Lately I've been doing something that I am ashamed of. It's getting to the point where I can barely look at myself in the mirror anymore. I've been sneaking around and trying to keep it as hush-hush as possible in order to protect my reputation, but regardless of my sneaky ways, the neighbors are starting to talk. I know they see me sneak away early in the morning and come home all sweaty and disheveled. Oh yeah, I see them stare and I hear them whisper, and I am sick and tired of the speculation. So now I'm just gonna own it. I'm gonna say it loud (well, maybe at regular conversational volume), and proud (well, maybe somewhere in the middle of embarrassed and proud). Anyway, here goes: My name is Patti Ford and I like Jazzercise.
Whew! That went well. Don't you think it went well? Freeing is what it was. Tension-reducing, if you will. My non-Jazzercise friends were starting to wonder about my busy mornings, my sore muscles, and the funny way I'd start to groove when a certain Lady Gaga or Britney Spears song would come on. Oh sure, I have always grooved, but not like this. Not with that special flair. That special Jazziness. Yep. They knew something was going on. When they started to get nosy, I began to tell them all that I was having an affair with a Jazz dancer. A very steamy affair that took place in the early morning hours and required me to bring along a yoga mat, hand weights, and a bottle of cold water. An affair with a very limber dancer that made my muscles very sore, and my dance moves very awesome. When everyone failed to believe that explanation, knowing full well that if it ain't Paul Rudd, it ain't happening, I decided to tell them I was going to an exercise class.
"What kind of exercise class?"
"The kind in which you exercise, you geniuses."
"Yeah, but what kind of exercise?"
"The fitnessy weight-lossy kind, you morons!"
"Yeah, but what is it called?"
"It's called Stop Asking Me So Many Questions and Get a Life-ercise!"
For some reason this did not appease the nosy masses, and I've grown tired and confused by all of the lies. I've given up and come out of the closet, the jazzy closet, and it feels so good. Why was I ashamed in the first place? Why would I prefer people to think I was being romanced by a man in sequins and tights? It's because the term "Jazzercise" is synonymous with legwarmers, headbands, old Nana's, and dance moves that look like they're straight out of a G-rated version of that 1985 masterpiece "Perfect", starring Jamie Lee Curtis and John Travolta. In other words: People think it's cheesy. Including me. Well, at least until I tried it.
Once I gave in and went to my first class, I realized that it was alot less Jazzy than I thought. I mean, I really got a good workout, and nobody snapped at me, waved their jazz hands in my face or tried to make me do an Axel Turn or jump over me during a Stage Leap (I went to jazz.com). Aside from the fact that I totally suck at miming what the instructor is doing, I am doing okay. Yesterday was a bad day though. I knew it was gonna be tough when I walked straight into a wall that morning. Then while getting jazzy with it, I punched myself in the face once, slammed myself in the kneecap with a 5 pound weight, then ran into a wall again. BUT I get better and better every day, and I like it more and more. Just as long as I get my corner.
My friend Cathy and I like to have the back corner for reasons involving, but not limited to, the fact that we are both tall and limby, and both slightly less than graceful (sorry, Cathy). When I don't get my corner, I get a little irritable. I warn others that I'm definitely gonna hit something at some point, and that it can either be the wall or their heads. Their choice. Lately, there have been unmovable people in my corner. I guess it was only a matter of time until word got out that the corner was the cool place to be. Regardless, it's my corner and I want it back. Since I am admittedly without shame and often without decorum, I have decided that I may possibly have to pee in that corner to mark it. I used to have a cat who did that, and as far as I could tell, it worked. I know that I never went into the pee corners, and I sure as heck never saw anyone else there.
Anyway, back to my point, which I think was that I like Jazzercise, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, lunges and planks. I do not like Lionel Ritchie, country songs, jazz squares or Jazzercisers who yell out things like "yeah" or "woo hoo" during class. While sweating and in pain, I don't believe in yelling anything but the F-word. Why the heck anyone would wanna yell "woo hoo" when their butt muscles hurt, is beyond my limited understanding. Oh! And one more thing: The instructors wear those Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation headsets so they can chit chat and ask us a million questions while we exercise, but guess what? We can't answer! It's like getting dental work and the dentist is asking you about your life story when all you can do is grunt, except in this case there is no drill in our mouths and we can talk, but not loud enough to be heard. I have one working vocal cord people. One! I propose that if the instructor is going to chat over the headset, we get headsets too. Power to the jazzercisers! Woo hoo!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_kn7-wYzdZo
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
One Man's Junk IsThis Woman's "WTF?"
