Disney World Volume Two: Butt Touching Honeymooning Mexicans
[Get it? Honeymooning? 'cause of the 'butt touching'? it's.. it's a bum pun.. a pum]
*Ehem*
Volume Two:
The next morning arrived way too soon and way too loudly. Chummy’s alarm had woken her up pleasantly enough and she had already begun her long-winded morning ritual of showering for eleven years and spending a ridiculous amount of time on getting ready. I blearily cracked my eyes open after having already snoozed my blaring alarm twice, feeling decidedly unlike P Diddy, but strongly wishing there was some Jack nearby.
That’s right folks, flap-jacks.
I had woken up hangry, tired, itchy, and all doped up on Benadryl.
Chummy emerged from the bathroom and held back a shriek as the light shone on me, hair in disarray, mouth salivating at the thought of waffles in the shape of Mickey’s head like a syrup-loving vampire.
The first order of business for the day was to feed me. So while ‘The Eye of the Tiger’ played in the background, I laced up my sneakers and we set off to breakfast at the ungodly hour of 8 am Eastern Standard Time. We waved good morning to the clerk at the next-hotel-over’s front desk as we left our room and started the ten minute trek to breakfast.
I ate 11 waffles and regret nothing.
Now, for non-disney goers, I will let you in on some Disney World knowledge. There are tiers of hotels: Fancy, Less fancy, We Tried, and You Tried. They all have fun themes. We were staying in the ‘You Tried’ tier and, irony of ironies, we picked the “Sports” themed hotel.
Disney has their own intricate transit system that runs all day, everyday to all the hotels and all of the parks.
Yup, even on my vacation there was no escape from my favourite form of transportation.
And despite being in a different country, and being this close to ‘the most magical place on earth’ why should my luck with transit change? So after we finished breakfast, and Chummy helped roll me out of the Dining Hall, we watched sadly as the shuttle to The Magic Kingdom pulled out of the parking lot and got in line to wait (albeit not for long, as they come every 20 minutes… but still.)
Shortly after, the next bus arrived and we were packed in tighter then sardines wearing mouse ears. I concentrated very hard on not having my Mickey waffles make a reappearance onto the army of Elsa’s jammed in front of me. But when the triumphant music began to play, and the very tippy-top of Cindy’s castle appeared on the horizon, all thoughts of vomiting were gone. Mostly.
I was home.
What little planning we had done was focused on getting around faster, and so we zipped through the line. Misty-eyed, we peered around at Main Street and almost walked right into Mary Poppins. Yes, I waited in line for my turn to take a picture and didn't cut in front of the small children, but you bet your ass I did cry after we hugged and had our photo taken like the 22 year old adult that I am.
And then we turned the corner and Cinderella’s castle was in full view and I cried even harder. Once I had gotten my shit together, I made Chummy take the obligatory picture in front of the castle amidst a sea of other people taking the obligatory picture in front of the castle.
The next stop was Tomorrowland, and we jumped in line for “Stitch’s Escape” because who doesn’t love a little blue dog in the morning? In true clumsy Teagan fashion, I managed to cut myself in the darkness of the attraction. Just a small knick on my knee, but with the added water that had been sprayed on us during the ride, I managed to appear as though I had narrowly escaped losing a limb, and was bleeding everywhere as we left. So as we were ushered out of the attraction and past the line-up for people waiting to go in… I was given the perfect opportunity to put my acting skills to use, dramatically pulling my mauled and bleeding leg behind me.
“I thought we’d never make it out ALIVEEE”
I am still expecting casting calls.
We eventually ended up in Fantasyland, oohing and aahing over the Alice in Wonderland topiaries and reliving our childhoods watching Winnie and Tigger hugging young kids. We made our way to the much-hyped new Snow White ride. The wait time was supposed to be 90 minutes. We already knew that Disney’s predicted wait times were like placebo cross walk buttons, only there to make you feel better about waiting forever, but we were game for it anyways.
At first it didn’t seem so bad.
