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Saturday, November 19, 2005
My Enneagram Results....Hmmmm....
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
It's a Small World, But There's a Lot of Love
Once upon a time, there was a fetching young lady who was named, coincidentally, QuinnBee.
QuinnBee was, in the words of the brilliant Laurie Notaro, a Stoopid Girl, who had traveled many miles for a visit with her so-called boyfriend, who had moved to the Bahamas and had invited her to Florida for a long weekend.
QuinnBee thought her so-called boyfriend really sucked in the first place for moving to an island without even consulting her, but there were stars in her eyes that prevented her from seeing that he was, in fact, a first-class asshole. So, off she went.
One of the bright ideas that the so-called boyfriend had was to travel many, many miles in a convertible to see the Magic Kingdom. The stars in her eyes prevented QuinnBee from seeing that all the fancy lace undergarments she had brought for a so-called romantic weekend would be one-hundred-percent uncomfortable for walking around an amusement park for an entire day, but that's what stars are wont to do. So, off she went.
Her so-called boyfriend was very mean and jerky all day long, and QuinnBee was beginning to get the idea that something was very, very wrong. But the stars in her eyes prevented her from seeng that, when he suggested going on the It's a Small World ride, it might be solely to get her in a place where she would be completely incapable of making a scene. So, off she went.
And, of course, her so-called boyfriend broke up with QuinnBee on It's a Small World, and she had to cry very quietly to herself so as not to scare all the little children, and she kept crying through the rest of the very long day, and her nether regions were numb from the inappropriate panties that didn't do a damn bit of good keeping her so-called boyfriend from breaking up with her, and she cried the whole long drive back to West Palm Beach in the middle of the night, because she was a very Stoopid Girl.
But at least she didn't have those pesky stars in her eyes anymore.
"Aww," said my husband, "that is the saddest story I have ever heard."
"You're not kidding. Those panties were a bitch," said the formerly Stoopid Girl. "So, you wanna go on It's a Small World? You can laugh at me with the full picture, that way."
"Sure! Hang on, though, I need to go in here for a minute. I'll be right back."
Off Scott loped, while I sat and people-watched on Main Street. I saw lots of parents and kids, and more than a few Stoopid Girls who might, someday in the future, look back and think, Why did I ruin Disney by going with that moron? Worse, seeing little mouse-ear veils and top hats bobbing through the crowd, Why did I ruin Disney by marrying that jerk then having my honeymoon there?? Why, why, why?! But you never know, when you've got stars in your eyes, do you?
Now, I LOVE my husband, and from the first time I saw him I had a HUGE crush on him. But the truth is, I didn't marry him because I felt butterflies in my stomach. I married him because he is good and cheerful (most of the time) and responsible. He gets me, I get him, and while it may not be a romance novel every day of the week it is OUR love story and it seems to work just fine. I always feel a little defensive, as if --- in this day of PASSION! and ROMANCE! --- mere love and respect is not enough, but I believe that we married for all the right reasons and we'll be together long after more torrid affairs have burned themselves out.
"Ok, I'm back. It's a Small World, here we come!"
So of course the lines were long; the ride's a classic after all. Scott kept begging me to entertain him by telling the sad story of QuinnBee again.
"When did he break up with you?" he asked, "At the beginning of the ride? Or in the middle?"
"Um, pretty near the beginning, because I remember crying and crying and thinking I was going to throw up if I had to keep listening to that fucking song."
"That's rough," he commiserated, but really he seemed like he was laughing more than anything.
"You are very sadistic, did you know that?"
But why shouldn't he laugh? It was a long time ago, and I wouldn't tell it if it wasn't a funny story. I mean, c'mon, how pathetic do you have to be for your so-called boyfriend to break up with you on IT'S A SMALL WORLD??? I smiled up at Scott and thought, Just wait, I'm gonna punch you right in the hip.
Then it was our turn to enter the little boat and visit a world of happy, singing marionettes. We oooed. We ahhhed. Scott turned to me and pressed a small box into my hand.
"QuinnBee, will you marry me, again?"
I opened the box to find a small sterling ring, with a "B" and a tiny Mickey logo made of glittery little stones.
"I just thought that, since some other guy ruined this for you, I'd try to make it better again."
Ohhh, yeeeaaah, THIS is why I married him: he is the sweetest, nicest person in the whole world.
He went on, excitedly describing his plan to surprise me and how he managed to pull it off. But I kind of lost track of what he was saying, looking at the little ring nestled on my finger.
Actually, I couldn't even see that well, from all the damn stars in my eyes....
QuinnBee was, in the words of the brilliant Laurie Notaro, a Stoopid Girl, who had traveled many miles for a visit with her so-called boyfriend, who had moved to the Bahamas and had invited her to Florida for a long weekend.