Today my friend Anne took me to a fascinating and very dusty place called Texas Junk Company, which is downtown on the corner of some street that begins with a "W" and another street that doesn't. When she asked me to go I could not have been more on board. I have always wanted to go to a male strip club, and from the name I just assumed that's what is was. So I grabbed a handful of one dollar bills and off I went. Upon arrival, I discovered that much to my surprise, the "Junk" in the title refers to actual junk, as in Sanford and Son's junk, and not "Junk" as in a man's middle place. Although initially saddened by this discovery, I soon accepted the truth of the matter, because I, more than anyone, love a good Flea Market.
Unfortunately, A Flea Market would be too fancy a term for what this place was. But instead of going on and on about it, I am going to do a little Show-And-Tell, because I love Show-And-Tell and I haven't done one since the 6th grade when I Showed-And-Telled the whole neighborhood the sex book I found in my parents closet. Anyway, let us commence with the Showing and Telling:
Here it is, folks. Photographic evidence as to why clowns should not be allowed to procreate. As if grown-up sized clowns aren't scary enough, we certainly don't need to be overrun by these
tiny, frightening creatures. I shudder.
This, my friends, is a giant dried up cow poop. Upon closer inspection you may notice that it is flanked on either side by more goodies...On the left: A trophy with a cross on it, that I guess someone got for winning some kind of Good Christian Contest, then pawned to the junk store for drug or prostitute money. And on the right: A tiny teddy bear with a hat on it. You're probably asking yourself what kind've cash you can make in the dried up animal poop market. Unfortunately it didn't have a price tag on it, although from looking at the tags on some of the other items, I am guessing about $50.00 a poop. This could be a new business venture for me....
This is a metal cut-out/statue of some sort of something that is human-like, yet not. Upon first glance, I thought it was an Indian doing a rain dance. Then I thought maybe it was Squidward, Gonzo, or Jar Jar Binks. Then I realized that it has either giant calves or go-go boots on its legs, as well as some kind of fishing bobber dangling under its crotch. These discoveries combined with the fact that it looks like it has a ponytail, lead me to believe it may be a Drag Queen who got in some sort of fishing accident. It does only have one arm though, so maybe whatever it is, it can go to the Amputee Skydiving Festival.
This is a photo of Anne that I'm sure she will kick my ass for posting on here. Anne is modeling a metal colander with fake fern leaves glued all over it. We had to assume it was meant to be head wear, since the plastic plants and hot glue made it impossible to drain pasta in. BUT I am not a world traveler, so for all I know this is what tribal jungle people use to strain their ravioli. Although we could not agree as to why this item would exist, it makes my world a little brighter to know that it does, and that I can convince my friend to wear it on her head.
This is either a gallon-size milk jug getting ready for a potato sack race, or a gallon size milk jug that's in the witness protection program. He either went off to milk summer camp and enjoyed the races so much he kept the sack as a souvenir, or he witnessed something very bad in a very scary and dangerous refrigerator somewhere. Either way, I totally dig it.
Yep, this is a cherub. But this little guys seemed to be posing just a little too sexy for a cherub. Then I had a 1970's flashback and it all came together: (See Below)
This is a little cast-iron skillet with a goose in it. I know people eat goose, but why anyone would put a goose in the skillet while it was still alive and sitting on a nest full of eggs, is beyond me.
This last photo is obviously of me. Although I don't look happy, I am, because I've finally found a way to lose weight the fast and easy way. This amazing machine has a belt that "gently vibrates" the fat right off your body. At least that's what it's supposed to do. What I think it really does is not so gently melts the fat off by causing hot friction burns to your midsection. Burn or no burns, I'll take it, because anything's better than exercise.
Unfortunately, A Flea Market would be too fancy a term for what this place was. But instead of going on and on about it, I am going to do a little Show-And-Tell, because I love Show-And-Tell and I haven't done one since the 6th grade when I Showed-And-Telled the whole neighborhood the sex book I found in my parents closet. Anyway, let us commence with the Showing and Telling:
Here it is, folks. Photographic evidence as to why clowns should not be allowed to procreate. As if grown-up sized clowns aren't scary enough, we certainly don't need to be overrun by these
tiny, frightening creatures. I shudder.
