Fairy fairy godmother

I’m missing my best gay. He passed away a few years ago. I’ve mostly always had a fabulous gay man in my life, a life-partner in crime, if you will. The irony is, now that I work in a salon, I don’t. WEIRD.

I’ve noticed lately I can’t get enough Project Runway/Jonathan Adler/E News, and I’ve realized I don’t have nearly enough Simon Doonan in my life.  Where are all the WITTY men, not funny mind you, but mildly bitchy/quick witted men. They don’t have to be gay, I have a friend J, that is straight as an arrow, but our favorite activity together is to mock others not so quietly. (Behind their backs, obviously, or to their faces in such a stealth way, they wonder 3 hours later if we were making fun or not).  Although gay is nice, because I also enjoy a good kvetching.

Maybe it’s me, maybe I’m not being a good enough hag, or maybe I just haven’t met Mr. MaryFabulous yet.

So for now, Simon will have to do.

RANDOM SCRIBBLINGS

I guess I’m just old-fashioned in this regard, preferring as I do the object of my attentions to be attractive, clean and successful. Having been born in a two-room walk-up flat with no kitchen or bathroom, I have never understood the concept of downward aspiration. Call me kooky, but if I had to choose between a summer grope in the bushes with a 58-year-old pot-bellied unemployed van driver named Norman Kirtland, and a lifetime of fun and fabulousness with my husband Jonathan, I would pick my Jonny. It is impossible for me to imagine looking at the unemployed van driver and saying to myself, “Gotta get me some of that!” Not so George Michael: Suddenly this summer—or so alleged the tabloid News of the World—the talented George picked the pot-bellied van driver.

As a committed Wham! fan and an incurable romantic, I was hugely relieved to hear that George is denying the whole thing. George! I believe you, even if nobody else does. Now go back to that nice boyfriend of yours, that upscale bloke with the art gallery, and marry him!

(Simon Doonan)