1. I am not fit for group living.
This is not to say I am not a good candidate for the kind of group living associated with a mental institution (which, after this vacation, I might have to check myself into) But, Assisted Living? Totally different. I can't wait to check myself into a place that has a schedule of events each day including Bingo at 3 p.m., a Social Dance at 4 p.m., followed by a dinner that someone else made and a little bowl of ice cream. Totally worth the $4,200 per month. Had I ever been cast (had a I ever auditioned then been cast) for a show such as The Real World or Big Brother or some other group-home based reality show, I would have been THAT girl. THAT girl that loses her sh*t when, say, someone drinks all the lemonade and leaves the empty pitcher on the counter for someone else to refill (this may or may not have happened in Disney). For someone (me) that my husband would describe as almost a hermit but not quite due to my (I think) pretty adept social skills and occasional want to get out of the house, this vacation was like a teacher reading my IEP (Individualized Education Plan) which clearly states, "Doesn't like loud noises and bright flashing lights" then sticking me in the middle of Studio 54 in 1977. Note: There were 14 people in our grand villa at Old Key West (shhh, we're only supposed to have 12). 14 bodies spread throughout 3 bedrooms, 4 baths, a living room, dining room, and kitchen. Everywhere I turned, there was a person. Loud noises, flashing lights, loud noises, flashing lights...
2. Make sure to bring the nail color of my pedicure with me.
A sunny, perky Essie Tangerine pedicure will become a dull, chipped mess after just 4 days in chlorine and sun. If I didn't pay $32 for ice cream the other night, I could have afforded another pedi down at the spa.
3. Central Florida in July is beginning to be a bad idea.
Although I LOATHE the cold of winter, I have become rather bitter towards the "oppressive" (weather.com's word to describe the heat in Orlando this week. Thank you Capt. Obvious) heat of a Florida summer. We have been coming to Disney World every summer since 1993, and although each time it has been very hot, this is the first time I remember nearly passing out in a park. No exaggeration. I stood like a good mom watching Monkey Man become a Padawan (that's a Jedi in training, for those of you who don't know. But why would you know? In fact, you shouldn't know. I'm married to a Star Wars geek) in the Star Wars show at Hollywood Studios, and prayed for him to just friggin' be the next kid to fight Darth Vader already so I could get a picture (it also became apparent on this trip that I pray in Jersey slang). Because when I started to feel a chill in the 96 degree heat with 70% humidity, something told me that just wasn't right. Monkey Man got his turn, whacked Darth in the head with his light saber then I ran off and drank 32 ounces of water in 4 seconds flat while bathing myself in the women's restroom sink. I was fine, but vowed to not step foot into one of those asphalt cauldrons, aka another park, for the remainder of our stay.
4. Entenmann's chocolate donuts are not an appropriate breakfast.
Or lunch. Or 11:30 p.m. snack. Damn you, Entenmann's. There is a place in hell waiting for you. It became a tradition sometime around Disney 1994 to hitch an Entenmann's trailer full of their chocolate donuts to my parents' minivan just to make extra sure that we had 39 boxes for a 12 day stay. And every morning, I wake up and eat my Fiber One cereal because I'm also working out every other day to keep up my somewhat healthy eating and exercise lifestyle. 20 minutes after my Fiber One, I not only have to go to the bathroom, I have to have a donut. Because it's there. And it's Entenmann's and they fill their snacks with crack.
The last lonely boxes that were cruelly assaulted before check-out.
To be continued...
1 comment:
I am SO glad to see some Little Debbies there on the counter with the Entenmann's! Little Debbie is the reason we have a roof over our head. :-)
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