This, my friends, is a giant dried up cow poop. Upon closer inspection you may notice that it is flanked on either side by more goodies...On the left: A trophy with a cross on it, that I guess someone got for winning some kind of Good Christian Contest, then pawned to the junk store for drug or prostitute money. And on the right: A tiny teddy bear with a hat on it. You're probably asking yourself what kind've cash you can make in the dried up animal poop market. Unfortunately it didn't have a price tag on it, although from looking at the tags on some of the other items, I am guessing about $50.00 a poop. This could be a new business venture for me....
This is a metal cut-out/statue of some sort of something that is human-like, yet not. Upon first glance, I thought it was an Indian doing a rain dance. Then I thought maybe it was Squidward, Gonzo, or Jar Jar Binks. Then I realized that it has either giant calves or go-go boots on its legs, as well as some kind of fishing bobber dangling under its crotch. These discoveries combined with the fact that it looks like it has a ponytail, lead me to believe it may be a Drag Queen who got in some sort of fishing accident. It does only have one arm though, so maybe whatever it is, it can go to the Amputee Skydiving Festival.
This is a photo of Anne that I'm sure she will kick my ass for posting on here. Anne is modeling a metal colander with fake fern leaves glued all over it. We had to assume it was meant to be head wear, since the plastic plants and hot glue made it impossible to drain pasta in. BUT I am not a world traveler, so for all I know this is what tribal jungle people use to strain their ravioli. Although we could not agree as to why this item would exist, it makes my world a little brighter to know that it does, and that I can convince my friend to wear it on her head.
This is either a gallon-size milk jug getting ready for a potato sack race, or a gallon size milk jug that's in the witness protection program. He either went off to milk summer camp and enjoyed the races so much he kept the sack as a souvenir, or he witnessed something very bad in a very scary and dangerous refrigerator somewhere. Either way, I totally dig it.
Yep, this is a cherub. But this little guys seemed to be posing just a little too sexy for a cherub. Then I had a 1970's flashback and it all came together: (See Below)
This is a little cast-iron skillet with a goose in it. I know people eat goose, but why anyone would put a goose in the skillet while it was still alive and sitting on a nest full of eggs, is beyond me.
This last photo is obviously of me. Although I don't look happy, I am, because I've finally found a way to lose weight the fast and easy way. This amazing machine has a belt that "gently vibrates" the fat right off your body. At least that's what it's supposed to do. What I think it really does is not so gently melts the fat off by causing hot friction burns to your midsection. Burn or no burns, I'll take it, because anything's better than exercise.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Insert Funny, Yet Terribly Inappropriate And Politically Incorrect Title Here
I wasn't planning on writing a blog today, but last night I made a major discovery that I have to share. After going google crazy looking for a teacup pig (which I have been trying to convince Steve that I need just as much as I need air), I went on a search for Spring Festivals in the Houston area. Even though at this time of year my allergies make me want to live in a plastic bubble, this girl likes a good festival. Just the slim chance that there may be either a funnel cake or a fried Oreo on site, makes the runny nose and itchy eyes worth it. Anyway, while looking through the list of events, one in particular caught my eye: The Airborne Amputee Skydiving Festival.
Now, my first thought was "Is this a festival to celebrate people who lost their limbs in skydiving related accidents?" But that sounded a little too specific. If you were gonna throw an amputee festival, it should be for all amputees, because if you have a different festival for each type of accident, that is gonna blow the amputee festival budget real quick. Upon reading the information, I found out that it is an event in which the amputees will actually be skydiving. I suppose that this skydiving company thinks that if you've lost a limb, you've also lost your mind and are now just living on the edge, doing crazy life-threatening things because without a leg, you have no reason to live. My thought is this: If you've already lost a limb or two accidentally, why not take every precaution to protect the leftovers?
While the cost of the skydive is $150.00 for those of us with all of our limbs, it is free for amputees. Well, at least there's that. I have my suspicions that this is all a bad idea. For one thing, what if you've lost a leg, or even two...how do you stick the landing? For another thing, what if you've lost one or both arms...how do you pull the cord that makes your chute open? Are the amputees asking these important questions? Also, what if you're missing a finger or a toe? Do you still get to skydive for free or do you just get a small discount, say 10% per digit? I need specifics, people!
