I have reached my absolute end quota of Disney in my life. I am Mickey'd out. Our family got back about a week ago from a Disney cruise to the Western Caribbean. It was a great break from the abysmal crap known as March in the mid-West. We pulled the kids out of school, lugged our exploding suitcases to the airport, and headed to Orlando. Didn't I promise my husband I'd pack light this time? My bad. Should I tell him now that I couldn't fit the suntan lotion and we had to buy it on the boat?
Orlando was pretty God damn chilly as we hopped on the MEGA bus to the port in Cape Canaveral. We sat in Mickey logo seats and watched a 45 minute video about all the SUPER DUPER FUN adventures we were sure to have once we were on the boat. Well gosh, golly, jeepers, I'm about to piss my pants with excitement, Mickey!! (Actually I found myself wondering why all the female Disney characters wear dresses and none of the male ones wear pants. Easy access? Faster quickies in between having to sign 150 little kids' autograph books?...My dirty, NON-Disney spirit little mind of mine.....)
Upon boarding the Disney Magic cruise ship, a "cast member" (dude in a white sailor suit), announced our arrival.
"Welcome GHAHTANI FAMILY!!!" To which 20 other cast members applauded happily. Considering there are over 2000 guests loading the ship all day long, I bet at least 15 of these greeters have copious amounts of Valium and Jack Daniels warmly digesting in their bellies. I certainly would. How many times can you act excited over this bullshit?!
Though we were warned of the microscopic size of our "state room", we were pleasantly surprised. We had a nice queen-sized bed and the kids had bunk beds. The proximity certainly wouldn't lend itself to any intimate kid-free moments of monkey sex but I'm pretty sure sex is illegal on a Disney cruise. And swearing. Mother fucker, I better get this cocksucking whore Tourette's out of my system...We had a giant porthole window to see the ocean and a TV, conveniently programmed with 99 Disney channels and ESPN. Great. But who's going to spend any time in your room when there's OODLES of shit-tastic fun to be had?! Not me!!
On the main deck near the Goofy pool, who, by the way, looks like a bumbling jackass dog on meth, was the farewell party. (That dog needs orthodontic intervention and some Ritalin. ) Screaming parents and kids, some drunk on excitement, some drunk on the free-flowing frozen beverages, huddled together on deck. A full-on Glee-esque ensemble with men as hairless as a baby's ass and white teeth as white as me in hip hop kick-ball-changed and pirouetted all over the stage. The crowd was flailing glittery streamers around as we clapped and jumped while the Disney characters filed onto stage. This was it--THE cruise to end all cruises. Disney freakin' Mecca. More streamers were blasted onto our heads, the ship's horn blasted, yet my singular drink (now empty) did NOT make me feel blasted. Letdown numero uno. Bummer. Bon voyage, sober sailor.
Our group, which included another family we are close friends with, headed to dinner at our first restaurant, Parrot Cay. Having given up meat for Lent (not really a stretch for me seeing as I practically carry hummus and veggie burgers in my purse), I was very excited at the prospect of all the yummy seafood and fresh fish I'd be consuming. We're in the middle of the God damn ocean, how much fresher can you GET?! After having a plate of flavorless fish, I was not quite impressed. No problem, our waiter observed my disinterest and immediately returned with a fresh plate of the grouper special for the night. In the wee recesses of my mind a tiny voice asked, "How long has this been sitting out since it is now 9:30pm?...Oh well, YUMMY!" Like an ad for Bad Idea Jeans, I should have thought twice.
About 1am I began feeling that twinge and then rumble in my gut. Oh. Fuck. Not. Now. I tried the usual breathe-it-out method, but I realized Sultan was getting annoyed at my Lamaze-esque panting when he said several times, "Why don't you just go PUKE already?!" I succumbed, I hugged the can, I vowed to never EVER eat all that I got to relive in the toilet. Seriously, fucking food poisoning?! Great, I'll feel better tomorrow.... Or NOT. Depleted and dehydrated, I nearly fainted in the shower. Sultan sweetly helped my dragging ass to the infirmary on the lower decks of the boat. A little tip to anyone who plans on cruising: if you vomit, get the shits, fever, what have you, do not, I repeat, DO NOT let them know you have had diarrhea more than two times. CDC regulations mandate your ass will be quarantined for 24-72 hours after your last "Oops I {Nearly} Crapped My Pants" incident. This meant I was holed up in my room, my Key to the World Card was blacklisted from leaving to go to Key West, my husband had to take the kids solo. And I had my own concierge who delivered a DVD player and a list of movies to choose from. ALL FUCKING DISNEY. Shoulda' known. If I wanted to yack again I would not watch Lady and the Tramp, I'd eat some more grouper. Day #2: sucked big donkey balls.
Was released the next day, able to eat, able to get my tan on, bitches. Six Powerades later and I was ready for a rum-licious beverage. Fast forward, next day in Cozumel, Mayan ruins and beach time. Praise be the Mexican God of Toilets because I was clearly not all better yet. I'll be God damned if I was going to go back and see Dr. Party so he could shackle me down and keep me from another port. Didn't drink the water, saw some iguanas, had primo beach time, kick-ass margaritas, and swam in the ocean. The best part of Cozumel, aside from watching my husband, the consummate haggler, negotiate prices of knick knacks, T-shirts, dresses, and even some jewelry, was the tiny spider monkey we encountered near the port. His handler passed him to me and I was in awe of his cuteness...till the little bastard jumped on my head and went ape-shit crazy trying to eat my faux silk flower in my hair. Guess I won't by buying one for a pet just yet. I also really enjoyed how wasted my hubby got after sampling about 10 shots of various kinds of tequila from a local shop. Not quite wasted enough to give me the okay to buy the $200 bikini I was eyeing but hilariously silly nonetheless.
