Like ZZUB does.
I guess ZZUB always knows best. And that's why whenever I get myself into a little bind, or a bigger one which is less like a bind and more like a jam or an even BIGGER ONE which is less like a jam and more like a pickle. (Which is more often than I care to admit.) I'll often try to figure out my next move by playing:
What Would ZZUB Do?
And then I do the opposite.
Because I am ruled by an iron fist of whimsy.
And BESIDES regretting not wearing a watch... you'll also find me regretting not wearing deoderant, reading glasses, a barren dome, big meaty hirsute forearms, neon MC Hammer pants with "JUICY" across the bum, a Goofy tanktop with pithair all asunder, an leather Avril Lavigne loose tie, a stonewashed jean jacket, a stupid Tony Danza expression, an adult diaper and man-breasts.
Again... like ZZUB does.
A fair exchange is no robbery, WWUBBie.
Heh heh.
Alrighty.
Fun and games are now over and we can get back to this crapstravagant tale of Happyhaunt hijinks.
After I made it back to my seat I had Calvin start his homework and I pulled out my magazine and started to read.
I also munched away on the free AirTran pretzels and ordered myself a Diet Coke from the flight attendant... not so much because I was thirsty but more as a safety precaution. For when I inevitably start to choke on the pretzels.
Or at the very least to get that thick pretzelpasteball plug down the last couple of inches of my esophagus and into my gut.
I KNOW that you know that I know that you know what I mean.
Calvin was having a hard time concentrating on his homework. And who could really blame him? We were on our way to Disney. After all. So I took pity on him and told him to blow it off. And he suggested we play a little game we spend A LOT of time playing. We play it often when we're waiting in lines, at The General's dinner table or in places like the doctor's or dentist's waiting room. It's a fun game and it's even MORE fun when we sit at quite a distance apart and pretend that we don't even know each other.
Because it's even MORE fun when we appear completely insane. Possibly dangerous.
Heh heh.
It's the "See If You Can Make Me Smile or Laugh Game With Facial Expressions In Silence".
I'm sure lots of people besides Calvin and I play.
I usually win because I can cross my eye. Yep. Just one.
Also the big 'ol HOLYCRAP eyes usually work. If the stranger on my left or right is dressed even slighty oddly. Or even if they're not.
Sometimes I just raise an eyebrow.
Other times I hold my breath. For a long time. Until my field of vision gets all sparkly.
Other times I make really big nostrils. And hold them like that. It's known in our family as: Paul Martin Smells a Turd. Face.
And there's also the one where I combine the big nostrils with a lopsided grin and that's the: Paul Martin/ Jean Chretien Smells a Turd. I can also fluff up my hair and do: Paul Martin/Jean Chretien/Kim Campbell Smells a Turd. Also I stick my chin out and it becomes: Paul Martin/ Jean Chretien/ Kim Campbell/ Brian Mulroney Smells a Turd. And, then, if I get tired of all that and just sit there and look smug it's: Stephen Harper Smells His Own Turd.
If you are American and reading this... don't worry... it's a Canadian joke.
If you are Canadian and reading this... it's probably not funny.
Except to Calvin and I.
What I'm trying to say here is that I can usually make Calvin laugh. And I often win. But not always. Because there are times when he's struggling so hard not to laugh that he makes the funniest faces. EVER. He literally is fighting with all his might not to make his lips turn up. The faces are priceless. He looks like he's about to implode.
Or else he's tasting The General's baking. And trying to decide if the dessert disk is either a cookie, muffin, cupcake, tart or square. And...no.... the shape is not always a giveaway.
So we played our game for quite awhile and then realized that our ears were starting to plug up and we seemed to be heading downwards.
Oh goody gumdrops.
Landing. Another of my favourite games. I now... as a seasoned veteran of Buffalo to Orlando flights... make a game out of trying to restrain myself from clapping and cheering when we are safely on the ground and have slowed down. Because no one does that anymore.
Everyone is all cool and "What-evah". Yeah. "We're down. And still alive. No biggie. What-evah. Yeah. Let's all start our vacation all chill-like. No big whup."
Not Me(l). I'm grinning with glee. From ear to ear. Like ZZUB ~ home alone with cake.
We grabbed our stuff and I undid my seatbelt and got off of my rear and stood in the aisle waiting for all the people seated in front of us to slowly and painfully get organized and filter out.
I always wonder why this takes so LONG? Why don't people get a MOVE ON?!!! Why do they insist upon making sure all their children are with them?!!! And that they have EVERYTHING they brought with them on the plane. When they get off?!!!!
Oh.
It's because they're NOT Happyhaunts. Who like to wait LONGER... once they're off the plane. Wait for everyone BEHIND them to get off, too. So they can go back INTO the plane... for their favourite jean jacket.
Not that anyone has ever done that.
Anywho... Calvin and I made a quick stop for the Men's room. And I sent Calvin in telling him that I'd be right here when he came out. Right here. RIGHT HERE. In THIS SPOT. Here. See? This is EXACTLY where I'll be.
Capish?
And I stood there. And waited. Waited. Waited. Wait. Waiting. Wait. Waited.
Calvin came out. He was dripping with water. Literally. It was running down and dripping off of him. From his hands, all the way up his arms to the sleeves of his short-sleeved shirt. Which were also wet on the edges.