I am feeling like I need to attend, if for no other reason than to make sure that things are on the up and up. I want to be positive that these people are volunteering to do this, and aren't being coerced in any way by "skydivers" who get their rocks off by tossing helpless people out of planes. Plus, I did notice that the website mentioned a Spaghetti Eating Contest, and I immediately realized that this is a bad idea as well. I don't know about you, but I have 2 hands and I can barely eat spaghetti. I am pretty sure these people need me. Although the website said nothing about fried Oreos, I am willing to put my needs aside if it might save a life, or at the very least, save someone from the mess of being forced to eat spaghetti with no hands.
* I cannot control the thoughts that go through my head, and I never mean to be offensive to anyone in any way (except for Brooke Shields--See October '09). If you or a loved one has lost a limb, I am sorry for your loss, and I sincerely hope that nobody forces you to go skydiving or eat spaghetti. If they do I'm here for you, and I have legs, so I can kick some ass.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
At Least If You Wear A Fanny Pack Your Child Will Have Someplace to Barf (Disney World, Part 2: Barf Happens)
As you all know from my last blog entry, my family was in the world of Disney last week. Upon re-reading that blog, I realize that it showcased the downside to Disney. My only explanation for this is that (a) I was still in a sugar/carbohydrate induced coma from the "vacation", and (b) There is a negative underbelly to Disney that involves sights and smells not every tourist can handle. These things can take a few days to detox from. After many nights of waking up in a cold sweat and having vivid nightmares during which I screamed out things like "Suck on my Fast Pass kids!" and "Giant turkey legs are for private consumption!", I think that I am finally ready to write about the positive parts of a visit to The Kingdom of Mickey.
People say you learn something new every day. The first day at Disney I learned this: My son really, really, REALLY doesn't like it when his mom tries to dance in the Move It! Shake It! Celebrate It! Parade. That street party really got this woman going! It is one catchy song, and the parade has The Mad Hatter, King Louie, and -get this- funny guys on giant stilts! What's not to love? As the Disney rhythm coursed through my veins, there was no way I could keep this booty still. Do I love my son? Sure. But if he denies me the chance to bump butts with the giant orangutan from Jungle Book, I definitely must question HIS love for ME.
The next thing I learned at Disney is this: No matter how Magical the place, there is still gonna be barf. Near the end of a day at Animal Kingdom, as we were walking on some sort of monkey trail, Ethan said his stomach hurt. Since we are really awesome parents, we just assumed he was whining because he was tired of walking and we kept on going. To make a long and disgusting story short, stuff happened and we exited the park an hour or so later pushing Ethan in a Disney wheelchair holding a barf bag in his lap. I have four big shout-outs to give here: (1) Thanks Disney Nurse for giving us the chair and bag, (2) Thanks Yellow Cab Driver for letting barf-bag-carrying people get into your car, (3) Thanks Bay Lake Resort for paying for our cab, and last but not least, (4) Thanks to the boat driver on the Jungle Cruise for teaching me that everything at Disney is "magical". Ethan may have barfed until late into the night, but it was magical Disney barf, and if I plugged my nose and squinted a little in the night-light lit room, I could almost convince myself that I saw fairy dust, or at the very least, Disney confetti in the barf bucket.
Another thing I learned at Disney is this: In The Kingdom, they are very protective of their characters. Being a newbie to The World, I had visions of walking down the streets of Disney arm in arm with Piglet. Maybe stopping to high-five that singing Teapot while on my way to the funnel cake wagon. I thought there would be characters wandering around everywhere. What I learned is that if you want to meet a character you have to get in a big-ass line full of whiny kids and wait all the ding dong day. Normally I wouldn't be concerned about this issue. Ethan does not like or want anything to do with the characters, and I am not one of those 50-something year old cat lady virgins roaming around the park with her autograph book shoved in her Disney World fanny pack. No, I would never be concerned about the difficulty of character interaction were it not for the fact that my friend, Casey, dared me to P-Hug one of them and get a photo.
This is the paragraph in which you discover yet another layer to my weirdness. "P-Hug" is a term that Casey and I came up with to describe what happens when someone hugs you and instead of hugging in a butt-out position (which is appropriate form), they hug you in the pelvis thrust forward position, which is not appropriate form since it is a very close relative of the "High School Dry Hump", and a hug-turned-humping can make some people very uncomfortable. Me, I'm okay with it. But as I said, some people might find it uncomfortable.
