Monday, July 20, 2009

The Happiest Place on Earth

Welcome back, suckers. As of one o'clock this morning, I am officially back home. I didn't realize how much I had missed it until I was standing in a crush of people at a bus stop in Newark at 12:30 am. I was wielding a cheesecake and wearing a giant floppy hat. No bones about it, I was a force to be reckoned with. But how did we get there? Well, friends, perhaps I shall begin at the beginning. This might take a while. Hope none of you has a roast in the oven.

We left in a flurry of anger and excitement at five in the morning last Monday and caught the nine o'clock flight out to Orlando. I was none too happy to be up that early, and I had no problem displaying that. But I love to fly, and once we took our seats on the plane I was happy as a Patti LuPone fan when she posts one of her stupid Ramblings from the Road. The flight took two and a half hours. My neighbor Maisie and I entertained ourselves. I listened to my iPod. Imagine, Next to Normal and Hair at 34,000 feet! We watched The Golden Girls and Cash Cab. I'd never seen Cash Cab before, and was amazed at the stupidity of some of my fellow New Yorkers. At this time, I feel the need to apologize for myself. I realize that I am incurably selfish and have an insufferable sense of superiority. I'm the oldest of three children, I'm from New York, and at school they tell me I am "smart." Is it any wonder I turned out this way? Don't take me that seriously. I don't even take me that seriously. But we'll get to all that later.

Once we landed, we trekked over to the Port Orleans French Quarter Resort. It was so incredibly Streetcar. But picture if you will my horror at discovering that no one in my party of five, except myself, had ever seen it! My dad at least, asked if it was the one with "Sdelluh." Okay, that makes it a little better. But still. It's a classic, and it's freaking brilliant. You people are cheating yourselves. Maybe this is a good time to mention that I've never seen Casablanca, Citizen Kane, or It Happened One Night. My judgement ends here.

But it was a wonderful vacation. Maisie was my roommate, and I cannot tell you all how overjoyed I was to find out that she makes absolutely no noise when she sleeps. I don't know if I've told you folks about my severe allergy to snorers. It's really bad, and may very well ruin my marriage some day. But Maisie, in all her noiseless glory, was the best roommate I've ever had in my life. I mean, this girl makes absolutely NO NOISE AT ALL. I couldn't have been happier with this. It was kinda like Cabaret. "Now I've this perfectly marvelous girl in my perfectly beautiful room and we're living together and having a marvelous time." Okay, that sounded less creepy in my head. Maisie's been my neighbor for the past twelve years. Ever since our first through-the-backyard-fence conversation, Maisie and me was like peas and carrots. Having her on this trip with me was just a joy.

So what did I actually DO, you ask? Lots of things. The trip was my birthday present, so they gave me a button that said "Happy Birthday Kerry." Here's the thing. My name is not Kerry, but I thought it was funny. I kept the button anyway, even after they gave me a new one. Apparently, that makes me weird. Come on, does no one else find that funny? I mean, especially those of you who know what my name actually is? All right then, guess it's just me. After we got over that little bump in the road, I had an absolutely marvelous week. I met Mickey, Lilo, Stitch, Eeyore, Pooh, and Tigger. I've always had a soft spot for Eeyore. He and I share the same sunny outlook on life. Hmm...what else? I rode Tower of Terror, Expedition Everest, Rockin' Roller Coaster, Jaws, Soarin', The Simpsons Ride, Splash Mountain, The Haunted Mansion, the ever-terrifying It's a Small World, and lots of others. It's a Small World actually broke down while Maisie and I were on it. Don't make fun of me for this, but I was genuinely scared. That ride strikes fear in me like no other can. Picture if you will, my extreme horror upon finding out that we were stuck in there, among the creepy ethnic dolls with their wide-open methamphetamine eyes and painted smiles. I swear, getting stuck in there was traumatizing enough to land me in therapy. Maybe I should sue Disney. Then again, you might as well sue God.

