HEY. HEY YOU. Happy Thanksgiving! Today is a day when we all come together as one and celebrate the things we are thankful for. We gather around a candlelit table, link arms with our family and friends, and cheerfully clink our glasses to celebrate another year of health and leisure.
…or none of that. Turns out that most human beings don’t have Norman Rockwell-style holidays with steaming turkeys and apple cheeked kids. We don’t live in a sitcom where all the kids come home from college for the holidays and play football in the yard with the family dog. Yeah, that’s right. I don’t have a stripe-y scarf to wear as I kick the leaves down the sidewalk in front of my old playground, hand in hand with my high-school sweetheart before going home to play Scrabble over mugs of cocoa with Mom and Pop.
And you know what? I’m totally okay with that. Sure, I’ll miss seeing my family this year, but we don’t need to sit across a table and argue with each other to get the most out of the holiday season. In fact, my dad and stepmom hardly even eat meat, and Tofurkey is some kind of sick joke, so this year I’m thankful for my own holiday traditions. Every year for the past three years, me and my best gays have gotten together on for a Displaced Thanksgiving. The group of us did theater together in Oregon and then by odd twists of fate, all ended up in New York together. And as it turns out, flights home are mucho expensivo (that’s French for ‘very expensive’) when you’re not in college and your parents aren’t paying for them anymore, so we decided to make our own celebrations.
Every year we get a nice tom torkey and name it after one of the contestants on RuPaul’s Drag Race. That show is the closest thing to a sitcom on which we base our festivities. The first year it was Shannel, the second it was Pandora Boxx, the third we had two birds and their names were Mimi Imfurst and Shangela. The lady turkeys fuss and fight that they don’t want us to film their tuck, but we pay them no mind as we fill them with stuffing and baste them to our hearts content as they bake happily in the Interior Illusions Lounge. The champagne flows like water, the Turkey Trot is a-playin’, and you don’t have to have your polite family faces on. If you try to make stuffing for the first time and it comes out disgusting, your friends will have no problem telling you that and reminding you of it for years to come.
So that’s what I’ll be doing this evening instead of gathering around the table with every member of my impossibly attractive and well-dressed family. Sure, I’ll miss my Tofurkey fam, but my drag queen turkey and displaced Oregonians need me, and I could be happier.
Can I getta AMEN?