On every excursion I need a mission, and the P-Hug Mission was one I accepted with gusto, but when I discovered that the characters had more body guards than Obama, I was afraid that I would not succeed. I spent days scouting out the character greeting spots and I grew more and more weary with each one. I texted Casey and told him that I didn't think it was going to happen and he said to me "If we don't pull this off the communists will win." Well, I couldn't let that happen, so I got myself together and re-focused on my goal. Steve, who started out the week thinking that I was insane (as usual), really started to get into the P-Hug spirit after a few days. Maybe the thought of Communists winning lit a fire under his butt too. After all, we both saw "Red Dawn" when we were kids, and if Swayze could've cut back on all the violence and just P-Hugged Goofy or Pluto to get Peace, I'm sure that is a road he would have chosen. Anyway, our lucky day finally came in Epcot. We had seen many characters that day but most of them were your garden variety "people characters" like Aladdin and Pocahontas, and they didn't interest me. I wanted something big and furry. Finally, as Ethan and I rested on a curb in the U.K. Steve came running towards us saying "Pooh and Tigger are back there... and they are ALONE!"
This was music to my ears. Suddenly full of energy once again, I jumped up off the curb and ran to a building in the back of the U.K. showcase. There they were...Pooh and Tigger, just hanging out in a room with none other than a Disney photographer. This was my lucky day. First I P-Hugged Pooh Bear, who didn't even flinch when I rubbed my goodies up against him. When I finished with him, I moved on to Tigger. Now, as most of you know, Tigger is a bit wild and if anyone was into the P-Hug it was him. As a matter of fact I could barely pry him off of me, and HE turned it into a P-Hump all on his own. But it can't be wrong if it feels so right. At least that's my motto. So I sent Casey a text that said "Mission Accomplished: The pelvis has landed" and my vacation was complete.
So Disney will forever remain in my mind as a place of magic. A place of overeating. A place of Fanny Packs and Scooters. A place of many smells, both good and bad. A place of dancing. A place of barfing. I mean, a place of MAGICAL barfing. And most importantly, a place of P-Hugging giant, fluffy tigers and bears. Oh my!
People say you learn something new every day. The first day at Disney I learned this: My son really, really, REALLY doesn't like it when his mom tries to dance in the Move It! Shake It! Celebrate It! Parade. That street party really got this woman going! It is one catchy song, and the parade has The Mad Hatter, King Louie, and -get this- funny guys on giant stilts! What's not to love? As the Disney rhythm coursed through my veins, there was no way I could keep this booty still. Do I love my son? Sure. But if he denies me the chance to bump butts with the giant orangutan from Jungle Book, I definitely must question HIS love for ME.
The next thing I learned at Disney is this: No matter how Magical the place, there is still gonna be barf. Near the end of a day at Animal Kingdom, as we were walking on some sort of monkey trail, Ethan said his stomach hurt. Since we are really awesome parents, we just assumed he was whining because he was tired of walking and we kept on going. To make a long and disgusting story short, stuff happened and we exited the park an hour or so later pushing Ethan in a Disney wheelchair holding a barf bag in his lap. I have four big shout-outs to give here: (1) Thanks Disney Nurse for giving us the chair and bag, (2) Thanks Yellow Cab Driver for letting barf-bag-carrying people get into your car, (3) Thanks Bay Lake Resort for paying for our cab, and last but not least, (4) Thanks to the boat driver on the Jungle Cruise for teaching me that everything at Disney is "magical". Ethan may have barfed until late into the night, but it was magical Disney barf, and if I plugged my nose and squinted a little in the night-light lit room, I could almost convince myself that I saw fairy dust, or at the very least, Disney confetti in the barf bucket.
Another thing I learned at Disney is this: In The Kingdom, they are very protective of their characters. Being a newbie to The World, I had visions of walking down the streets of Disney arm in arm with Piglet. Maybe stopping to high-five that singing Teapot while on my way to the funnel cake wagon. I thought there would be characters wandering around everywhere. What I learned is that if you want to meet a character you have to get in a big-ass line full of whiny kids and wait all the ding dong day. Normally I wouldn't be concerned about this issue. Ethan does not like or want anything to do with the characters, and I am not one of those 50-something year old cat lady virgins roaming around the park with her autograph book shoved in her Disney World fanny pack. No, I would never be concerned about the difficulty of character interaction were it not for the fact that my friend, Casey, dared me to P-Hug one of them and get a photo.
