Yesterday I did my griping about my Orlando trip re: Universal Fail. Today I’m going to do the far happier “trip round-up” thing which may or may not segue into a Disney Part Two post, but that requires me to be dutiful and shit. I’m not so good at that. Sometimes I forget where I am never mind remembering that I should be blogging.
Anyway, without further ado!
Let’s get it out of the way. Yes, it was a great time. Small issues were bound to happen with ten people, but all in all, a very successful vacation endeavor.
Michael wore a pedometer while we were there to see how many steps he was taking each day. He averaged about 19k which translates to around 9 miles of walking. We weren’t going at a ridiculously fast pace. So if you’re going to Florida and plan on DOING Disney for five days? THEM SHOES ARE REAL IMPORTANT, YO. BREAK ‘EM IN, GET THE ORTHOPEDIC UGLY ONES, WHATEVER WILL PRESERVE THE TOOTSIES.
It was 90 plus degrees with four billion humidity. We were effectively breathing through a sweaty man’s armpit. YOU’RE WELCOME FOR THAT ANALOGY.
If you don’t want the Disney characters to bother you at all, have someone in the party wear a cow hat. It’s like a beacon of weird.
I’d never attended the Luau at the Polynesian before and frankly I wouldn’t again. It was entertaining enough, but the first half of the dinner show is like the Mickey Mouse club in Hawaii. Music and innocence and so saccharin sweet you could gag on it. The second half is a bunch of people doing tribal dances in very tiny clothing. With so many kids in attendance, the now-leering adults made it weird for me. Some of the dancers were skilled enough to pull off the performance without looking like extras from Fleshdance, but others? Not so much. One male dancer in particular did the pelvic thrust like his previous job was at Weasels the Strip Club. Uncomfortable! And I think I’m pregnant now!
Eating at Il Mulino’s at the Swan Hotel is a privilege. As is Teppan Edo. No, seriously. Fat Kid loved those two meals, though I can’t really say enough nice things about the onion rings at the Sci-Fi Drive-In theater, either. If I could write poetry about those onion rings I would. Sadly, I’m a terrible poet, so let’s leave it at THOSE ONION RINGS WERE WICKED PISSAH.
This dude liked me way too much. Creepy bear. CREEEEEEPY.
Seanan McGuire is a patient lady. She put up with all of our fangirl/boying like a trooper. She didn’t even really bat much of an eye when Michael gave her a giant bopper Q-Tip. Good on her!
So we’re in line for the Tower of Terror and I think it was Greg that said something along the lines of, “Being held in only by a lap bar on this ride is crazy.” I concurred. I missed said lap bar muchly, though, when we went into the ride and they strapped us in with nylon seat belts instead. This tiny strap of nylon was the only thing holding you inside of this shaking death machine. It was still fun, mind you, but Greg had effectively done the, “HOW COULD IT POSSIBLY GET ANY WORSE” thing. Thanks Greg, you ruiner.
Unless of course you’re photo-bombing. You don’t ruin anything then. You have a rare talent, my friend.
Becky can lose anything not stapled to her head. How she actually went home on the right flight with her wallet, her glasses, and her child in hand remains a mystery to me.
The Splash Mountain ride is infinitely more entertaining when the log is filled with adults to weigh the log down. Eric and Dave would probably disagree as they were in the front portion of the log and thus got obliterated by water, but those of us in the back sure thought it was funny. Sorry, Guys!
Water also attacked Eric on the Kali River Rapids. He’d avoided getting soaked on the two big falls, but right before we were supposed to get off, the raft rotated just enough that he got blasted in the back of the head by a water spout. No one else got hit. Eric got nailed. It was glorious and sort of sad at the same time.
Adult-like and adultery are NOT the same thing. Lemme ‘splain. So one night of the trip the group of us got the brilliant idea to go to the bar, get tanked, then go back to one of the hotel rooms and play Cards Against Humanity. Brilliant time despite the repercussions (more on that later.) The next morning, Becky’s son Ethan looked at her and asked if we were going to have another adultery party with booze. As Becky had taken my bed that night and was sleeping in the same room as my husband and I was in the pull-out bed next door with Scott and Brody, adultery party could (and would) get misconstrued many, many ways. She attempted to steer him away from confusing adult-like and adultery going forward, but it’s hard when you’re laughing so hard that you snort like a piglet. Which Becky TOTALLY DOES NOT DO WHEN SHE LAUGHS.
Getting drunk enough that you stumble into a bathroom and take off your pants is a bad plan. I should stop doing that. Going to NASA hungover is also a bad plan. Or attempting to do anything in Disney World after four hours of being Very Sick. That didn’t stop any of us. WEEEEE ARE THE CHAMMMMPIONS MY FRIEND.
No, Scott, I won’t explain Sticky Toes to anyone. Because it’s gross.
Give Lauren a hat, she can wear it for a day. Give Lauren a hat store, you can outfit her entire life.
It’s A Small World is still a terrifying ride through creepy doll Hell. The animatronic dolls are all out of sync so they’re doing their lip syncing with oddly flapping jaws and jolty, mechanical movements. I swore I’d never get on this ride ever again, but then Dave threw me under the bus. See, he’d made the same promise once upon a time – no more It’s A Small World. Eric was pushing HARD for it and I said, “I’ll go if Dave goes” thinking Dave’s iron and that he’d never break. I was wrong. Dave disappeared for a longish bathroom break and when he returned, the whole group applauded. He found that funny and was lulled into a happy place. That’s when Eric pounced. Dave’s iron became aluminum and I was stuck watching culturally insensitive yellow dolls doing the robot. THANKS, DAVE.
Star Wars weekend happened while we were there. I’ve never seen twenty and thirty year old men so happy to be frozen in carbonite before. Or to attend a parade. I’m fairly sure I’ll have the Imperial March stuck in my head for the next forty years because they played it on rotation while the 501st legion marched through the streets of Hollywood Studios. So many nerds.
There’s a lot of questionable “culture” thrown about in Epcot. Like, there’s a line between honoring a culture and perpetuating certain stereotypes. Epcot straddles that line. Uncomfortably so at times.
Brody said it best when he said, “I don’t ever want to stand in line again.” Because holy crap, it was BUSY this time around. Usually not so bad in May, but I think the combination of Star Wars weekend and the last weekend of the flower festival at Epcot nailed us. It did improve by Monday, but we actually used Fastpass at Epcot and I generally don’t bother. But we had to. Because LINES. EVERYWHERE. At least we liked each other enough to have interesting conversations while we waited? /bright side
Lauren and I designed a BITCHIN’ Barbie car. Seriously. Our car smoked the boys’ cars. Neener neener.
“Oh, because that’s safe,” said Scott when we were tucked inside an open-sided car staring at a bored-looking rhinoceros bull not fifteen feet away. If one of us looked like a pork chop to him, it was all over. Fortunately, there were no pork chops in attendance. This time.
“The manatee is my spirit animal,” – Becky Kroll, 2013