Hello darlings. Yes, again– my honest apologies for the lag in posts. I’ve been far too busy social-climbing my way onto the A-LIST GAYS party roster. So far so good; Next week I’m invited to one of this town’s parties of the year at the classiest of classy hotels. Any socialite in this city worth their five inch Louboutins and Rent The Runway size zero cocktail dress will be there. Which leads me to that Groucho Marx quote: “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member…” I feel lucky to be invited. Actually I feel like the smudge nosed, peddler girl in My Fair Lady when she sells her handful of violets. Lucky. I feel fucking lucky.
Earlier this week I attended a charity gala; my name was even printed in the gala program as I was part of the planning committee seated among the ladies-who-lunch, media interns, and junior league beauties; I was one of three gay guys. It was not a black tie type shindig; it was a bit more casual. Some of the old guard probably recycled something from the dark recesses of their en suite adjacent walk-in closets. C H A N E L really doesn’t have a bridge line that suggests we get fashionably busy to find the cure for mesothelioma; get on that Karl. Nonetheless all the posh ones were present and accounted for last week in their tight, shiny face jobs, firm boob jobs, and luxe hair extensions. Though I question the need for big firm hooters on a 70-year old. Maybe I’ll understand once I reach that age. Which is nearing closer than my lifelong mandate not to lie about my age. Maybe next year’s big zero birthday is the time to start lying.
Oh. I celebrated a recent birthday on the coast. I’ll let you dream about which coast for the sake of my anonymity and to protect the innocent. When I returned from my trip I spiraled into a shit show via social media where my lazy decision to not contact an acquaintance in aforementioned coast town was equated to the ‘ho bitch slap heard ’round the world. I don’t understand people; we haven’t communicated in years. I didn’t see the need to reconnect as I’m still nursing wounds from a perceived slight. Gay drama. It’s maddening. I mean, I will own my part in the rift but at this age, can’t we all just get along? “Bitch, what you did was shitty. I forgive you; now– do you want vodka or gin for that martini?” Life is too short. I keep saying this nowadays. No one is hearing my warning shot.