This is the paragraph in which you discover yet another layer to my weirdness. "P-Hug" is a term that Casey and I came up with to describe what happens when someone hugs you and instead of hugging in a butt-out position (which is appropriate form), they hug you in the pelvis thrust forward position, which is not appropriate form since it is a very close relative of the "High School Dry Hump", and a hug-turned-humping can make some people very uncomfortable. Me, I'm okay with it. But as I said, some people might find it uncomfortable.
On every excursion I need a mission, and the P-Hug Mission was one I accepted with gusto, but when I discovered that the characters had more body guards than Obama, I was afraid that I would not succeed. I spent days scouting out the character greeting spots and I grew more and more weary with each one. I texted Casey and told him that I didn't think it was going to happen and he said to me "If we don't pull this off the communists will win." Well, I couldn't let that happen, so I got myself together and re-focused on my goal. Steve, who started out the week thinking that I was insane (as usual), really started to get into the P-Hug spirit after a few days. Maybe the thought of Communists winning lit a fire under his butt too. After all, we both saw "Red Dawn" when we were kids, and if Swayze could've cut back on all the violence and just P-Hugged Goofy or Pluto to get Peace, I'm sure that is a road he would have chosen. Anyway, our lucky day finally came in Epcot. We had seen many characters that day but most of them were your garden variety "people characters" like Aladdin and Pocahontas, and they didn't interest me. I wanted something big and furry. Finally, as Ethan and I rested on a curb in the U.K. Steve came running towards us saying "Pooh and Tigger are back there... and they are ALONE!"
This was music to my ears. Suddenly full of energy once again, I jumped up off the curb and ran to a building in the back of the U.K. showcase. There they were...Pooh and Tigger, just hanging out in a room with none other than a Disney photographer. This was my lucky day. First I P-Hugged Pooh Bear, who didn't even flinch when I rubbed my goodies up against him. When I finished with him, I moved on to Tigger. Now, as most of you know, Tigger is a bit wild and if anyone was into the P-Hug it was him. As a matter of fact I could barely pry him off of me, and HE turned it into a P-Hump all on his own. But it can't be wrong if it feels so right. At least that's my motto. So I sent Casey a text that said "Mission Accomplished: The pelvis has landed" and my vacation was complete.
So Disney will forever remain in my mind as a place of magic. A place of overeating. A place of Fanny Packs and Scooters. A place of many smells, both good and bad. A place of dancing. A place of barfing. I mean, a place of MAGICAL barfing. And most importantly, a place of P-Hugging giant, fluffy tigers and bears. Oh my!
Monday, March 1, 2010
It's a Fanny Pack World After All!
This week my excuse for lack of blog entries, is that I was on vacation. Well, if you call walking approximately 20 miles per day, waiting in lines with smelly people, and subsisting on a diet comprised soley of burgers, fries, cokes, cookies and various cream-based desserts vacationing. Last week I was in the world called Disney, but which I now prefer to call Fanny Pack World. Sure, there are cuddly cartoon creatures at every turn, but the fanny packs outnumber them by at least 100 to 1. I have seen many fanny packs in my time on this earth, but never had I seen such variety of color, material and size. Did you know that there exists in this world, a fanny pack comprised of TWO drink holders as well as THREE levels of zipper pouches, that have more than enough room in which to carry a variety of snacks, your Disney Bucks, your Disney Character Autograph Book, your cholesterol/blood pressure meds, as well as your sadness, loneliness, and your shattered dreams of ever being cool? It's fannypacktastic.
In addition to a abnormal amount of Fanny Packs, Disney World is being overrun by mobility scooters. There were honestly many times in which I feared for my life due to the amount of scooters zipping around the park. Having been run over by an old person on a scooter before, Ethan was riddled with flashbacks for much of our time in the kingdom. In all actuality, I find most of the old people on their scooters to be pretty cute, but I do think they need to pass some sort of scooter driving test before they are set loose in a big, busy place like Disney World, where there are thousands of small children who could end up as Magic Kingdom road kill. And I probably shouldn't say this, but since I'm feeling extra honest today I will: I absolutely do not approve of the people who are riding around on the scooters just because they are overweight and can't walk around the park. In my opinion, if you can afford to roll around Disney all day long, buying pins for your collection and purchasing $12.00 hamburgers, you can afford to buy a gym membership or a year on Nutrisystem. I'm just saying.
