Tonight I cut the bottom off of a red pepper and look who showed up.
I also talked with a good friend on the commute home. She’s freelancing as a book editor and is in the midst of editing a steamy romance novel (or erotica; we debated the definition) and had to look up “c*ntcake” in Urban Dictionary. The best part was when I made her use it in a sentence. All this while her toddler son was being babysat by his aunt one floor up. La, but what bizarrely fun lives we lead!
Speaking of fun, I went to Disney a couple of weeks ago with Fanny and Will (you remember Fanny and Will) and Miriam.
And before I forget this particular adventure, I wanted to get the happy times on record!
- Landing in MCO. I don’t know what it is about Floridian humidity and how it lurks everywhere and defies air conditioning, but it’s like coming home. On par with the water in Splash Mountain.
- Splash Mountain. Hands down, my favorite ride because trees should be blue, little raccoons should play harmonicas, and covering your face when you take the plunge is never an option.
- My Uber drivers. These gentlemen facilitated my whirlwind tour of three parks on my last day that included Everest, Tower of Terror, Rock n Rollercoaster, and sprinting to my FP+ countdown so I could smoke this family on Toy Story Midway Mania (I may have also destroyed Miriam on Buzz Lightyear; not my usual gloat, because Duck Hunt was a personal best, so I’m taking a moment right now). All of the Uber drivers were friendly transplants who couldn’t say enough great things about moving to central Florida, alligators included, and two of them assured me that if I ever wanted to get married, I would have no trouble. Thanks, guys!
- Symphony in the Stars. I love Wishes!, but John Williams scores, audio clips of Luke and Leia and all the rest, and fireworks that look like fighters and light sabers blazing above you are just too cool. I think I cried, twice. I cry a lot, so don’t worry.
- The actual stars. Have you ever walked backwards around the World Showcase after Illuminations? Wandering into Rome or watching the model train in Germany? Gazing at Spaceship Earth’s reflection on the lagoon and then looking up at a clear night sky? You should try it sometime. Doesn’t feel like a fake, Eurocentric world at all.
- Boma. I tried to eat my troubles away this trip. Curry and creamy hummus and peanut butter rice. Thick hot chocolate and a frangipan pastry in Paris. The best Peking duck of my life at Morimoto in Disney Springs (where even the white folk servers have to wear high buns and it was magnificent). Midnight Nutella waffles in Liberty Square after conquering Space Mountain. And, of course, a Dole whip. I didn’t get the shave ice this time, like I’d planned for my last night, because…
- Club Level. I was magically upgraded for my one night at the Beach Club and I may have twirled around in my room to the sound of Stormalong Bay outside one of my two balconies and Tchaikovsky on the “Disney Today” forecast channel. There was complimentary strawberry champagne at check-in, appetizers all the livelong day, including the chocolate croissants I usually buy in the Marketplace like a chump, and a king size bed, just for me. Unless the Uber drivers make good on their word.
- People of Disney. I rode Everest seven times one morning because Everest and single rider line. Off and on the ride in ten seconds in one instance. Why wouldn’t you keep going? Especially when you ride in the front with a sweet family from Worcester; or in the middle with two middle-aged parents and their daughter with Down Syndrome, the dad taking selfies and the mom making yeti growls the whole ride; or in the back with two kids who need you to detail the entire ride while you’re coasting up the first big hill, because they are happily terrified out of their minds?
- The Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Rum. Will is the best drinking buddy in Disney and I really hope he takes me up on contributing to the blog with The Dines Dine (get it? Their last name is Dines! Go, Fanny!). Until then, I’ll just say that the sake sangria at Morimoto was choice. And all the cocktails at Trader Sam’s Grog Grotto were so good I ended up buying all of the glasses to take home, light-up ice cubes included.
When I got to the bar, I was early. I’d just strolled around the Grand Floridian, peeking into the new vacation club suites and dipping my toes in the pool. The bar is in the Polynesian and the entrance is a bit speakeasy. But once inside, it’s like a tiny, kitschy dive bar in Hawaii. There was only one seat open with some girls my age, two super sweethearts who told me all about their careers in animal care (one works at the Animal Kingdom with vultures; the other at the Arkansas Zoo). When I ordered the Krakatoa Punch, the lights dimmed, a warning wind blew across the room, and the volcano in the window began to erupt. The Tiki Goddess on the ceiling yelled something indecipherable to me and the waiter paid his respects. This happened again later when Will ordered the Uh Oa! (think actually tasty scorpion bowl) and we threw cinnamon into the fire of our drink. Other customers ordered the Nautilus, which is served in a giant ship glass. The bartender slaps on a captain’s hat and small zebra life vest to serve it, while his mate follows him and mists the crowd. It’s fucking fantastic. I drank a lot. And I can’t wait to go back.
Next trip on deck is the Caribbean. If you have any recommendations, I’m all ears! (Get it?)