Next day was Pirate Party Day! Yippee-ky-yay!! Laying out on the boat, sipping drinks, kids splashing in the pool, it was a great day. For dinner we were able to dress up like pirates, take some pictures with Jack Sparrow, and enjoy a big pirate party on the deck, complete with buffet and fireworks. My kids, husband, and I were sporting pirate looks. My pink and black pirate outfit was not a bustier. My jugs were not flying out. It was a short skirt but I wore a pair of NIKE athletic shorts underneath, a pair I wear to the gym. I had my skull and crossbone thigh-high tights and my black and silver glittery Nike running shoes. No nipple tassels, no thong peeking out, no hooker heels. But the way I was treated by MANY other women that night was as if I WAS wearing those things. Jesus H. Christ. Some of them scoffed, "Did you SEE that?!" as they passed by. Others loud whispered, "LOOK at WHAT she's wearing!" I'm sorry, but I was dressed IN COSTUME on a theme night. Get the fuck over yourself. Maybe you are jealous you could never wear a skirt this short. Maybe you're jealous your husband never looks at you the way mine looks at me. How sad you have to be such an insecure bunch of douche bags to actually throw away photos of me and my family taken with Jack Sparrow in the photo gallery we might have bought. You are pathetic. You can borrow my dress, maybe it will inspire you to give your husband a decent blow job since you haven't swabbed his deck since your wedding night in 1993. Try it sometime. If they had "Mom Jeans and Cardigan Night" I would have played along, but they DIDN'T now did they?!
FAVORITE port was Grand Cayman Island. We chose to visit Rum Point Beach and do a glass bottom boat ride to a sting ray snorkel cruise. The waters were crystal clear and warm, the sand was soft, the sun was glorious. I smell a hot, sexy vacation here sans kids in my near future. We got to feed and hold massive wild sting rays swimming freely about in the water. Fucking amazing. Though I did briefly think how shitty it would be to have a tragic Steve Irwin moment with a sting ray, I got over it. Our crazy guide, Jimmy, was a diving fool. Shit, if anyone was going to get pierced in the heart it would be this crazy son-of-a-bitch, not me. Isabella got some sparkly souvenir, Sophie found her giant conch shell, Sultan and I were buzzed and tan--we were happy.
The last day was scheduled to be our visit to Castaway Cay (though pronounced KEY), Disney's very own island. We were going to go parasailing, snorkeling, have a beach barbecue ...generally a shit basket of fun to be had by all. Upon lingering over our breakfast, we were kindly informed there were "hurricane-like conditions" which would prevent us from docking in Castaway Cay. The captain was going to take the ship further South in hopes of no rain and some sunshine. Or not. There was little sun, blowing winds, we were stuck on a boat, and they recycled old activities for the kids so they were not impressed. I missed two of my four ports of call on my cruise. Granted, I didn't want to be stuck in 50 mile-an-hour winds trying to relax on a beach but at least a little gift card to the spa or gift shop was surely in order for my trouble. Or how a bout a big SCREW YOU! Let's learn how to fold towels like a lobster and play bingo some more! Fuck me. Instead I got a massage and lime-ginger exfoliant from a guy at the spa. He was wearing more cologne that Mike, "The Situation", from Jersey Shore. We went to a tequila tasting and then my two fun-loving girls from Trinidad, Cindy and Juanita, braided my hair. If you are ever considering how you would look if you got a face lift, get the top of your head braided into rows. Mine were so fucking tight I could barely close my eyes. The kids got theirs done, too, and Sophie asked, "Mom, do I look Asian now?" Once the tequila wore off I looked like a Bo Derek doll who couldn't close her eyes.
After the cruise ended we spent 3 extra days in Orlando since we just didn't get enough Mickey on the boat. We had tickets to all the parks left from last year so why not compete with the onslaught of scooters, cheerleader conventions, and double-wide strollers all vying for fast passes to Space Mountain?! I begrudgingly held an $8 Flintstone turkey leg for Isabella while she went to the bathroom. I might as well have been holding autographed photos of Justin Bieber the way I was getting bombarded with, "Where did you BUY that?! It looks delicious!" I should have gotten some commission on all the turkey legs I sold thanks to my free advertising. I stood in line to buy Sophie a plain hot dog, a singular wiener on a bun which cost probably 65 cents to make---but I schlepped out $5 for that puppy. Sophie asked for a $3 bag of chips and I told her she could chew on her fingernails for free. The second day I bought water and granola bars from our hotel gift shop. They weren't cheap but I didn't need to refinance my house to get some unlike a meal for 4 at Epcot. If I charged $5 for a hot dog, $3 for a bag of chips, and $3.75 for a bottle of soda I could afford to freeze my head too. Fucking Walt.
It's a small world after all!!!
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