Another thing that you get bombarded with at Disney World, are the smells. Some are awesome: funnel cakes, popcorn, french fries; and some are not: the bathrooms, all the babies with dirty diapers, the strange pig farm smell on the monorail, and the huge variety of general "people smells". When standing in line in those poorly ventilated rooms with the railings that make you zig-zag like slaughterhouse cattle, believe you me, you smell alot of smells. After waiting in approximately 200 of those lines I can tell you this: America has a health crisis and thy name is extreme flatulence. In many of these lines, the toxic mixture of gas, B.O., and cheap cologne just about did me in. Since I have an extremely sensitive nose, I was affected hundredfold. In fact, I am still having nightmares and some sort of arm spasm that I'm quite sure are side-effects of inhaling noxious fumes.
Aside from those gripes, I had an amazing time in Disney World. I am a sucker for a good ride, and the since the lines were relatively fast-moving and the rides worth the wait time, we were all happy. I do have to say that in a contest between Disneyland and Disney World, I prefer the land. I can't really explain why exactly, but I think that part of it is that there is just a different vibe to Disneyland, the people watching is more interesting and less fanny-centric, and the weather more agreeable. The only downside about Disneyland is that after finally getting to the front of the Peter Pan line, they stop you and give your magical flying ship to Kobe Bryant, whose wife, in a complete 180 to Disney World attire, was wearing a white pantsuit and heels. Stupid? Extremely. Preferable to the fanny packs and sweats? Absolutely.
That is the end of my Disney World gripes. Later this week I will tell you the more personal aspects of our vacation: The laughter, the tears, and yes....the barf. Stay tuned!
In addition to a abnormal amount of Fanny Packs, Disney World is being overrun by mobility scooters. There were honestly many times in which I feared for my life due to the amount of scooters zipping around the park. Having been run over by an old person on a scooter before, Ethan was riddled with flashbacks for much of our time in the kingdom. In all actuality, I find most of the old people on their scooters to be pretty cute, but I do think they need to pass some sort of scooter driving test before they are set loose in a big, busy place like Disney World, where there are thousands of small children who could end up as Magic Kingdom road kill. And I probably shouldn't say this, but since I'm feeling extra honest today I will: I absolutely do not approve of the people who are riding around on the scooters just because they are overweight and can't walk around the park. In my opinion, if you can afford to roll around Disney all day long, buying pins for your collection and purchasing $12.00 hamburgers, you can afford to buy a gym membership or a year on Nutrisystem. I'm just saying.
Another thing that you get bombarded with at Disney World, are the smells. Some are awesome: funnel cakes, popcorn, french fries; and some are not: the bathrooms, all the babies with dirty diapers, the strange pig farm smell on the monorail, and the huge variety of general "people smells". When standing in line in those poorly ventilated rooms with the railings that make you zig-zag like slaughterhouse cattle, believe you me, you smell alot of smells. After waiting in approximately 200 of those lines I can tell you this: America has a health crisis and thy name is extreme flatulence. In many of these lines, the toxic mixture of gas, B.O., and cheap cologne just about did me in. Since I have an extremely sensitive nose, I was affected hundredfold. In fact, I am still having nightmares and some sort of arm spasm that I'm quite sure are side-effects of inhaling noxious fumes.
Aside from those gripes, I had an amazing time in Disney World. I am a sucker for a good ride, and the since the lines were relatively fast-moving and the rides worth the wait time, we were all happy. I do have to say that in a contest between Disneyland and Disney World, I prefer the land. I can't really explain why exactly, but I think that part of it is that there is just a different vibe to Disneyland, the people watching is more interesting and less fanny-centric, and the weather more agreeable. The only downside about Disneyland is that after finally getting to the front of the Peter Pan line, they stop you and give your magical flying ship to Kobe Bryant, whose wife, in a complete 180 to Disney World attire, was wearing a white pantsuit and heels. Stupid? Extremely. Preferable to the fanny packs and sweats? Absolutely.
That is the end of my Disney World gripes. Later this week I will tell you the more personal aspects of our vacation: The laughter, the tears, and yes....the barf. Stay tuned!
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