Me: “This isn't so bad”
Chummy: “We’ve only been in line for two minutes”
Me: “WHAT??”
...and then the real waiting began.
We waited, and waited, and all the while the skies above us were darkening.
Chummy had read that rainy weather was some of the best in the park as most rides stayed open and most people cleared out. As we were approaching hour number 2 of queuing, the rain gently spitting on our heads, we learned that while most rides stayed open, this was not one of them. And so we were in a race against the rain. The slowest moving race.
We distracted ourselves by screaming at each other playing Heads Up (an app version of Taboo— thank the smartphone gods.) But, in order to preserve battery life, we were only able to play for so long. I had a lot of princesses to take pictures of damnit.
When we finally stopped playing the game and succumbed to waiting boredom, Chummy was giving mad props to the mom behind us. Despite having been in line for hours, her kid had been mostly behaving to this point. Now Chummy was having a hard time keeping me entertained as I joined said kid in leaning on the fence, complaining, and sighing heavily. His name was Tom, nice kid.
Finally, after many a conversation with small children and tourists who don’t speak a lick of english. (More opportunity for dramatically acted hand gestures and charades- DISNEY CALL ME) our time came to board the little mine cart and hi-ho the fuck onto that ride. Even all the animals in the forest and seven tiny men couldn't have made that ride interesting. By the end we were saying no white. It was one poison apple of a ride.
OK, it wasn’t really all that bad, it was just, meh. Whatever.
Time was going in super speed after waiting in that line. We laughed about chocolate and more boys being hidden-Hans with Anna (my spirit princess) and posed for mildly humourous pictures of Elsa ‘icing’ Chummy’s blue hair. Tummies grumbling, we headed towards the Beast’s castle, where we (by some stroke of dumb luck) managed to be the last guests invited for “dinner”.
The grey stuff? Delicious.
And then it began to rain in earnest. Having learned nothing, we laughed in the face of mother nature and headed to the Haunted Mansion, an indoor ride with a covered line! We enjoyed the punny gravestones all the way through the uncovered graveyard, and were like two grinning ghosts when we left the ride. We shrieked and giggled all the way through the pouring rain to the nearest gift shop to buy ponchos (which I totally suggested to Chummy that we buy at the Dollar Store before going, and she refused, saying the forecast was warm and sunny for the whole time we were to be there. To her I say, HA!) Despite the fact that we were soggy drowned rats by the time we got there, we bought the fifteen dollar ponchos anyways.
THEY WERE FIFTEEN DOLLARS, CHUMMY.
And I was determined to get as much enjoyment out of those fifteen dollars as humanly ponchable. I mean, possible.
Real talk time: I didn't pack very well. Sure, I brought a lot of cute outfits, and saved room for souvenirs coming back. I even brought sensible shoes, my sneakers. However, I only brought one pair. And they were the kind with the aerated jersey netting on the top at that. (Prime for letting water in through the top, which I tried to explain to Chummy, who insisted I was being dramatic when I said I could feel every rain drop on my toes. But I’m not bitter. It’s fine.) My only other footwear was the knee-high leather boots I wore to trudge through the snow in Fargo. Where totally cute meets not practical for Florida. And herein lay the problem. Rain means puddles. Puddles mean wet shoes. Wet shoes mean grumpy, uncomfortable Teagan (for the rest of the trip).
We decided that since we were wet already, we may as well head to Splash Mountain. And while Chummy marched through the puddles, splashing like the child you have to at least kind of be in the Magic Kingdom, I dodged puddles like a clumsy ballerina prancing through a field of landlines. We were walking through the line, well, Chummy was walking, I was playing super-spy, leaping, spinning, and clinging to the fence to avoid puddles while children splashed past me and Chummy just sighed. But she was right about the rain — we basically walked straight on to the ride.