QuinnBee thought her so-called boyfriend really sucked in the first place for moving to an island without even consulting her, but there were stars in her eyes that prevented her from seeing that he was, in fact, a first-class asshole. So, off she went.
One of the bright ideas that the so-called boyfriend had was to travel many, many miles in a convertible to see the Magic Kingdom. The stars in her eyes prevented QuinnBee from seeing that all the fancy lace undergarments she had brought for a so-called romantic weekend would be one-hundred-percent uncomfortable for walking around an amusement park for an entire day, but that's what stars are wont to do. So, off she went.
Her so-called boyfriend was very mean and jerky all day long, and QuinnBee was beginning to get the idea that something was very, very wrong. But the stars in her eyes prevented her from seeng that, when he suggested going on the It's a Small World ride, it might be solely to get her in a place where she would be completely incapable of making a scene. So, off she went.
And, of course, her so-called boyfriend broke up with QuinnBee on It's a Small World, and she had to cry very quietly to herself so as not to scare all the little children, and she kept crying through the rest of the very long day, and her nether regions were numb from the inappropriate panties that didn't do a damn bit of good keeping her so-called boyfriend from breaking up with her, and she cried the whole long drive back to West Palm Beach in the middle of the night, because she was a very Stoopid Girl.
But at least she didn't have those pesky stars in her eyes anymore.
"Aww," said my husband, "that is the saddest story I have ever heard."
"You're not kidding. Those panties were a bitch," said the formerly Stoopid Girl. "So, you wanna go on It's a Small World? You can laugh at me with the full picture, that way."
"Sure! Hang on, though, I need to go in here for a minute. I'll be right back."
Off Scott loped, while I sat and people-watched on Main Street. I saw lots of parents and kids, and more than a few Stoopid Girls who might, someday in the future, look back and think, Why did I ruin Disney by going with that moron? Worse, seeing little mouse-ear veils and top hats bobbing through the crowd, Why did I ruin Disney by marrying that jerk then having my honeymoon there?? Why, why, why?! But you never know, when you've got stars in your eyes, do you?
Now, I LOVE my husband, and from the first time I saw him I had a HUGE crush on him. But the truth is, I didn't marry him because I felt butterflies in my stomach. I married him because he is good and cheerful (most of the time) and responsible. He gets me, I get him, and while it may not be a romance novel every day of the week it is OUR love story and it seems to work just fine. I always feel a little defensive, as if --- in this day of PASSION! and ROMANCE! --- mere love and respect is not enough, but I believe that we married for all the right reasons and we'll be together long after more torrid affairs have burned themselves out.
"Ok, I'm back. It's a Small World, here we come!"
So of course the lines were long; the ride's a classic after all. Scott kept begging me to entertain him by telling the sad story of QuinnBee again.
"When did he break up with you?" he asked, "At the beginning of the ride? Or in the middle?"
"Um, pretty near the beginning, because I remember crying and crying and thinking I was going to throw up if I had to keep listening to that fucking song."
"That's rough," he commiserated, but really he seemed like he was laughing more than anything.
"You are very sadistic, did you know that?"
But why shouldn't he laugh? It was a long time ago, and I wouldn't tell it if it wasn't a funny story. I mean, c'mon, how pathetic do you have to be for your so-called boyfriend to break up with you on IT'S A SMALL WORLD??? I smiled up at Scott and thought, Just wait, I'm gonna punch you right in the hip.
Then it was our turn to enter the little boat and visit a world of happy, singing marionettes. We oooed. We ahhhed. Scott turned to me and pressed a small box into my hand.
"QuinnBee, will you marry me, again?"
I opened the box to find a small sterling ring, with a "B" and a tiny Mickey logo made of glittery little stones.
"I just thought that, since some other guy ruined this for you, I'd try to make it better again."
Ohhh, yeeeaaah, THIS is why I married him: he is the sweetest, nicest person in the whole world.
He went on, excitedly describing his plan to surprise me and how he managed to pull it off. But I kind of lost track of what he was saying, looking at the little ring nestled on my finger.
Actually, I couldn't even see that well, from all the damn stars in my eyes....
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Disney Death March, Part Two
The first raindrop hit me square in the head.
"Shit, that's rain."
"You shouldn't say 'shit' at the Happiest Place on Earth," my husband chastised me.
"Bugger, that's rain." Cleaner language it may have been, but it did not change the fact that we were in for a bitch of a storm.
"This is GREAT!" Scott crowed. "Now all the tourists will go home! We'll get on any ride we want! You can't ask for anything better than this!!" His pace quickened, pulling me forward to the more popular rides, the ones with the longest lines.
