Clear my schedule. Hold all my calls. Hold all these giant palm fronds too–I have to go to the bathroom and don’t want to get my fronds dirty. Plus, they make you look ridiculous all stacked up in your arms like that, which amuses me. The point is, I have just discovered The Best Thing Ever, and I don’t think I’ll be getting much of anything done for the foreseeable future. No, I’m not talking about drawing mustaches on expensive oil paintings. That’s called Art Crime and it’s a felony. What do you think happened to all those cartoon characters who drew mustaches on expensive oil paintings? They went to federal prison. No, The Best Thing Ever is, in my arrogant opinion, reading reviews of horrible hotels on TripAdvisor. If you haven’t experienced The Best Thing Ever first-hand, allow me to give you a dramatic writing: AVOID THIS HOTEL LIKE THE PLAGUE. Because it is infected with the plague, and if you stay here you will get the plague and no longer be able to use the phrase, “Avoid this ____ like the plague” without a depressing sense of irony. We checked into this glorified rat salon at 1 am, and immediately contracted the plague. After switching rooms three times, because they all contained wild animals with a variety of highly evolved defenses, we were led into an alleyway, and robbed. Granted, we probably should have notified the police at that point, but we were hungry and wanted room service. The manager, whom I believe was also a wild animal, informed us that room service did not service alleyways and besides did not exist. Starving, and a teensy bit tired from the plague, we decided to cut our losses and check into the Hilton across the street. Two-and-a-half stars.
I’m back. If you read that in the voice of a fabulous fashion designer who has just returned from their expensive trip to Paris and is showered and caffeinated, you are way off. You should have read that more in the voice of the fashion designer’s assistant, who just crashed the fashion designer’s car on the way back from the car wash. Also they haven’t showered or had any coffee or slept in three days. Why is coming back from vacation so hard? Am I just especially lazy, or does everyone feel like a five-year-old leaving Disney World during the Back-From-Vacation-Come-Down? It’s as if my body was designed specifically for vacation, and now that I’m back in the real world and not doing things like Sleeping In and Taking Naps and Eating S’Mores, nearly all of my major bodily faculties are revolting [Jackie Gleason Voice : You can say that again!!!]. OK, who am I kidding: I’m still Eating S’mores – it’s the sleeping part that I’m really missing. For some reason, having a job doesn’t really vibe with waking up at 10 AM, eating a doughnut and going back to sleep. Then again, maybe I am in the wrong industry. Does anyone know of a job that allows you to simulate the effects of vacation at all times? How about some sort of psychological test subject where scientists measure the effects of Not Working over the span of an entire lifetime? I would be the first to sign up, let me tell you. I suppose the only downside of being a professional vacationer is that- NEVERMIND THERE ARE NO DOWNSIDES.