Dinner Party Etiquette: From Social Caveman to Classy Guest + Gay Campgrounds Revisited

Recently, I attended a dinner party. Yes, you read that right—a bona fide dinner party, complete with hors d’oeuvres, polite chuckles, and the subtle clinking of water glasses. Now, attending such an event might seem routine for some, but for me, it was akin to stepping onto an alien planet. You see, while juggling the delightful trifecta of a divorce, bankruptcy, and launching a new business—all within the same year—I decided to add another challenge to my repertoire: mastering the art of adult dinner party etiquette. .

How I usually feel in formal settings

But let’s backtrack a bit. Amidst this whirlwind year, I found myself entangled in the labyrinthine world of taxes. If you haven’t experienced the joy of navigating tax codes post-divorce, post-bankruptcy, and mid-business launch, let me paint you a picture: it’s like trying to assemble IKEA furniture blindfolded, underwater, while reciting Shakespeare. Fun times. The silver lining? Discovering that blogging about my escapades could be considered a business expense. So, dear IRS auditor reading this, rest assured, this blog post is as much for you as it is for my readers. And speaking of business endeavors, a shameless plug: my latest book, “Gay Campgrounds Revisited,” is now available. Help a guy out and grab a copy, won’t you?

Now, back to the dinner party. Growing up, dinner parties weren’t exactly a staple in our household. Our social gatherings were more “dollar-store tuna surprise” than “canapés and crudités.” My father, a struggling artist with a penchant for the bottle, and my mother, a wonderfully kind woman battling manic depression (love you, Mom!), didn’t have the bandwidth to impart the finer points of etiquette. It wasn’t until I took a hard look at my life and realized I was missing some crucial social skills that I decided to take action.

Step one: acknowledge the gap. I penned a blog post about my social ineptitude, laying bare my shortcomings for the world to see.

Step two: educate myself. I purchased a stack of books on etiquette, table manners, and the art of conversation.

Step three: absorb the knowledge. I devoured those books, highlighter in hand, determined to transform from social caveman to suave gentleman.

Step four: put theory into practice. And thus, the dinner party.

Armed with my newfound knowledge, I arrived at the soirée a fashionable ten minutes late, a potted spring flower in hand—a hostess gift idea I picked up from my readings. I made it a point to engage in pleasant conversation with every guest, deploying active listening skills and open-ended questions like a pro. As the evening wound down and guests began to leave, I followed suit, avoiding the dreaded overstay. The pièce de résistance? Upon returning home, I penned a handwritten thank-you note to the host and dropped it in the mail. Social caveman challenge: conquered.

We blur faces, not personalities. Guest identities replaced with Adobe Technology for Privacy.

An unexpected delight of the evening was discovering the intricate web of connections among the guests. I ran into a friend from recovery and a friend from yoga, only to learn they’ve been partners for 19 years. It was a beautiful reminder of the interconnectedness of our communities. At that dinner table, labels, cliques, and social hierarchies melted away, leaving only genuine human connection.

Special thanks to our gracious host and his downstairs ex-partner, who whipped up a delectable meal. The evening was a testament to personal growth, the power of showing up, and the magic that happens when we step out of our comfort zones.

So, dear readers (and IRS auditors), as I continue this journey of self-improvement and entrepreneurial endeavors, I invite you to join me. Let’s break free from old patterns, embrace new challenges, and maybe, just maybe, attend a dinner party or two. And don’t forget to check out “Gay Campgrounds Revisited.” Your support not only fuels my caffeine addiction but also keeps this blog—and my tax deductions—alive. Cheers!

PS: A Quick Note About Gay Campgrounds Revisited

This release is more than just a book—it’s my Taylor’s Version. After buying back the rights, I completely rewrote and redesigned it to reclaim ownership from the Amazon machine. The original is still on Amazon, but this ones just for you guys, as intended. More importantly it’s now fully mine, fully independent, and fully me. So if you want to support queer creators, ethical publishing, and a deeply personal reissue that screams “artist in control,” snag a copy. Let’s make this the gay Folklore era. 🌲🏕️✨

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