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Ye nevah cawll. Ye nevah wryte. Whot? Ye don' luve ye muddah?
Two things that Southern mothers and New York Jewish mothers have in common are the guilt trip and the good food. Sometimes at the same time.
Lawdy mehcy, chil'. Ya gotta eat yawr collah' greens or yaw're gonna disappeah until dey ain't nuttin' lef' o' ya but da clothes ya wearin' righ' now.
As an aside, that reminds me of when I read the Uncle Remus books by Joel Chandler Harris. One can only read them if one knows the real Southern dialect. Sort of like reading A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. It flows much better if one knows a true New Orleans accent. But I digress.
No, I didn't disappear off the face of the earth. Mr. Gaelic's annual conference was in Orlando. Piggyback on a Disney World visit and Mrs. Gaelic is out of this world. What better way to see Tomorrowland than without kids in tow! We could smile at all the beautiful babies we wanted to and then quickly find another table away from the screaming brats.
You know all those guides with suggested touring plans for each of the Disney parks? Don't use them. We tried using one the first two days and realized that we would have more fun if we didn't try to do and see everything. Just be and enjoy. Sheer bliss. Do you know how refreshing it is to have Fastpasses in hand to both Soarin' and Test Track and decide that you'd rather go back to the hotel and take a nice long bath?
And a word to the wise... Just because the resort bar has signature drinks on the menu doesn't mean that you have to try one. Save your money and your taste buds. Stick with what you know. Some of those signatures are ghastly!
Moving on with today's entry in the 30 Day Non-Facebook Prose-Instead-of-Pictures Challenge and recapping the last three.
8.A picture that makes you laugh - Da.
9.A picture of the person who has gotten you through the most - Si.
10.A picture of the person you do the most ****** up things with - Here!
As you can guess from the title, I don't need anyone to help me in finding f***ed up things. But, in my defense, I'm not the instigator either. I'm the lone wolf who does an excellent job in f***ed up activities all by my lonesome. But my f***ed things skirted the rules.
In high school as the good girl, it wasn't until the day before graduation that I broke the mini-skirt rule. In royal style to boot. As the valedictorian, I was seated on the stage on the 50-yard line in the football stadium. To the graduation run-through the day before, I sported a navy leather mini-skirt. What were they going to do? Not let me graduate? Take away my valedictory speech like they took away all but one of the top academic awards? "You scored the highest in every class. But we need to spread the awards around. So you're only getting one. Which one would you like to be recognized for?"
My fearlessness increased with age. Even today, bungee jumping doesn't seem like too big of a deal. Except I probably wouldn't do it for the same reason I gave up roller coasters. Headaches from being thrown around in the seat. Sigh.
Sure, wearing a mini-skirt to graduation practice and bungee jumping aren't f***ed up by lots of people's standards. But getting sloppy drunk and ending up, as Laoch said to one of his friends, "sun soaked, covered in beer and strippers, and not knowing where my wallet or my car is" isn't my kind of f***ed up. I prefer meeting four men on the beach of Puerto Rico and having dinner with them, followed the next day by meeting one man on the beach and having afternoon tea with him, followed by meeting two men on the beach the next day and having drinks with them. All while vacationing by myself.
As I said, a lone wolf who can find plenty of f***ed up things all by myself. Yep, I am my own worst enemy.
This past weekend was our last fling of summer as a family. Next weekend we pile in the car to deposit Finola at college and do college visits on the way back with Deirdre. Our last familial fling of summer was spent at the amusement park where the teens and I celebrated my birthday.
Lesson learned. No more roller coasters for me. While waiting on the rest of the family to ride the coasters, several things came to my attention.
- There's a prominent sign at the park entrance that says "shirts, pants, and shoes must be worn at all times". Does that exclude short pants, a.k.a. shorts? What about skorts? What about a dress? Or what I was wearing - an actual skirt?
- A different sign at the bumper cars says to remove all earrings before riding. Why? Are earrings more conductive than rings, watches, bracelets, or necklaces?
- Several rides have a demo seat at the beginning of the ride for people to try to buckle themselves into and see if they're too large for the ride. Why do people wait in the line and then embarrass themselves by having to be told by the cast member that they're too big to ride rather than try the seat out before waiting in line?
- If you don't want to eat meat, there aren't too many choices for meals. What if I don't want a salad or a slice of cheese pizza?
- There's only one Disney. Why do parks try to have a back story for the rides if there's really no story? And why do parks try to emulate certain Disney rides knowing that they'll fall far short?
- Having someone in a wheelchair gets you to the front of the line ahead of everyone else. Does that mean that you can fake an illness or injury, have a friend push you around all day, and jump to the front of the line just because you want to jump line? 'Cause there were a ton of healthy looking teens who would bound out of their wheelchairs and walk to the coaster seat then run back to their chairs after the ride ended. Excuse me. Can't you wait in line like the rest of us?
- The war is over. Or at least war fatigue has set in. Gone are the ticket booths reserved solely for service members. Gone are the tributes to the military throughout the park. Even though there are numerous military bases within an hour's drive.
- Americans are fat.
What is really sad about that last one is watching tubby ten-year-olds carrying a refillable Double Super Big Gulp-sized soft drink around while their grossly obese parents stuff themselves into a mobility scooter because their girth makes walking too hard on their hearts and lungs.
During an extremely long wait for the family on one coaster, I decided to count the number of thin to average kids versus those with mini-muffin tops and big bowls of jelly. Grand total: kids without bellies - 2, kids with bellies that pooched out - 38. Somehow I don't think any of those 38 tummies was distended due to malnourishment. Not when you get free refills on soft drinks but have to pay $3 for each bottle of cold water.
Going to theme or amusement parks with me can be 1) very boring or 2) very interesting. It's an easy way to get kids interested in chemistry and physics. The fun is still there. It's just that the how and why become part of waiting in line.
For my birthday, my two teens and I visited one of our in-state theme parks. The science lessons are long gone. When I remark, "Ah, nothing like the smell of ozone," while waiting for the bumper cars, Finola answers with an explanation of how ozone is made. Waiting for the roller coaster, there's no need to explain why the circles get tighter towards the end of the ride or how pneumatic brakes work. The only thing of interest is how long the wait for the front or rear row is.
Roller coaster connoisseurs know that the last row is like the tail end of a whip. You feel the ride more intensely. The thrill of the front row depends on whether that first drop (say from 205 feet facing straight down) is part and parcel of the whole experience or just the accelerator for the rest of the ride.
Until my last birthday.
Getting old sucks.
Something happened on the way to middle age. The ability to enjoy roller coasters went out the window when I started playing trombone with the morning paper.
It happened on the second time through on a tall, fast full-circuit inverted roller coaster. It was the cobra roll that did me in. On the approach to the station, even swinging my legs back and forth while looking straight ahead wasn't enough to calm that weird feeling connecting my head to my stomach. Keeping lunch inside took lots of strength and concentration.
My roller coastering days are over. Sniff, sniff. My fear is that my amusement park days may be over as well. Following the inverted coaster was the giant swing, that thing that swings you around in circles way up in the air. It's a midway ride! And it was making me queasy!
After that, my day was spent waiting for my kids to ride whatever coaster they wanted. While waiting, I watched a trio of heavy-set men about my age come off the coaster, retrieve their bottle-shaped beer cans and laugh their way towards the next ride. How can some people, who are my age and obviously don't take as good a care of their bodies as I do, manage to drink and ride coasters but I, just drinking water, can't?
Perhaps instead of physics and chemistry, our next trip will include a physiology lesson.
