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!

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!

Alice Can Suck It...Patti's Been To The REAL Wonderland!

I know, I know, I've totally sucked as a blog hostess lately, but I've been kind've bored with myself. I can hear you all gasping right now, but it's true. Sometimes even I get sick of me. The weirdness that you read on here once or twice a week is what is CONSTANTLY streaming through my head all day every day. I can be a bit much for me to take. Between trying to get some time away from myself, trying to plan a vacation, and trying to thoroughly investigate all leads as to who poisoned me a little over a week ago (Yes, perp...I'm still on the case), I have been neglecting the blog. That is, until today. Today I am going to tell you about my "Happy Place". My Mecca. The Renee Zellweger to my Tom Cruise. The place that completes me. The Drag Bar.

Since I am a nice, responsible, suburban wife and mother, I don't get out too often, unless you want to count trips to school, Target, HEB, as well as the occasional Dr.'s appointment, which I really try to avoid since every time I go they either diagnose me with some rare or old person disease, or suggest we do some sort of surgery on something or another. Just for kicks, I am convinced. Anyway, the point is that I don't get out much. Well, at least I didn't until last Saturday night when I made my pilgrimage to paradise.

So, me and three of my more adventurous friends decided to enlighten ourselves as to the various types of entertainment that the city of Houston has to offer. Did you mom's know that Houston has more than a zoo, an aquarium, McDonald's Playplace's and Chuck E. Cheese's? Neither did I! But let me tell you this: There is a whole other world out there. A world in which instead of putting on their jammies at 6 PM people actually go out in public after 10 PM. You heard me right. Now that I am all hip, I know that nothing exciting happens before 10 PM. And here I was, deep in oblivious REM sleep while amazing things were happening all around me! Amazing things, indeed.

In what was a complete and utter shock to my old-lady system, we actually went someplace at 11:00 PM. My body was confused and trying to rebel, but I fought that with plenty of pre-adventure vitamins and caffeine, and it worked. So at 11 o'clock on Saturday, February the 13th, I entered the bar of my dreams. Like most of you, I have seen the drag bar in "The Birdcage" and reveled in it's awesome glory, but never have I been to a real one before. I can tell you this, people: It is Heaven. My name is Patti Ford and I love Drag Queen's. All shapes, sizes, colors, musical styles. I. Love. It. All. Exclamation Point!

Some of you may be shaking your heads right now, thinking that there's no way you would like this kind of place. But let me tell you this: You will. If you are a subscriber to my blog, I have to assume, right off the bat, that you are a bit crazy. A tad wacky. Maybe just a little left of center. If you're not, then you will be when I get done with you. Anyway, in my opinion, there is no way you wouldn't like it there. Not if you are a person with any sense of adventure, sense of wonder and sense of humor.

Some of the performers were beautiful, others were, well...not. But they were all awesome in their own special ways. Each of those ladies gave it their all, and you couldn't help but cheer them on. I found myself wishing I could perform. My lead song choices would be the crowd-pleasing and oh-so-appropriate "Dancing Queen" and a wink-wink version of "Man, I Feel Like A Woman," followed by a soulful rendition of the ultimate epitome of cheesy 70's ballads, "I've Never Been To Me". I would wear satin and sequins. Lots and lots of sequins. Maybe even some sort of feathery headpiece! I could definitely pass as a man passing as a woman, due to my height, shoe size and mannish walk. I could even use my neck scar for entertainment value once again, by saying that I had Adam's Apple Removal Surgery, or a Manapple-ectomy, if you want to use the professional term I just now made up. Performing at a regular bar I may be on the mid to lower end of the hotness scale, but at a drag bar? At a drag bar I could be a 10 (okay, maybe an 8)!! Even if I were a 1, the crowd would support me, cheer for me, give me dollar bills while fully clothed, because that's the kind of place this is. It's an amazing place. A place where you are accepted for who you are. A place where everyone just wants to have a good time. And that, my friends, is a happy place.

Me: After going through RuPaul's Dragulator. I am gorgeous!!

Law And Order: Patti Poisoning Unit (doink! doink!)

In case you haven't noticed, I've been MIA for a week, due to what I am positive was the single worst case of food poisoning EVER. Remember a few years ago when Wendy's or Jack In The Box or Burger King or one of those places made everyone sick with bad burgers? Mine was worse than that. It was as if I had eaten each and every one of those poisonous burgers myself. And yes, Steve, it was worse than your Boston Market incident of '96. Don't argue with me. Anyway, it's been five days now and I'm almost feeling like myself again, although I'm still having some pretty severe flashbacks. I've been to the dark side, people. I've been to the dark side and I've seen some things, and those things stay with you.

Because I do not want this crisis to ever befall me again, I've been trying to retrace my steps so I can figure out who/what did this to me, and I have come up with five possible scenarios:

1) "Friend" Poisoning. I met my friend Lee for lunch at a restaurant that SHE suggested. A restaurant that SHE likes. A restaurant which I have only been to one time, years ago. At the restaurant in question, I had the lettuce wraps, an item which SHE thought I would enjoy. An item that SHE DID NOT have herself. During said dinner, SHE INSISTED I try a dipping sauce that she said was "delicious". Whether or not she tasted this as well, I cannot say. I never witnessed her doing so. Suspicious? On so many levels...