I didn't ask.
We headed to the monorail.
Now I really like this thingie. It's fun. It's fast and it's kinda like Disney. And Calvin never holds on. Anymore. Ever. No matter what I say. I don't even try to make him do it now. I just mentioned that if he falls and knocks his new permanent teeth out... at least the soups at Boma are pretty good.
He braced at the right moment and we headed to pick up our luggage.
Which goes like this:
Me(l): Calvin. Please get off the conveyor belt. It's going to start moving soon.
Me(l): Calvin. GET OFF.
Me(l): CALVIN!!!! Don't sit on the conveyor belt.
Me(l): Back yourself outta there!!! Out of the FLAPS!!
Me(l): Don't lie on the conveyor belt.
Me(l): Calvin come here.
Me(l): Hold my hand.
Me(l): Let's practice our curtsies as punishment. Yep. Keep holding my hand.
Me(l): And back straight. Foot forward. Bend your knees. And down.
Me(l): Hold it longer. Don't let go of my hand. And... and... UP.
Me(l): Once more and look at those girls from the plane. They're staring at us. How fun!!!!
Me(l): Oh. They must be around right around your age, huh? Now... point your lead toe. And keep holding my hand. And... lets go down. Again.
He wasn't even that annoyed because he knows he could've ended up with the Fairy Timeout or the ever-popular Mime in a Timeout Box. One.
The alarm went off and our luggage came out in a timely fashion. I felt that we were still on schedule. And we headed to pick up our rental car.
Where we waited. Waited. And waited.
There was just ONE GUY behind the desk and we were the third group in line. It felt like forever. Is what I'm saying.
I don't understand why there was just one guy. Seriously. The airport was still busy. It wasn't THAT late yet.
We finally got up to the counter I handed him my reservation and said no, no, no, no, no and no. Thank you.
Just the car. The one we reserved. No extra stuff.
I signed something. Got a copy and we went to pick the car.
This was Calvin's job and he was stuck deciding between a bright yellow one and a bright red one.
He really wanted the yellow but it had a scratch on the bumper so he went with the red one.
Which made me laugh because I don't care what colour it is, what model or whether it's two or four door because I'm just happy that it doesn't smell like our van.
Or a hockey dressing room.
Or the bathroom beside Canada. In EPCOT.
STILL.
But Calvin was very excited and jazzed about it being his turn to pick the car. That he didn't have to fight it out with Beth...who honestly usually wins... for a change and that there was a pretty long row to choose from.
He said as we were wheeling our luggage down the row, "Mom... I really want a Lambo!"
That means "Lamborghini" if you are not a 10 year old boy.
That made me laugh. And I told him that you couldn't PAY ME(L) to drive a really expensive car. Ever.
That I would be too nervous and I wouldn't get one ounce of enjoyment out of it.
I like my old van. For real.
Fortunately for Me(l) there were no Lambos in our Economy row. And we ended up with a little shiny red new(ish) crapxotic model which we named "Bessie". In honour of my dear late father who liked to call everything "Bessie" from his cars to my bikes to stray animals to my high-school boyfriends.
Except for Me(l). He called me "
Scooter". Instead. And he'd always say it was because I was always scooting around and he had a hard time connecting the rolled up newspaper to my butt. Without a pretty good chase.
Ok.
Then we loaded everything into "Bessie" and Calvin jumped in the back, belted up, I adjusted the seat and mirrors and started 'er up. She ran real sweet. Like she had no major internal engine issues. Like I'm used to.
MAN!!!! She smelled really good. REAL GOOD.
Then... I glanced at the clock on the dash.
It was after 10:30!!!! AFTER 10:30 pm!!!! Huh????!!!! Mothertrucker!!!!
Well, CRAPCRAPCRAP!!!!
It was waywayway later than I thought it would be.
I turned to Calvin and told him that we'd be smart to skip going to DTD because of the time. Even tho we were REALLY psyched on eating there. And head directly to Disney's Animal Kingdom Resort to check in. And that we'd have to probably go get something at The Mara instead.
Instead of DTD. Where we wanted to go.
He agreed. Yeah. We'll eat at our resort instead. It's pretty late.
EXCEPT...
that if I'd been wearing a freakin' watch I'd have realized that the clock on the car's dash was wrong. It was an hour AHEAD. Which, in addition to making us blow off Downtown Disney... we looked like complete fools running into The Mara at full throttle, slamming our brakes on, gasping for breath and blurting loudly "CAN WE STILL ORDER SOMETHING OR ARE YOU CLOSED??!!!"
The guy taking orders behind the counter looked at me, "Yeah... we're open for... like... AN HOUR... still...errr...yeah...no problem."
But that's another part of this story.
We STILL haven't got to the part where I turn right when Calvin The Navigator tells me to turn left.
Or the part where we meet the family with four kids from the plane again.
Or the part where our reservation gets screwed up.
Or the part where our reservation gets fixed but we get the room with possibly the worst savannah view in the whole resort.
Yeah.
Lotsa more parts to come.
Stay tuned.
Cheers, Mel.
P.S. I'm now off to read the new chapter of a better trippie. I'd suggest y'all do the same.
Still hanging on, by the skin of my teeth. Anyone else wonder what the heck that means???
to hear the Koala is still around, love that...
Me too.
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