ones the house had had, which leads me to believe that fucking washing machine was the original one for the house.  And the house was 50 years old last year, so that washing machine has been grinding along since Ginger and Mary Ann were miraculously wearing clean outfits on Gilligan’s Island.  Also, if that poor old thing had just held on nine more months, I could have sold it with the house and never even discovered this whole quagmire of insurmountable half inches.

tumblr_oo5xt3vnm51rdpllxo1_500

That HAIR.  Oh dear.

This morning, I called my handyman Jose.  He’s My Guy.  All homeowners eventually wind up with A Guy, someone who can unclog things and electrify that which is un-electric, and in general keep your house from falling apart.  Jose was unfazed by my description of the catastrophe and assured me he will be over after lunch tomorrow and fix it.  And he will. I have never known Jose to let me down.  His esthetic choices are pretty shaky, but I have learned when to just cut in and announce a different choice in color or material.  Aside from that, he is the best My Guy you could ask for.

As usual, the  beefcake today is made possible by For the love of NudeMuscleMen   the best naked guy site I know of.  I am very grateful to them simply for existing.

For Sale

Standard
tumblr_lprfdobmHQ1qaobbko1_500

I assume this is true both philosophically true as well as applying to the massive buttocks pictured below.

Yes, I am selling my house and moving to a smaller place down in the world famous gay neighborhood, the Castro.  Why?  I love my house here, being located in this canyon means it is amazingly quiet and peaceful for being in the very center of San Francisco, but I need the money.  Apparently, since R Man and I bought it 21 years ago, it has become worth a buttload of money.  That is a real estate technical term.  If I were to access that buttload, I would return to my previous status of Wealthy Widow.  I’m not wild about being a widow, but if you have to be one, wealthy is definitely the way to go.
tumblr_obeow5Z96I1utghlmo1_500

First, some muscle pussy, cause this is a really long post and you need something to get you through it.

I met with a couple of realtors, the first was Ruth, whom I kept calling Julie and who turned out to be a Mean Girl.  She has been dismissed from our lives.  Let us speak of her no more.  The second, Wendy, was much more to my liking, a lesbian of a certain age, who was much more complimentary to my house and decorating (tip to realtors wooing potential clients: do not diss a gay man’s decor) but the selling point was the first thing.  She came in, we walked up to the dining room so I could show her the garden before it got dark and she said “What a beautiful ceanothus.”  Sold.  The ceanothus is this big shrub right in the middle of my garden that this time of year is covered in purple flowers.  I think this particular one is the best I’ve ever seen, it is my pride and joy, and she knew what it was.  We had a long very interesting talk, without her realizing she had already won.
So, she’s with Sotheby’s.  Oh my dear, oh yes.  They’re going to produce a booklet about the house, the samples of which she showed me were the most expensive looking printed material I’ve ever seen outside of a good book store.  And a VIDEO.  Not just a video, but one shot with a drone for aerial views.  I am not making this up.  When it’s online I’ll post the link.
The plan both proposed was for a stager to redo the house.  Wendy was much more delicate about urging it, but apparently when asking for the buttload of money I want, staging is a must.  I had already known I would have to repaint.  My stairwell and upstairs hall are painted black.  Counting on someone to dig the black hall seemed like a long shot.  How many Goth kids are in the real estate market these days?  So the stagers will handle all the painting and repairing a barely functional shower that has been the bane of Diane von Austinburg’s visits for years.  They will use their own furniture, thus I’m moving before I sell the place.  Life is so complicated.
The big problem, as usual, is Saki.  I have to get him and the eau de kitty out.  So we’re going to move out, rent some place for the time it takes to fix up the house, show it, sell it and then find a new one to buy.  Did I mention that point?  I’m buying a small place down in the Castro, hopefully for a great deal less than what I sell this one for.   I am actually OK with the moving out part, I do not want to be dodging the realtor showing the house and it is the only way to get rid of the cat smell.
Once I  resigned myself to selling the house, the first thing I thought of was holding an estate sale.  Imagine the thrill of not just going to one but being the ruler of it. I have invited Diane von Austinburg to act as co-ruler, I’d love it.  She is considering it.  Think of the thrill of watching people fight over the crap she and I have dragged back from various thrifting adventures over the years.  I cannot wait.  And I am serious about unloading.  Everything must go.  I’m keeping my bed, and few other bits and pieces, but aside from that, it is all on.  Make me an offer for the cat and I will consider it.
Last night I was organizing my vast porn collection to give away and wound up with the floor of my bedroom covered in stacks of magazines (I had decided to organize them by titles.  I now have no idea why)  It was exhausting, and as I dragged my poor aching carcass to bed, I thought “I’m going to trip over this in the dark on a pee run.”  I was too tired to care and a few hours later, sure enough, coming back in, tripped and went down like the Titanic.  Fortunately, I already had an appointment with my chiropractor and he helped, but I am still sore.  Why is life so hard?
Here’s one last look at Chez Moi:
living rm