The ride was short but fun. Big drop, hands in the air, wooooo, splash. Then, we were zippity-doo-da-ing to the end when our little log flume came to a halt, bumping into the one ahead. There was no blue bird on our shoulder as the flumes began to pile up behind us. Five minutes passed, and then ten. That horrible song looping over and over. We sat at the almost end of the ride drenched with rain, and water from the ride, under the cool blast of the air-conditioner. We were counting the time now by doo-da’s, cold and cracking up at our misfortune.
I can remember my teeth chattering as I turned to Chummy and said: “i-i-ttt c-c-could have b-b-been worse?”
When the girls taking selfies in front of us began laughing at our accidental photo bomb, we truly began descending into madness. We had a full on case of the cant stop, cant breath, can’t EVEN giggles. By the time a ride attendant came by to tell us our rescue was imminent and turn the music off, half the line was laughing along with us (or at us, at that point nothing mattered but the snorts and chortles of 60+ people). At minute thirty, (40 doo-da’s in) we were chilly, cheesy lunatics. Here are some videos documenting our time on Splash Mountain while the poor workers tried to wrangle us off the ride.
To make this 00:26 Second video a hiilaaaarious drinking game, take a shot every time I say "Splash Mountain".
... I cannot be held responsible for medical bills.
It is worth a mention, that Chummy and I, being the level of best friends that we are, often get mistaken for the most adorable lesbian couple. (By everyone who meets us it seems, and a few others. Hi Dad.) With my pathological need to look adorable, and Chummy’s “come at me bro” attitude and short hair, well… I mean we even finish each others sandwiches.
Upon gaining our freedom, we ran back out into the pouring rain, heading straight for Big Thunder Railroad which looked to be another walk-on, our ponchos flapping behind us. I was in a particularly pruney state by this point, and so had discovered that the best way to fix it was to tuck my arms into my poncho. This made walking a difficult and rather comical venture. Apparently, arms help you balance. Who knew?
Unfortunately, though the line was kind of covered, the wooden walkway was soaking wet and thus had no traction. It was slippery but I was determined to keep my hands inside my poncho. I was doing a no-arm's dance, focusing more on making everyone laugh than on watching my footing. Yeah, you can see where this is going…I tripped forward and fell.
I fell hard and fast, instinctively putting my hands out in front of me to brace my fall, but trapped as they were in their plasticy cage, they went about as far, and were about as helpful, as a T-Rex's -- and so they landed straight onto the butt of Mexican man in front of us. His wife, who had been holding his hand and probably whispering sweet nothings in his ear, jumped back in surprise. When I managed to recover from the fall-and-grope, I apologized profusely, and ashamedly let a few people behind us move ahead in line.
“At least we’ll never see them again!” I said confidently.
Big Thunder Railroad, made up for everything that Snow White wasn’t. You could say, the ride was so nice we rode it twice. So after our second time, we decided to move on to Pirates of the Caribbean. Thinking a nice dry, covered ride would be a good change. Still dodging puddles madly, we made our way to Adventureland. This ride was also a walk-on as the park was almost empty from the rain. During our short wait, I became inspired by the cave-like setting and candelabras, my poncho became my cape, and I entertained the waiters nearby with a rousing rendition of the Phantom of the Opera.
[I am free for Christmas and Children’s parties, bookings are going fast]
The boats for Pirates have 3 rows with room for 4ish people in each row. The obviously new Cast-mate (Disney lingo for employee) sectioned us off to be seated in the front row of the boat, boarding after the two smallish people ahead of us.
[Now before we continue on with this story I would like it noted that this is actually one of Chummy’s favourite anecdotes from our trip. And she not only approved but insisted on the wording. Chummy has a body big enough to house her big brain and voluptuous personality, she is P-H-A-T with a capital F. And she will be the first to advocate that fat is a body type.]
The gates opened and we got onto the boat. The couple before me stepped in and then scooted to the far side, and I followed suit. As Chummy got in, the boat leaned. A fat girl and a curvy girl in the front corner of the boat. Yup, there was a definite lean.