What else? I ate snails, bought $75 Dior perfume, had Happy Birthday sung to me by a bunch of Brazilian kids and a group of French waiters, had a half-in-Spanish conversation with a little Mexican kid, got lost a lot, got groped by Tigger, bought an obnoxious floppy tourist hat, saw Tinkerbell fly for the very first time, randomly met a bunch of my cousins in the Magic Kingdom, and walked around in a Marge Simpson wig for a while. That last one prompted one of the tourists who gaped at me as I sashayed through the lobby to point and remark, "She's a wild one." I don't think I've ever received such a nice compliment in my entire life. You hear that, folks? I, [insert my name here], am a wild one. Come up and see me sometime. We'll watch The Golden Girls, eat mint ice cream, and drink blue Powerade. But really, there is something incredibly freeing about walking around in a Marge Simpson wig. I would definitely recommend trying it. Lots of people pointed and stared. My family felt the need to point out every single gawking tourist. I felt kinda like Joanne from Company. "Are they staring at me? Let 'em, those broads! What else do they have to look at?"

Coming home was an utter ordeal. Our flight was delayed, and that made me a very unhappy camper. So I did what anyone would do when stranded for four hours in an Orlando airport. Maisie and I rode on the moving walkways for a while. When we got bored with that, I went into a Borders and bought Julie and Julia. It's pretty good, and it's about a blogger. Yay for topics I can relate to. When our flight finally came in, I found out I was gonna have to sit next to a stranger. I am not proud of what I did. But I was running on empty, had just had my luggage ripped apart by a bunch of bumbling security jackasses, and I was sick of hearing Julie Powell talk about hunting for the hip of a cow. So I maybe kinda dropped my luggage and said in a semi-loud voice, "No, no, no! I'm not sitting next to some f*cking hick from Texas!" Nobody even turned around, thank the Lord. I still kinda can't believe I said that.

The flight home was turbulent and boring. I watched Thirty Rock, and was pleasantly surprised to find myself oggling the episode that featured Phoebe Strole, former Spring Awakened cast member extraordinaire. Oddly enough, last night was the one-year anniversary of her departure from the show. Four others went with her, and I have no problem saying that poor Spring Awakening kinda sucked after that. Getting off the flight and down to the baggage claim took more out of me than I had left, and waiting for a bus to take us to the parking lot required more patience than I had. I am ashamed to admit that I was exceedingly hard to deal with during the half hour we waited for that bus. The cheesecake I was carrying was heavy. I just snapped. "That's it," I muttered, and started heading for the nearest trash can. My dad whipped around as if to say, "Not...the CHEESECAKE!" and chased me down, thereby preventing me from doing anything I would have regretted.
But it was a wonderful trip, even if I almost drowned in the wave pool at Blizzard Beach. Oh, no, Mr. Lifeguard, it's cool. Just keep pretending not to see me crying and flailing. I gotta die some time. Before we get off the subject of Disney, let me take a moment to point out that The Happiest Place on Earth had the highest concentration of screaming, crying, miserable children that I've ever seen in my life. One of the highlights of my trip was watching the insane, no-holds-barred freakout of a little British boy. It was scary and enthralling all at the same time. Ironically, Disneyworld was home to the biggest meltdown I've ever had. My spoiled five-year-old self wanted that Cruella de Vil doll, and I wasn't taking no for an answer.

Before I close up shop for today, here's my favorite Broadwaysecret from this week.

Little Women. Saw it five times, and I still love it. It's the reason I'm a theatre fan, even though everything Sutton Foster has done since has been a a tremendous disappointment to me. It's hardly my place to say, but I wish she hadn't taken Princess Fiona. It would have saved me the trouble of sitting through Shrek.

And, of course, it's not a good week on Broadwaysecrets without the token outrageous, intrusive, creepy, possibly but probably not true secret! I see it now. The "Kacie Sheik is a lesbian" secrets are gonna become more numerous than the "Alice Ripley is on crack" and "Kerry Ellis is overrated" ones combined. God, Broadwaysecrets is like a freaking snake pit. The queens and fangirls will rip your guts out.

1 comment:

sing~A~ling said...

hi i cant believe u have never seen casablanca!