Disney World with Princess Angry

Having finished the race, Princess Angry and I found ourselves only 70 miles from Orlando with nothing to do. Claire, you’ve just won your age group at the Trout Creek 15k, what are you going to do now?

I’M GOING TO DISNEY WORLD!

So we hopped in the Hyndai where I changed what layers I could without being arrested or scarring Princess Angry’s virgin eyes, and we made good time to the Happiest Place on Earth. I was woefully un-showered and pretty stinky, but I had my bikini (which I haven’t worn in 6 years), and Angry his man bikini, and we were planning on sneaking into the volcano pool at the Polynesian hotel in lieu of a shower. When we parked at Downtown Disney for lunch, Angry went to grab his stuff out of the back seat. “Something smells funny back here...” he said. The car’s odors had come up a couple of times during the trip already.
“Yeah, I think that’s my sweaty clothes,” I admitted. Have I ever told you I have a complex about smelling bad? But, stinky as I was, we waltzed into the Wolfgang Puck restaurant (“Wow, $17 for crab cakes, that’s a new one for me” – Angry), where they gave us the signature over-the-top Disney service anyway. At least I got to wash the salt off my face.

Before going to any of the parks, we toured “Backstage Disney” as Angry gave me the skinny on the marathon course. When they say “Backstage” I picture dank, stainless steel subterranean chambers in the legendary 6-story underground below Disney world, with weevul-like illegal workers tending to broken-down flume logs or roller coaster cars, and hiding the bodies of people who died on the teacups ride. But no, backstage Disney was much like many of the roads we’d been driving on in Tampa the day before: just a road without Mickeys on it. I insisted we go and check out the waste water treatment plant that Leana had gushed about in her Disney Marathon race report, and Angry obliged. We drove down an isolated service road for a mile or so. “What the fuck are those?!” I said, pointing to the ugliest motherfucking birds I have seen in my life.
“I’on know,” said Princess Angry, the Disney expert. As we approached the water treatment plant we saw literally hundreds of birds swarming over it. As we drove by I got a closer look. In addition to the gaggles in the air, they were perched on everything - fences, shed roofs, water tanks, and whatever else there is in a water treatment plant. Out of curious revulsion I took a closer look: vultures. Big, fat, ugly vultures with wrinkly, waddley heads that looked like turkeys’ covered in road grime. These suckers made the two buzzards right before the big drop on Splash Mountain look cute and cuddly.

Finally we parked in a remote corner of the Magic Kingdom lot and headed off to the park via the resorts and their pools, which are free if you don’t have a conscience. But once we got to the Polynesian, we realized we’d left our swim suits in the car. In flip-flops I’d had a hell of a time trying to keep up with long-legged Angry in the quarter-mile walk from the car, so we decided to forget the pool, and I would just deal with being sticky and salty. There are worse things that could happen.

(This is the only version I could find)

We caught the monorail (which made me wish I could remember the monorail song from the Simpsons), and Angry got us seats in the front, in the cockpit as it were. Right before taking off to the next stop, the driver handed us little cards. “License to drive the Monorail” they said, with lines for our names. Signed by none other than, MICKEY MOUSE! How exciting! I looked out the windows, as excited as a little kid, trying to spot gaters in the still waters of the lagoon. (Sadly, I saw none.)

When we got to the gates of the Magic Kingdom I was so excited I could jump and shout, “Goody, goody gumdrops!” We went over to the ticket machines, one next to the other, and in synch, we both paused when we got to the price screen. Seventy-five bucks a head for a one-park day pass?! We hit cancel and walked away to confer. It was more than twice as expensive as Angry had expected... Oh, but who cares?! How many times do you just find yourself in Disney World?! Fuck it, I’m going in! So we did, and the $75 didn’t sting so much after we’d gone through the turnstyles.

As we were walking down Main St., USA, the parade passed. Kids and adults were marching behind Pluto, all waving and grinning. Everyone was having SUCH a good time. I love Disney World, there’s no way to have a bad time. Or if you do, it’s entirely your fault. Angry continued to brief me on the course, but I was only half listening as we made our way to Tomorrowland. “Oh, Angry, can we go on Space Mountain? Oh please, oh please, oh pleeeeeeaaase?!?!” There was a 2 hour wait, which gave us pause, but I wanted to go on SO BAD! We kept ourselves entertained on the wait by watching all the people who thought they could scam the Fast Pass system walking the Walk of Shame back to the end of the line. Security’s tight in Disney, don’t fuck with Mickey. After an hour and a half, as we secured ourselves into our rocketships I said to Angry, “Whether you scream or not, I’m going to say you screamed like a little girl.” So we both screamed like little girls with our hands above our heads the whole time (only I pulled mine down a couple of times because I pictured my wrists being broken by some unseen gurter or something).