I looked over to the other two people in our row, who were now sliding into me, and surprise of surprises, I recognized their faces. it was the honeymooning Mexicans. You know, from the aforementioned butt touching. Though I don't Spanish, it doesn't take a translator to know what that guy was thinking: "Oh no! not the crazy ass-grabbing lesbians!"
The boat began its journey with a heavy thud and a pathetic screeching as the boat dragged along the side of the track. Cackling like loons at our situation, we didn't even try to contain ourselves as we happily sang along, all "Yo-ho yo-ho it's a sexist pirate’s life for me!"
That poor, poor couple.
Then the music changed to the dramatic tune we know and love, and we entered a dark tunnel. We entered the gentle rapids and went over an ever so slight dip in the track, but due to our extreme-tilt, what should have been little more then a ripple, became a splash zone. The nose of the boat dipped and water rushed in. This was not a vessel designed to take on water. All that could be heard as the inches deep water pooled at our feet was my pitiful cry of: “MY SHOES!”
We disembarked and I squished back out into the rain. I gave up and gave in, jumping in puddles and resuming my poncho dance for all the parents buying their whiny kids chicken nuggets to see (I have no memory of there being people around to see my dancing, as I was so in the zone, but Chummy insists I had an uninterested audience, and I was making her record me, so she would know.) Actually now that I think about it I have no memory of there being chicken nuggets either... damn.
Our inner toddlers took over at the sight of Aladdin’s Magic Carpet ride. Despite being adults (well, jury's still out on me) we needed some assistance with making the ride go up and down. But once we were up, chilly breeze blowing through our wet hair, ponchos flying behind us, things were feeling surprisingly magical. Even though absolutely nothing was going as planned or imagined up to this point, we were having fun. Sleep-deprived and semi-delirious fun.
We were hungry but not starving and so decided a snack was in order. Chummy had been insisting that the thing we absolutely must try was the Dole Whip (soft ice cream and pineapple juice) for which Disney World is apparently famous, and for good reason --that shit is delicious.
After getting our treats, we thought it best to hunker down under the cover of the Tiki Room exit. (I was more than happy to enjoy the outside of the attraction, and skip the inside... there was only enough room for one song on a loop in my brain... and I was going on to my 9000th Zippity-Do-da.) There was a place to sit, and we sat for a few minutes, but then the groovy, Spongebob-esque music overtook me and it was time for a reprise of the poncho dance. Chummy tried in vain to record me, and then fell in to mad giggles as the doors opened and a stream of people exited the Tiki Room and entered, the Teagan Room. They gave me a wide berth for dancing as they passed me by.
After that we were ready to go on, wanting to squeeze the most magic out of that day as could possibly be squeezed. For whatever reason we decided that following some damp and sullen-looking 40 year olds (who were probably there for a team building exercise) through the darkness, and down a wooded path would take us in the right direction. So, while trying to calm the windblown giggles we still had in an effort to blend in, we followed them right onto another boat, this one even soggier than the last. As the rhythmic drumming started and we were told to keep our arms and legs inside the vehicle, we were welcomed to the Jungle Cruise.
Our ‘tour guide’ (and captain, and, if you don’t laugh at her jokes, swimming instructor) was the most Disney-Disney that we had encountered thus far and I was in love. It was everything a pun-loving girl could hope for. Monkey puns, alligator puns, and racism, oh my! (Youtube it if you don’t believe me!). The sullen group that was on the boat with us was not amused, but we were full-on belly laughing and paying them no mind. When the guide warned that the elephants around the bend might splash it was my time to shine. I lifted my poncho covered arms and deadpanned:
“I think at this point, that is irrelephant.”
Chummy did her best impression of a hyena and the guide gave me a high-five, appreciating our level of participation.
As the growling of the jungle animals faded behind us, a louder, more ominous growl could be heard coming from... our stomachs. Apparently reminding our bodies that food was a thing with our pre-Amazon snack had made us all the more ravenous and we were ready to hunt down some dinner.
While I am a Disney Princess, Chummy is a Palaeo-enthusiast. By that I mean that lady loves her some Dinosaurs, and of course, so do I!