My living room

rug

My favorite rug,  The center is a lantern hanging from a branch protruding from a cliff.  Love.

dm bureau

A tiny little Danish modern bureau which

vanity

ta-dah, converts to a vanity when you flip up the top.

my room

My room, where absolutely no magic happens.  That red lump on the cedar chest is Saki napping in one of his many, many beds scattered around the place.

saki sleep

When the relator I like showed up, the first thing I said was “I blame everything on the cat.”

smut better

And finally, my late, great smut collection, now handed off to some weird guy from Oakland who repeatedly announced he had OCD.  Whatever.  Adieu, my paper dolls. God love you and thank you for the countless hours (cumulatively) you have given me.

No Bahs, No Humbugs

Standard

As i mentioned recently, I have decided to make peace with Christmas decorations.  Afterall, no matter how I spit and fume, they are not going anywhere, they are (sort of ) attractive, and all too soon tax season will be upon us; save your venom for then.

In that vein, I decided to photograph the prim and terribly quiet neighborhood I live next to (their home owners association will not accept our street.  How mortifying.) and which I drive through to the grocery store.  When I say they are prim and quiet to the point of being prissy, I mean that for the balance of the year.  Come Yuletide, these motherfucker start slinging gaudy, vulgar decorations around like a dock whore on a crack vacation.

My apologies for the crappy  quality of the photos, it’s the best my phone can do at night on the way home from the grocery with me just leaning out of the window.

IMG_20171218_203030399

The classic California Xmas: a palm tree wrapped in lights.

IMG_20171218_203951835.jpg

Or just some random bush

IMG_20171218_203438213.jpg

I am actually old enough to remember when they introduced simple white lights as an alternative to all the cheery colorful madness.  They seemed SO minimalistic and tasteful.  Now  I think they’re just dull.  Step it up bitches or step off.

IMG_20171218_203244507.jpg

The “Why Bother?”

IMG_20171218_203823291.jpg

And the grand finale, “The Blockbuster.”  I only regret I couldn’t capture the tinkling carole music that I assume grinds aloong nonstop and which, were I their neighbor, would drive me to attck it with a pick axe.

Please note, none of these trashy hoes are on MY street.  I look out my window and all I can see are those awful compact fluorescent lightbulbs lighting front porches waaiting for UPS men to draw near.

So anyway, joyeux Noel, bitches.  My plan for christmas? Extra oxycodone and consciousness only when Saki absolutely demands it for me to feed him.

My security guard will be enforcing this.

