Rant #25: Disney World

It's been a while since my last blog post, as many of you have oh-so-politely informed me. That's because I've been, as Aunt Brenda would say, making Floridians rich. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I went to Disney World.

I've been to Disney World before. When I was seven, I loved it; now, I'm ready to send Walt an expletive-filled letter. Let me explain to you my major grievances re: Disney.

1. First of all, the people. There are a lot of people in Disney World (true story, I promise). I'm not a people person. I'm especially not a people person when people are wearing jeggings, wedge heels, and Ed Hardy, and they're sitting in the middle of the dang street chomping on their meat on a stick. 
2. That brings me into Disney World Etiquette, some not-so-delicate courtesies that so many people fail to understand. You walk on the right side of the road, people. If your kid is screaming during It's A Bug's Life (most traumatic experience of my life [other than that airplane bathroom], I was absolutely terrified and don't recommend it), take him outside. Don't have your extended family wear singing, blinking leprechaun pins on the line for Buzz Lightyear. These are simple courtesies, guys.
3. My reservation angst. We had made reservations for literally all but one lunch and dinner. However, in each place, we had to wait for at least 20 minutes -- with a reservation! -- to get our table. It's a ridiculous policy. 
4. The forced chipperness of the people working there. After any interaction with a Disney employee, they chirped, "have a magical day!". Now, this isn't the employees' fault; they've clearly been instructed to say that. However, they need to stop. A magical day? What does that even mean? Also, for the love of God, stop calling me "princess". As in, "one towel or two, princess?". I'm not a princess and I'm not seven. So stop.
5. I might as well throw this in here: all the lines. I hate lines.
6. The people in the costumes definitely need more creative freedom. Because when I asked to see what shoes Aurora was wearing, she giggled nervously like it was the first time anyone asked her. And when my brother interrogated Cinderella as to whether she was a real princess or a princess by marriage, she tittered and said "oh my" as if Prince Charming were slow-dancing with the mouse. They need more creative freedom, cooperate Disney. Besides, these princesses are already wearing butt-bows. Don't you feel sorry for them?

I mean, Disney does have some redeeming factors. I like the Buzz Lightyear ride. (14,000 points this time! Only beaten by my father. But he always wins. And I beat him in Quiddler, so it all evens out). And I'm partial to Epcot, too, especially the countries' showcase, and especially Germany's beer garden. (HIGH entertainment value, I assure you.)

What do you guys think of Disney World? Do the cons outweigh the pros, or the other way around? Take it up in the comments, as usual.

Rave #23: Skiing

Before I go into my recent story, let me give you, my dear reader, a little history on my skiing experience.

I went downhill skiing last year -- with the extended family -- for the first time. It was not my personal favorite extended family vacation. (That award would probably go to polka/curling weekend, but that's a different story). I had an especially difficult time mastering the chair lift (the first time I ended up scooching ahead to far, and the young buck lifter-helper had to violently  grab me out of the way; the second time, a man whom we'll call Uncle Sob ran into me; the third time, I forgot to get off the chairlift and had to dramatically jump off six feet into the air. Unsurprisingly, I did not make it.) And then Uncle Sob "accidentally" brought me to a double-black-diamond, "freestyle skills required" slope and left me there, right below the chairlift, to forlornly take off my skis and butt-slide my way down. Being the eternally stoic woman I am, however, I made it through the weekend, cold toes, Uncle Sob's inability to read a trail map, and our hotel's lack of curling be danged.

This past weekend was much better. I went Saturday evening, with two dear friends -- let's call them Maroline Stillingham and Scarlotte Stove. Scarlotte's a marvelous skier; she bends down really low and does these impressive jumps and everything. Maroline used to snowboard a bit, but hadn't in several years; she, like I, was a wee bit nervous prior to the expedition. Scarlotte assured us that she'd stay with us and help us out. Accompanying us were Scarlotte's father and brother, who were both lovely. (If you're reading this -- hello! Thanks again.)

And I can honestly assure you, my dear readers, it was fabulous. Maroline had a wee bit of difficulty getting off the chairlift (she claims it's harder for snowboarders -- is that true?), and I had one tiny incident where while I was trying to get on the chair lift my ski managed to fall off, leading to a valiant effort of the man behind me to grab it, leading to his falling off, but all crises were averted and we had a swell time. I especially enjoyed the slower parts (turns out I don't like to go too quickly; on the steeper parts I did an elaborate, soon-to-be-patented move involving lots of turns and stabs of the ground with my poles [that's right, I took physics, I know how momentum works]). Scarlotte was quite game about pulling Maroline around during the flat parts, and I tried to help out, but I haven't quite worked out the spiffy walking-on-skis-in-the-snow thing Scarlotte can do.

My new-found fondness for skiing may surprise you, and I accept that proudly. Because, you see, I've found skiing to be the perfect athletic medium. A lot of it is about technique; it's about listening to Scarlotte's instructions carefully, and as long as I do that, it works. And I can follow instructions. I highly recommend trying it. It's fun. I promise. Just wear big socks, and go with some fabulous people like I did.