Culture isn't just for petri dishes

Once upon a time I had fancy people in my life...okay, mostly gay guys who liked to dress in drag and throw fabulous dinner parties...but they were fancy! Time came for them to move on, some for good reasons, some for bad, but all for a reason...and I realized the other day...I no longer have anyone in my life to keep me...cultured.

I had a circle who discussed art, theater, literature, dance music... who knew what to do with a rack of lamb. Their Christmas trees looked like they came from Macy's windows and their Halloween costumes from Vegas. They could quote Shakespeare and Madonna. They wore shoes worth more than my car and they accepted me as a project.

Teach the little ragamuffin about far off distant lands...like NYC, and teach her which one is Dolce and which one is Gabanna.

It didn't matter what you did for a living, where you lived, what you drove, where you came from...in fabulous fancy man land everyone was a makeover away from being perfection and every get together left you exhausted with delight. There was always champagne and caviar in the fridge...and it was replenished on a regular basis.

As I said, this was a circle that could be broken, bye and bye to all by and by. And now I find myself feeling my brain turning to mush, my manners vanishing all together (did I really just lick pizza goldfish cracker dust off my pant leg with a wet finger? Yep. 5 second rule applies to denim.)

I work in a dead end job with decidedly unfancy men who sweat and burp and worse in front of me and consider me one of the guys...gee thanks. That sexily works when in a pick up game of hoops, but not so much at your desk.

So I am setting out to be my own fancy facillitator. Yes, I have made a pact with myself to be my own gay man! lol.

Now where did I leave those  Manolos?