5307184114_5b816397bd_zabc

Monumental

Standard

img_5673Earlier this summer, there was a sudden rush to finally, finally rid several Southern cities of the statues that littered them and which were memorials to the Confederate side of the Civil War.  The side that lost, but that held on to a grudge that still lasts.

tumblr_ox039q5l7o1qz6f9yo5_1280Most of them had been nominally erected by the widows and mothers and children of men who had marched off, but never came back.  That is, granted, a sad motivation, but just behind the respectable shield of grieving for the dead was the horrible reality of what those men had died for.  Those idiot boys had gone to war to protect the institution of slavery

tumblr_ox039q5l7o1qz6f9yo1_1280

Growing up as I did in Texas in the 1950s and 60s seemed to be the end times for sentimentality over the Civil War.  The passionate,Victorian era clock-winders that I had read about or seen in movies were all gone.  I went to a white elementary school, but integration had found its way into my unimportant little burg by the time I entered middle and high school.  The circle of losers and nerds who comprised my friends had black members; my parents seethed that I had black friends.  The century of the war ending happened the year I turned 9, and to a 9-year-old, a century is the definition of forever.

tumblr_ox039q5l7o1qz6f9yo4_1280

And then boom, this summer, we are suddenly back to Great Lost Era of mrpeenee’s Ninth Year.  I had seen the statues and memorials and ignored them.  Considering they had lost, the South had a mania for enduring no one would forget.  OK.  Won’t forget, got it on my to do list.  Only, I never once considered what we were be excoriated to remember.  I had black friends in a high school named for Robert E. Lee, the major commander of the southern forces.  I had more immediate things to ignore.

tumblr_ox039q5l7o1qz6f9yo6_1280

So now the statues have been removed, some by work crews who had to disguise the company’s name and their own identities because the tempest over that removal was so hot.  And now all that’s left behind are the bases, or plinths, they rested on.  There is a much lower pitch struggle over how to deal with them.

tumblr_ox039q5l7o1qz6f9yo7_1280

I say leave them, now as memorials to the struggle a lot of right-minded people fought over more than a century that their generals and statesmen graced them and that they were a constant source of irritation and pain to the descendents of the slaves those men fought and died to make sure remained slaves.

tumblr_ox039q5l7o1qz6f9yo2_1280

Even with the monuments gone, no one is going to forget the Civil War or the guilt America bears for allowing some men to own other men in the first place.  Several of the plinths are very attractive in their own right and with the statues gone, all they are is sort of sad.  Leaving them standing empty is not some defiant, sore loser gesture against the fight to remove the shameful memorials but as a salute for a long, grinding fight that was finally won.

I’m proud of the people who fought that fight and congratulate them.  Maybe they should have a salute for all they did.  Maybe they should have a monument.

tumblr_ox039q5l7o1qz6f9yo10_1280

I Wish I had a Man Around the House

Standard

The refrigerator started making an ominous thumping noise a few days ago like the bass line from the trailer for a bad science-fiction movie.  Two days later it was colder outside than in.  Our old plumber had died.  Thats how long we’e lived here, we have outlived our service guys, so I had to find a new one.  I had one in mind like this:

sexy-handyman-calendar-apr

The opening shot of sooooooooooooo many vids.

But he answered the phone with a dense Russian accent,  so I had to adjust my fantasy pipe layer to something more like this:

859a62bf615b17992125dfa7d2b11115

Yu vant your pipe laid?

He came out and said the freezer drain and gotten plugged and turned the bottom of the freezer into an ice berg.  A thaw, an extra copper wire to heat the drainpipe more effectively. and a couple of hundred bucks.   Do I really have to mention he did not look like any of these Slavic dreamboats?  Amazingly, at least I didn’t have to buy a new refrigerator.

I love my house, but I hate taking care of it.  There is a constant sense that I should be doing more and since my daily schedule is rather relaxed.

tumblr_ombcjexf6Z1u1vkloo1_1280

I suppose it’s not exactly The Impossible Dream.

So when my tub began draining slowly (and for a boy raised in the swamps to notice means the water is REALLY  leisurely on its exit,) I decided to fix it myself.  It helped my confidence that I had done this before.  The seal is actually a small bucket shaped thingy (wittily called “a bucket.”) that hangs from two brass rods that connect to the back of the plate that holds the little switch.