Then we went over to Frontier land, where we got our fast passes for Thunder Mountain and then got in line for Splash Mountain (this would be my shower). Angry entertained himself by imagining whether he would be a better or worse dad than all the guys in the line, and I spent my time ammusing myself with the different fashion emergencies and teen awkward phases standing around. Disney World has the BEST people watching. We wound up in the front seats of a log filled with kids about our age. “Oh good, all the water flies right over you in the front!” I said to Angry, who was trying to find a place (ideally other than up his butt crack) where his stylin’ cell phone would be safe.
“Yeah, I don’t think it works that way,” he said, ever the Disney authority. Well it worked when I was 10, and unlike him, I wasn’t much taller than a 10-year-old. The ride was SO fun! The whole boat was in the mindset of I’m too old for this, but I just spent an arm and a leg to get in here, so I’m going to have fun dammit! Everyone stuck their hands in the air and screamed at every little dip on the ride, and we all made crude comments about the giant bear’s ass sticking out around every bend. (That bear is pretty suggestive, are you sure kids should be on that ride). Of course, when we went off the drop we did get soaked (I think those jets that squirt water on every log that goes by were a pretty lame trick on the engineer’s part), but luckily we were both wearing tech shirts, and Angry’s phone survived, so no harm, no foul.

We timed it just right and got off Splash Mountain just as our fast passes came of age for Thunder Mountain. Behind us in line was a group kids on the young side of high school, all in matching t-shirts. They were being chaperoned by a sunburnt church youth group type, the kind of guy that looks like he'd be named Chuck. This particular gaggle was all girls, and all the excitement of being in Disney World (without parents), meant that they didn't stop squawking for even a second. There was one that was particularly awful. She had this deep, nasal voice that couldn't settle on one tone, so it sounded like she was whining the whole time. Everything that came out of her mouth made you realize that she was dumb. Not 15-year-old, immature dumb, but not-going-to-grow-out-of-this dumb. Worst of all, she walked around with a disgusted look of superiority. I hate it when inferior people act superior. And worst of all, she had two inside-out french braids going down her head like two fat, healthy snakes climbing down her skull. Inside-out french braids are a clear sign of an inferior race. This girl bugged me, I thought she was a So when we got to the corals to get on our runaway train (in the very back this time), did we have the couple from Splash Mountain in our car? Nooooooooooooo. We had the dumbass inside-out french braid girl and her ditzy friend with colored elastics in her braces. When our train pulled in I said to Angry, "It can't be too fun, the little kids getting off are still smiling." A good indicator of a good ride is when the kids getting off look ashen and somber: traumatized. When I said this, Metal Mouth turned around and smiled a hardware-filled smile at me. Don't smile at me, bitch, I thought. You don't even know me!

The ride took off, and Angry and I started screaming "Oh my gooooooooood! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" around every bend, throwing our hands in the air, squishing each other on turns, and generally having a great time of it. Then, as we passed the dinosaur bones, Motor Mouth turns around and says, "I love you guys!" As if some 15-year-old's approval would be all the affirmation we needed in life.
Had it been up to me I would have ignored her, and then calmly tied her to the tracks after the ride was over, but Angry, ever the diplomat, said, "yeah, we love you too" neither rudely, nor kindly. I don't, I thought. When our runaway train turned back into the station, Motor Mouth turned to us, seeing as we were BFF-best friends forever, who loved each other now, and said, (you must read everything Motor Mouth says at about 4x normal speed and with that annoying valley-girl-ish accent that teenagers use) "Have you guys been to the Animal Kingdom yet?" I didn't speak, I don't speak to people I don't want to talk.
"Um, no," said Angry, neither rudely nor kindly.
"Om'god! You HAVE to go. It is SOOOOO cool. There's this one part where you go BACKWARDS, only you don't know cuz it's dark and..." and on and on she went in this monologue of run-on sentences. Angry and I just kind of walked away. To her credit, inside-out-braid girl never even looked at us, but that meant that I had to look at the back of her stupid head the whole time. I hate teenagers.

We high-tailed it in a direction that high school kids were unlikely to go, and grabbed some ice cream cones outside the Enchanted Tiki Room. We enjoyed some more fabulous people watching. Mostly we spent the time deciding who needed some extra time at the gym. Americans are FAT. Angry, with his devastating strength, crushed his wafer cone by accident and was able to turn his full attention to the spectacle sooner. "Ooof," he said (man speak for, there is a very attractive young lady that I would like to do dirty things with). A woman in itty-bitty little shorts and a skin-tight skank tank was dragging a 10-year-old boy behind her. Total slut. "Kid, your mama's a slut," I muttered so only Angry could hear. "You were a mistake."
Angry laughed, "You're horrible."
"Am I wrong?" I was not wrong.

We hit Pirates of the Caribbean before making our grand exit. Angry was more interested in the little redhead at the entrance than the ride itself. They'd made a few changes since the movie came out, putting the tenticley guy in, plopping a Johnny Depp doll in a couple of the rooms (that was pretty impressive), and getting rid of the rape scene and some of the more obvious drinking. To be honest, I thought the ride could use some more edginess.

All in all it was a GREAT day, and I'm so glad we went. I can't wait for Disney Round II next January when we all go down for the marathon/Goofy Challenge (half marathon on Saturday, full on Sunday). My only regret is that I didn't get a picture of Princess Angry in any princess memorobilia. There was princess stuff everywhere, but most of it would barely fit me, let alone a 6-foot-tall man. Maybe I'll have one made special for next time. In any case, Angry was a good sport about some other fabulous Disney accessories: