I kept swearing that when I got to Disney, i’d make time to sit down and blog. I did last time!
And I have NO damn idea how I did it. Each night we’ve gotten the kids in bed hours past their usual bed time, which is fine- but when it comes to my mental diarrhea, aka blog, it relies on the fact that the kids go to bed promptly at 8:45pm every single night. Or really it just depends on being home and being able to sit down on a computer and explode what’s going on in my mind into some kind of cohesive thought. And if i’m being honest (and I always am), i’m just not savvy enough to mobile blog… mostly because I would end up touchdown spiking my fuckface of a phone into a brick wall.
All that being said, this is the first time i’ve been able to sit down at a computer to do anything other than upload way too many photos from a single day and then collapse into the bed, BUT, I do have a lot of thoughts i’ve been jotting down about the mystical land of the rat.
If you ever want to feel confused, irritated, overjoyed and completely mystified all in the span of 3 minutes- Disney is the place to be.
1. Oh, the things I saw that I thought had gone extinct with the dinosaurs
Fanny packs, FULL ON denim jumpsuits, rat tails, calf high tube socks, and a plethora of other fashion DON’Ts we all wished we’d never committed and prayed would never come back to haunt us have made a resergence by the hands of magic enthusiasts and those not ashamed to be “tourists.”
Yes, tourist is a bad word… because the connotation is that you’re some kind of bumbling fucking idiot. A lot of times that is true.
But it’s not just the fanny pack that’s back y’all.. just like mini skirts have gotten progressively tinier over the years, so have the FP’s. MICRO fanny packs are breeding. They are so small I am not sure what the fuck you’d fit in there other than the hit of acid you MUST have taken in order to agree to wear that stupid thing.
2. Put some clothes on! NO, not that many!
Too little clothes on people who should be wearing FAR more in an establishment meant for children (honey, if your ass is eating the seam to your shorts, chances are they are too small and NO, no one wants to see your bellybutton), and people wearing jeans, boots, and flannel shirts… it’s A BILLION FUCKING DEGREES OUT HERE AND THE AIR IS SO THICK IT’S HARD TO EVEN BREATHE THROUGH THE SWEAT!!! What kind of deal did you make with the devil in order not to sweat to death?? I must know, because i’ve been so fucking hot the past two days, hari-kari seems more tempting than walking around at 2pm in Disneyworld. I’d start a petition to make it a nudist colony, just to save us all from heatstroke.. but.. i’ve had a sneak preview of what some of these people have to offer and I do NOT want to see anymore. I’m sure the feeling is quite mutual
3. Brats brats everywhere
As parents, we don’t really go to Disney for US unless we’ve chosen to leave the kids at home. Sure, we might enjoy it (for me, it’s REALLY enjoy it), but i’d say it’s mostly for the kids to have an amazing magical time and all that happy fucking shit the commercials spoon-feed you (they sure are convincing aren’t they?)
You get to the land of the rat (be it world or land) and you’re having a fabulous time and suddenly… melt down city. Not just your kid, but EVERY kid. Tantrums, screaming, fits.. over who in the hell knows what but you begin to feel like somewhat of a head case for bringing a kid to such a wonderful (read: expensive) place if they don’t act like they appreciate it. Fuckers.I blame heat and far too much excitement.
4. Happy adults
Whiny kids aside- adults at Disney are HAPPY. Like on drugs kind of happy. Reliving childhood? Copious amounts of alcohol? I don’t know, but everyone I have ever encountered has been BEYOND nice. They want to know about where you’re from, how long it took you to get there, where you’re staying, your kids ages, and they try to make the meltdowns better by commiserating or just giving your kid something to STFU. It makes bitching hard… i’m not sure whether to be pleased by this or to curse their happy asses.
I am now going to join the crowd (no, not the ones wearing mini-fannies) and drown this day in a large alcoholic drink. 4 more days to go!
Dear people writing articles on ways to get siblings to get along, I'll save you the time. The answer is "Don't let them play together"
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.
Parenthood is when you start counting the minutes to bed time before 11am.