I got the bucket and wires, took the bathtub drain apart, with a great deal of assistance from the cat, and found out,  naturellement, I had gotten the wrong part.  It’s not the bucket, its the lever the bucker connects to. I hd simply allowed myself to be swayed by the dream that a plumbing device was called a bucket.  On the bright side, the wee little bucket is just the right size for the Barbie Doll Diorama I’m still planning on creating.

maxresdefault

 

A Master of Distraction

Standard

 So this is the moraine of paperwork on my desk I’d sworn to get to this evening; some of it goes back to December.  Taxes to file, bills to pay, snark to snark.  But first I had to find the camera to take a picture of it and then Saki wouldn’t get off the chair and then I had to go get some cookies and then I remembered that when Secret Agent Fred and I were watching reruns of RuPaul’s season 4 Drag Race, I had meant to find a picture of Fred’s favorite member of their Pit Crew, Shawn Morales.

So obviously I had to get all that out of the way and now Saki is back demanding I make a lap for him to sit on.  Who knows if, or when, any of the paper beast will be tamed.

And once again, Saki commandeers the good chair.  Am I supposed to file taxes standing up?

In Which Cash is Dropped

Standard
Crepe myrtles, one of my favorite Southern flowers, in bloom

Attention, People of Earth:

So anyway, I got a charming postcard from an old friend (isn’t that quaint?)  which reminded me I needed to attend to my own quaint writing medium and now here we all are.  Welcome back.

New Orleans?  Fabulous, darlings.  I swept through thrift stores,  junk malls, and Good Antique Shoppes with equal abandon, flinging the bucks like a drunk sailor in a cathouse.  mrpeenee’s credit card has a new, possibly permanent dent in it, but it was worth it.

I found a beautiful big dining table with a huge dark green marble top, a pair of charming antique armchairs, reupholstered in a lovely grey and white stripe,  a couple of chest of drawers, a very pretty chandelier that will be much improved by having some of its fussier crystals removed, lamps and a vase.  I also met with the cabinet maker who’s doing the kitchen and picked out the marble and tiles for the baths and the kitchen and the bricks for the patio.

Also, I got to see for the first time the couch I bought online.    Sweet.

Ooh, also, a lovely little drop leaf desk.  We must have seen fifty of them, or more.  Where on earth could they all have come from suddenly?

Chandelier in a box.  I rather like the minimalist implications, but I think I might hang it without the cardboard, what the hell.

My talent for arbitrary decisions stood me in good stead; I chose the bricks in under five minutes.  It probably took us longer to park.  I just don’t see the point of dithering, especially over something like patio flooring.  I’ve discovered it seems so overwhelming when you’re standing in the middle of eleventy million options, but then once they’re installed you never critically look at them again.  After all, they’re just bricks, or light fixtures, or faucets.  You see something you like, take it.  Perfection is not achievable, says the buddha.  Or mrpeenee.  One of us, anyway.

Quiet, please.  Can’t you see tattoo buddha is taking a nap?

But that’s only in person. I came home to nail down the bathtubs and sinks and stoves and whatnot online and once again the internet with its vast universe of choices reduced me to a blob of indecision.  Until, that is, I recalled how effective cutting myself off from porn until I at least picked out a goddam tub had been.

And it’s a good thing naked muscly men are such an effective driver for me since renovation on the house has suddenly shifted into some kind of warp speed.  When I left there, all the interior walls had been ripped out and the floors in the bathrooms were nonexistent.  Now word reaches us framing has finished and walls are going up.  Hoo hoo!  Walls!  Floors! All kinds of cool house stuff.

The Lisp

Just another WordPress.com weblog

A Queens' Queen in Exile

Memoirs on the death of camp

Mean Dirty Pirate

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

Lethal Dose

"One way or another, we all work for our vice."

LẌ ENTROPY

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

63 mago

No kids, no pets, no sports

Tomass Hawkke's Naked Nature

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

fullfathomfive

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

Give 'em the old Razzle Dazzle

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

Clutter From The Gutter

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

mitten drinnen

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

Suffering fools badly!

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

The Redundant Variety Hour

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

Café Muscato

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay

The Hair Hall of Fame

Lazy, Sassy, and Gay