2) Box Of Crap. As you may have read in last week's blog, I received a B.O.C from my childhood friend, John. While I am quite positive that John was just being his funny, quirky self by sending me this B.O.C., I have suspicions that something evil may have happened. I don't want to point fingers here, but let's just say that John has a wife and sometimes wives don't like their husband's to have female friends. Add to that the fact that the news media is always telling us about various chemical agents that can be put into envelopes and mailed. Add to that the fact that when I opened that B.O.C there was quite a bit of what I thought at the time to be dust and/or cigarette ash floating around. Top that off with the fact that a chemical poisoning can have the same symptoms as severe food poisoning (or so I assume). Mix all those facts together, and things start to look a little sinister...do they not?

3) Blog hate. I know, I know, this idea seems pretty far-fetched, but for the sake of argument let's pretend that someone out there really hates my blog. Maybe someone really, really loves Brooke Shields, despises the word "funky" and (gasp) hates Paul Rudd. Maybe, just maybe, this person went off the deep end when I said that I like the book "I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell" (that book can definitely be polarizing), and they decided to try and do me in. Maybe they snuck into my house and poisoned my food, or my toothbrush, or (assuming they were a super-genius) my wine! The plot thickens...

4) Roomba. As my long time readers know, she used to be my little round cleaning angel and now she's like my bitchy, self-absorbed teenage daughter. Since I was such a handful for my mom, and I don't have a daughter to give me paybacks, god is punishing me through Roomba. Does she hate me that much? I think so. And ponder this: she has the ability to suck up dust, or dust-like substances, as well as blow them out. Could she potentially sneak out at night, head to the seedy part of town, score some "angel dust" or some other powdery drug that could induce severe vomiting, then roll back home and sneak in under the cover of night and sprinkle that "dust" onto some of my personal belongings? Hell. Yes.

5) Running. I just have to assume that running could potentially shoulder the blame for this. I haven't quite ironed out the details , but I'm not taking it off the list just yet.

So there you have it. My five genius theories for why I was so sick last week. If you have any information that could lead to the proving or disproving of any of the five scenarios, please submit it to myself, or the local authorities, ASAP. I will be working diligently to solve this case, as soon as my brain is back to it's full intellectual abilities, which may or may not happen any time soon. For that reason, any help you could give me would be greatly appreciated. Until I nab the perp, I will live in fear of pretty much everything.

You Down With B.O.C (Yeah, you know me)

Well, it's rainy and cold outside today, and I'm just being a complete slug, so I thought it was the perfect time to write something. At least it seemed like a good idea an hour ago, before I had yet another reminder that my brain cells are dying off at an alarming rate. Sometimes when I log into my blog it asks me for a password, and sometimes it doesn't. Unfortunately for me, today was a password day. I thought I knew it, but it turns out that I'm even more stupid than I thought, which is really saying something, since I am nothing if not honest with myself about my level of stupidity.

After blogger rejected what I thought was my password about 5 times, I decided to make a new one. In yet another unfortunate twist, in order to change your password you must do one of those Word Verification things, which I usually have more trouble with than College Algebra, and this time was no exception. This time I set a personal record for failed attempts at Word Verification. Not only that, but I am actually quite confident that I may have set a world record as well. So after what seemed like hours of typing in "words" like fgl8esTar and rAvd4ESlg2 I finally got lucky with thEr8ulAte, and made it onto my blog. Problem is, now I not only can't remember what I was going to blog about, but I also have a headache and a sore throat from screaming curse words at my computer screen.

So needless to say I am now too exhausted to write much of anything, thanks to blogger's fear that there lives, somewhere in this big world of ours, a very bored and sinister individual who wants nothing more in life than to hack into my blog and wreak havoc on my reputation by writing a counterfeit entry. Listen, whoever you are, you can't possibly, in a million years, do more damage to my reputation that I can do to myself, so save your hacking energy and find a new pastime.

So there you have it. My excuse of the day. But since I love you guys and I don't want to leave you completely empty-handed, I will leave you with this: Last week I sent my dear friend John a book that I wanted him to read (it is called "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, and it is hysterical, but not for the faint of heart or die-hard women's libbers). After sending him this book I received an email that stated the following "Thanks for the book! I've only read the first story but I can tell its gonna be fun. You need to be careful sending me packages because I have a tendency to send things back. Usually if I clean out a drawer or closet shelf and find a bunch of stuff I haven't seen in years, yet can't bring myself to throw away, it goes in the mail. So don't be surprised if you get a big box of crap in the mail. Thanks again!" So yesterday I received my "Box Of Crap", and here is a photo as well as a partial inventory:

-Book of matches, partially used
-Menu for one of my favorite pizza parlor's. Lightly stained.
-Electric Pencil Sharpener, full of pencil gunk.
-2 Monkey Heads made from coconuts
-Orange Marmalade. Homemade. Looks really old.
-Miniature stuffed Winnie The Pooh in a bunny costume.
-2 broken watches
-2 pens (working)
-Dental floss
-Chia Seeds
-Photo of my face drinking a beer (extremely close-up shot)
-Football necklace
etc...

While this may seem like a strange thing for someone to do (not only the sending of the box, but also the writing about the sending of the box), I was thrilled to receive my B.O.C. See, I may not get to see or talk to John as much as I would like to, but now when I am missing him, I can dump out my B.O.C and sit in the middle of that cigarette smoke smelling pile of trash and pretend I am with him. And each time I look at my B.O.C. it will remind me that maybe, just maybe, I am not the weirdest person in the world, because someone who would spend $11.87 to send me a giant B.O.C. is at the very least, the same amount of strange as the person who was happy to receive it.