Bitches love dinosaurs.
So obviously the T-Rex restaurant in Downtown Disney was not only a great idea, it was the only idea. On our way back to the front gates, meandering slowly through the shops along Main Street, we stumbled into front row seats to the Electric Parade. It was beautiful, and magical, and the perfect end to our ridiculous day in the Magic Kingdom.
Chummy took charge of getting us to the food, and she decided the quickest route would be to take the Monorail to the Contemporary Hotel, and then a bus from there to Downtown Disney. Upon Arrival at the Contemporary (which is at the very top of the Fancy-tier hotels) we squelched through the plush carpet and perused the gift shop, enjoying the non-drizzly warmth and getting concerned looks from the dry and hoity-toity vacationers around us.
After I finished mooning over all the things we didn't have at our local Disney Store, we ventured back out into the open air and waited for the bus. By the time the bus had whisked us to Downtown Disney we were feeling a little rejuvenated. Pretty sure that it was still early enough to check out the shops before stopping to eat, we spent 30,000,000 years trying on silly ears in the massive Disney Store and salivating over the art (prints and originals) that we couldn't afford.
Then the hunger really hit us. I'm talking the kind of hunger that is so deep that if you don't feed yourself immediately you will either become nauseous or a cannibal. It was time to find dinosaurs, which was not difficult, considering the restaurant was huge and surprise covered in dinosaurs.
We strolled up to the restaurant --okay, Chummy strolled. I stuck two fingers out of each poncho arm, hunched over, and bared my teeth and gleefully shouted:
"I'M A DINNERSAUR!"
But my enthusiasm was immediately squashed as we entered and were quickly stopped by the host.
[Side note: Just so that you can get a real image about how bedraggled we were at this point, we were going on hour 18 of being awake and going hard after only 6 hours of sleep, and I was most certainly still doped up on Benadryl.
What little makeup I had left was either raccooning, or running down my face, and being the style icon that I think I am, I thought it was perfectly fine to wear the hood of my bright white poncho over the sopping wet bun at the top of my head. This, while effective at keeping new water out (coincidentally also effective at keeping old water in) gave the white hood a definite pointed shape.
Unfortunately I looked akin to the most ravenous and drenched member of a radical racial-hate group.]
We requested a table for two, and after he looked behind him to the obviously empty restaurant, he looked back at the motley crew in front of him, and apologetically informed us that there were just no tables available.
Me: "But... I’m a dinnersaur!"
Him: Sorry.
Me: *makes sad dinosaur noises*
Despite my offer to eat behind one of the giant dinosaurs, he suggested we go to Planet Hollywood.
Upon consulting the map, we discovered that Planet Hollywood was clear on the other side of Downtown and closing in half an hour. We hauled ass, ponchos flying behind us, shoes squelching painfully, past groups of well-dressed revellers partying happily. We made our up to the host, and I tried to look appealing as we nearly begged for a table. He agreed and we were seated at the very, very back of the restaurant, behind a giant globe.
Deciding we needed to class things up a little, we removed our ponchos and delicately folded them, as small as they would go, and stuffed them in Chummy’s bag in case of future need. For reasons unbeknownst to us, we decided to order salad, the only logical explanation can be we were deliriously overtired, that or Body Snatchers.
The way back to the bus was a much slower affair, with me drunkenly singing along to the Disney instrumentals (ie, KARAOKE!) despite not having had anything stronger to drink than water. To add to the effect, I was dancing along to the music, leaping and spinning oh so gracefully.
(As I write this, I am realizing that I dance a lot. See Megg! I DO get cardio! So HAH!)
Of course, we arrived to the bus terminal just in time to see the bus for our hotel pulling away. It was 20 minutes to 1 now, and neither of us had the energy to chase after it. I had used the last of mine up in dance, and Chummy was just done. We slouched over to the bus stop and waited the allotted minutes.
I fell asleep on the bus ride home and when we squelched back into our hotel room, we had barely made it into our beds before we fell asleep.
End of Volume Two
