Tag: Disneyworld

Pop Culture

Living in Florida comes with certain perks, and for a Disney-phile like myself, being able to get in the car and drive to the Orlando theme parks in just a few hours is definitely one of them.

I’m meeting my niece CB and her family for a weekend at the Magic Kingdom and Disney’s Hollywood Studios. CB’s family is flying in from Texas and won’t be here until late tonight, but I checked into my room in the Pop Century resort at 1:30 this afternoon and have already been Disneyfied.

   
    
   
The Pop Century Resort is divided by decades. Fittingly, I was booked into the 50’s section and found myself in a retro style hotel room reminiscent of those I stayed in with my family when I was a child. The modern flat screen TV is the only decorative nod to the current decade. 

   
   
I’m relishing the idea of a room to myself for three nights. 

CB, her husband Lord Jeff, and their two children will be staying just across the lagoon at the Art of Animation Resort. I scoped out their hotel this afternoon to see how long it will take me to walk it in the morning. Of course I kept getting sidetracked, so the walk is either ten minutes or an hour and 20 minutes give or take an hour.

These photos are from their resort:

  
    
    

As soon as CB calls in the morning I’ll join her family at The Art of Animation so we can ride a bus to the Magic Kingdom. I’m a few months away from turning 60, but I feel like a giddy kid. 

M-I-C (See you real soon!)

K-E-Y (Why? Because I have a ticket!) 

M-O-U-S-E.

Now if the kids next door will settle down, I’m going to sleep. 

Peace, people!

 

Off Again, On Again, Gone Again, Flanigan

Before every big road trip we take either Studly Doright initiates the phrase, “Off again, on again, gone again, Flanigan,” or I do. It’s part of our family culture. 

His PaPa Noyes taught him to say the phrase as a small child, back before Studly was known as Studly. PaPa dealt in scrap metal and would often invite one or more of his grandsons to ride along to Fort Worth. They couldn’t leave the “yard” in Hereford, Texas, until the words were chanted. 

Studly passed on the tradition to me, then to our children, and most recently to our grandchildren. Tomorrow as I head to Orlando to meet up with our niece CB and her family for a weekend at DisneyWorld I’ll say the words even though no one else will be in the car to hear them. 

  
I’m too excited to sleep! 

Peace, people!

The Day Before Thanksgiving

Studly Doright, the love of my life, is a bit of a horse trader. He doesn’t trade actual horses (dear Studly harbors an unnatural fear of farm animals, large and small); instead, he trades cars, trucks, motorcycles, basically anything that is motorized transportation.

On Tuesday he informed me that he’d bought a pickup truck. I nodded and smiled. “And, by the way,” he said casually, “We have to pick it up on Wednesday.”

Again, I nodded, like the dullard I must be.

Studly cleared his throat and I looked at him expectantly. “Um, it’s in Orlando….”

Normally a proposed trip to Orlando would have me jumping up and down like a small child. Universal Studios, DisneyWorld, tacky souvenirs, oh joy! But on the day before we are to host a Thanksgiving meal in our home? Nooooooooooo! For one thing  I knew there’d be no dawdling. We’d drive four hours south, in holiday traffic mind you, then turn around and drive four hours back to Doright Manor. But I had no choice. Studly can be an awful bully, I mean, awfully persuasive. 

The trip down was enjoyable. In addition to his gifts in persuasion Studly is always entertaining. Once again we drove right by the Cafe Risqué, Florida’s all nude cafe, even though we have a series of running jokes about what’s on the menu. Trust me, you don’t want to know the jokes. 

Traffic was interesting. One seriously aggressive driver came lane surfing around us, easily going 20 m.p.h. above our rather sedate 75. (Speed limit was 70.) As we neared Orlando we passed her after she’d hit another car. I’d have cheered, but she ruined someone else’s weekend. 

Once we arrived at the car dealership Studly took a test drive while I stretched my legs and looked at cars. The dealership had a gorgeous red BMW convertible that could’ve come home with me if I had just a few more (thousand) dollars in my bank account. After he returned, smiling like an idiot, Studly told me I could start for home while he finished making the deal.

I’ve officially been home now for an hour, and put together another pecan pie that should be done in 10-15 minutes. Studly got caught in a holiday traffic jam on the turnpike. I’m enjoying a Shiner Bock and the Thanksgiving classic Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Studly is probably cursing at rude drivers. Who knows, he might actually get to check out the menu at Cafe Risqué.

  
Peace, people!

Bassackwards

I was slow getting up and around this morning. The digital clock on Studly’s side of the bed clicked over to 8:05 before I even crawled out from under the covers. The cats demanded treats immediately, so I obliged them before eating breakfast. After a hot shower I looked through my closet for something to wear. Normally this is an easy task, but we are leaving on a motorcycle trip tomorrow, and I didn’t want to wear anything I’d need to pack.

After a bit of consideration, I pulled on my purple Haunted Mansion t-shirt and an old pair of JAG denim capris. At one time, these capris fit me perfectly, but they must’ve shrunk or something because their patented elastic band doesn’t seem to have much give anymore. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the 20 extra pounds I’m currently sporting. Okay, maybe it has something to do with the weight gain, but they just felt completely wrong. Since I had no need to go into town I didn’t change out of them and got down to business.

The morning was spent doing laundry and figuring out how to stuff everything into my smallest bag to make room for my riding gear. After rolling and folding, packing and planning, I went out to take water to the men who were putting the brick on Studly’s shop and chatted with them for a minute or two before heading in for a bathroom break.

After taking care of business I went to the sink to wash up. Taking a look in the mirror I realized why my pants felt wrong. I’d pulled them on backwards. The back pockets were right there as evidence. Sheesh. It’s a good thing the brick layers had my car blocked in. There’s no telling how many people in Tallahassee might have witnessed my blunder otherwise.

One question. How wealthy does one need to be in order to employ a stylist? I think I qualify as someone who desperately needs one. I’m sure the bricklayers would testify on my behalf.

Peace, people!