I mumbled more curse words as I wrapped myself in my cheap rain poncho, the one I had brought with me in case of just this situation. Having traveled with Scott for nigh on seven years, I have learned that you'd best bring any number of things, as you simply never know what might happen and --- believe me --- the day will NOT be cut short for anything as trivial as hunger, rain, or injury.
As was reiterated to me in short order when, hurrying to the Haunted Mansion, my flip flop hit a particularly slippy* type of paving, and down I went.
"Uhn!" (Me, hitting the pavement.)
"What the....are you ok? I TOLD YOU NOT TO WEAR THOSE FLIP FLOPS!! C'mon, let's go!" (Scott, dragging me along by my arm for a short distance.)
"Grumble, grumble." (Me, making a few comments on my husband's questionable parentage, sotto voce.)
On he went. I was now totally soaked excepting for the small section covered by my discount poncho, which was the approximate thickness and durability of cling film. Satisfying myself with small, expressive sighs of discontent, I followed.
The rain continued, the ride lines got shorter and shorter, and our fellow travelers looked more and more miserable, huddled together under any overhang available. The bathrooms began to resemble emergency shelters: crying children clutched to their parents' bosoms, clothing and backpacks strewn wherever unused space could be found.
Scott, by contrast, could not have been happier. This was just what he had been hoping for, and he hadn't even had to purchase an overpriced Mickey poncho! We zipped onto Pirates of the Caribbean and sallied straight through to the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad with no wait whatsoever.
The second time I fell, I thought to myself, Stay down. Just stay down, and it'll all be over. They'll come get you in a little golf cart, and they'll drive you to somewhere private and warm. They'll give you a band-aid for your toe, and maybe a Stitch doll so you won't sue. Just...stay...down....
But like the punch drunk fighter who won't throw the match, even if it means the Mob will be on him for whatever is left of his honourable life, I trembled to my feet. "Please. Don't hurt me anymore."
"Oh, sweetie, it's okay!" my dear, beloved husband cooed. "But hurry up now, we still have to see It's a Small World and The Country Bear Jamboree and Buzz Lightyear and..."
After that, it was all a rain-soaked blur. I should have stayed down....
* This is Pittsburghese for "slippery".
"Shit, that's rain."
"You shouldn't say 'shit' at the Happiest Place on Earth," my husband chastised me.
"Bugger, that's rain." Cleaner language it may have been, but it did not change the fact that we were in for a bitch of a storm.
"This is GREAT!" Scott crowed. "Now all the tourists will go home! We'll get on any ride we want! You can't ask for anything better than this!!" His pace quickened, pulling me forward to the more popular rides, the ones with the longest lines.
I mumbled more curse words as I wrapped myself in my cheap rain poncho, the one I had brought with me in case of just this situation. Having traveled with Scott for nigh on seven years, I have learned that you'd best bring any number of things, as you simply never know what might happen and --- believe me --- the day will NOT be cut short for anything as trivial as hunger, rain, or injury.
As was reiterated to me in short order when, hurrying to the Haunted Mansion, my flip flop hit a particularly slippy* type of paving, and down I went.
"Uhn!" (Me, hitting the pavement.)
"What the....are you ok? I TOLD YOU NOT TO WEAR THOSE FLIP FLOPS!! C'mon, let's go!" (Scott, dragging me along by my arm for a short distance.)
"Grumble, grumble." (Me, making a few comments on my husband's questionable parentage, sotto voce.)
On he went. I was now totally soaked excepting for the small section covered by my discount poncho, which was the approximate thickness and durability of cling film. Satisfying myself with small, expressive sighs of discontent, I followed.
The rain continued, the ride lines got shorter and shorter, and our fellow travelers looked more and more miserable, huddled together under any overhang available. The bathrooms began to resemble emergency shelters: crying children clutched to their parents' bosoms, clothing and backpacks strewn wherever unused space could be found.
Scott, by contrast, could not have been happier. This was just what he had been hoping for, and he hadn't even had to purchase an overpriced Mickey poncho! We zipped onto Pirates of the Caribbean and sallied straight through to the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad with no wait whatsoever.
The second time I fell, I thought to myself, Stay down. Just stay down, and it'll all be over. They'll come get you in a little golf cart, and they'll drive you to somewhere private and warm. They'll give you a band-aid for your toe, and maybe a Stitch doll so you won't sue. Just...stay...down....
But like the punch drunk fighter who won't throw the match, even if it means the Mob will be on him for whatever is left of his honourable life, I trembled to my feet. "Please. Don't hurt me anymore."
"Oh, sweetie, it's okay!" my dear, beloved husband cooed. "But hurry up now, we still have to see It's a Small World and The Country Bear Jamboree and Buzz Lightyear and..."
After that, it was all a rain-soaked blur. I should have stayed down....
* This is Pittsburghese for "slippery".
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