Dear human beings who are my friends,
I’m sorry to have scared you. I know I should have told you where I was. It’s not safe to go away without letting someone know of your whereabouts. Well, all two of you reading this can breath a sigh of relief this glorious Monday because I have returned. Where was I, you asked? I was on furlo (the ugh at that end of the word really is gratuitous). Or furluff if you’re not so good with vocabulary. If you’re in a fairly solvent industry like pornography or Internet wizardry, you might not know what a furlough is. I’ll tell you. A furlough is where you get to take a fabulous staycation to your luxe living room for a week while your job doesn’t pay you. It’s like vacation time only without the vacation or the wages. Sounds awesome, right? Right.
So a furlough is the new black. (This is how I know I’m losing my grip- that I just used the phrase “blah blah blah is the new black.”) All the cool companies are doing it. It’s a way of not passing out the pink slips. I guess I’m down with that. I’d rather take a week without pay than a year or more standing in the breadline.
I know you’re all desperate to know how I spent my furlough so I won’t tarry in my description of the awesomeness that ensued. First, I performed in the Drag Ball on Valentine’s Day evening. Then I went to the Adirondacks. Then I went to the post office and the FedEx. Then I went to Florida. Then I came home. Then I went to Montpelier. Then I went to Smuggs. Then I went to Sugarbush. Then I came in to work. It’s was pretty action-packed, so I’ll just give you the highlights.
My sweetie is the nation of Florida at the moment, so I took part of my freebie week off to go have a visit. Sweet god do I love Florida. With all the anti-abortion billboards and Baptist churches, it’s totally my kind of place. But I’m confused about something. According to one anti-abortion billboard I saw, a fetus’s heart begins beating at 18 days. Another billboard about a mile away said a fetus’s heart starts beating at 21 days. Is it 18 days or is it 21? I’ve got to know because that’s going to make the difference in whether I get an abortion or not. If anybody knows the answer to this, I’d love to hear it.
Anyway, so Florida is filled with people who love god, hate abortions and feel ambivalent about recycling. We had to collect our bottles and cans so we could bring them back to Vermont since there were no recycling bins in Orlando. Take that, Bill McKibben! You’re not the only one who loves the planet.
While we were perambulating around Orlando, we saw a church complex that spanned a city block the size of Delaware. This church had a school attached to it and outside the school was a caravan of champagne-colored SUVS driven by perfectly coiffed moms waiting to pick up their kiddies. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why these moms needed these SUVS. I didn’t see any snow in Florida, nor did I see any mountains. The roads weren’t dimpled with Lake Okeechobee-sized potholes and there didn’t seem to be any debris that needed to be driven over, so why the need for the huge honking car? I know this is a stupid question, and one that’s asked by every earth-loving, homespun clothing-wearing, hybrid car-driving neo-yippy who’s ever waggled a finger at someone feeding their kid a McDonalds Happy Meal. I know it’s not about NEED; it’s about entitlement. Because these people pray to Jesus and don’t get abortions, they have a right to drive these ridiculous cars that have now become Detroit’s biggest miscalculation. I dig it. That’s why I’m going to find me a megachurch pronto, bang a tamborine, squeeze my eyelids tight and shezam!- no more Pontiac Vibrator for me. No more 35mpg for me. Heck no. My new ride (preferably an Abrams battle tank) is gonna guzzle enough oil to pay for the completion of Dubai’s Disneyfication.
But I seriously digress. This is supposed to be about my furlough, not about the fundamental differences between Vermont and Florida. Bo-ring. So let’s sum up the rest of my trip to Florida- Mexican food, Cuban food, bad gas, mountain biking sans mountains, billboards, rain, shopping, getting lost. Then I came home. I flew on JetBlue and I’m now officially in love with everyone who works for them. What a sensational airline. They’ve got some serious sass, which is always appreciated. During a final boarding call, the gate agent called into the intercom “We love you, we need you, but we won’t hesitate to leave you.” Genius.
But alas, my furlough has come to an end. My mandatory week off of work without pay ended with a banging Oscar costume party in which I won the award for “Best Chaps.” See photo below:
(My outfit for the “Pajamas with Flair” competition was inspired by Calamity Jane- a union suit, or in this case a fleece adult onesie, with chaps, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat and a big belt buckle. So hot.)
Now I’m back to work and apparently making money. Until the next furlough.
ps- Big up to the Culture Buddies for my Oscar costume award.
