jsmla
DIS Veteran
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2001
- Messages
- 4,498
In case you forgot the two of us are:
Scott (48) Humoring the wife. NOT a Disney fan.
Me (44) BIG Disney fan. Trying hard to convert abovementioned DH.
I just can't get into this new mellow WDW mode so I'm up at 5:30 am. I want to go ahead and check-in at CBR to see if I can avoid the lines and snag a good location while Scott has a nice lie-in. I've heard that this resort is really, really spread out. I've looked up the map and decided that Jamaica 45 is the building for us.
*If you work for National Rental Car or your morals just can't take it don't read the next bit.*
Since the busses aren't running yet I decide to drive over to CBR.
Technically, I'm not supposed to drive the car since Scott is the only authorized driver. I consider this for a second but with my usual prudence decide to blow that restriction off. I mean who's gonna know? I seriously doubt that National will be finger-printing the steering wheel and Scott, the responsible one, is sound asleep. It really is the silliest car anyway. Everything, the gear changey thing, the seat adjuster thingy (note to self: Return seat to a more manly position, DH is not a fool) is made out of cheapo plastic done up to look like chrome. It's like driving a Barbie car.
*National employees resume reading here*
The check-in area at CBR is vast. I can't imagine being here when it's crowded. Fortunately I'm the only fool around at 6:00 am. Me and the lone employee at the check in desk. We get along as well as I do with most people I deal with, not very. First she tells me I can't check in because I only have Scott's credit card with me. The room has already been paid for in full so I happen to know that I CAN INDEED check in. We debate this for a while until a manager of some sort is roused, goes to the back (and probably checks our lengthy Disney dossier) and returns with the decision that I can, indeed, check in. Check-in lady is not happy with being over-ruled and warns me not to try to pull another stunt like this ever again. Great, I've antagonized the staff, again. We'll probably be assigned a room somewhere north of Gainesville. I request Jamaica 45 and she does a little typing and I'm done. She gives me my keys and all that paper they load you up with and sends me on my way. I have to ask for a card with the number to call to check on the room and ask which room # we've been assigned. She gives me the card but won't divulge the room number or even the building she's put us in. The woman admits she knows the room # but swears she just can't reveal it to me until the room's ready. What does she think I'm going to do? Burst upon its sleeping occupants and insist on their immediate departure? The new, mellow-Disney, me decides to just drop it.
The drive back to the ASMu is very nice. It's an absolutely lovely day, sunny and warm. In the daylight you can see a bit of hurricane damage but for the most part WDW has weathered the storm well. There are groundskeepers and tree guys everywhere fixing things up. In the room Scott's still asleep, blissfully relieved of ever having to suffer from knowing that I'm out and about using the rental car in an illicit fashion. I watch the local news and wait until 9:00 to wake him.
The weather definately indicates that today will be a Typhoon Lagoon day. We jump into our suits, pack up and head out with a short stop for Scott's coffee at Mickey Dee's. Like most obsessive/compulsive people Scott consumes gallons of the stuff every day.
Typhoon Lagoon is absolutely loverly. We spend most of the day just lazing about with a few slides and a little snorkeling thrown in for good measure. I play solo in the wave pool for a while (wave pools make Scott seasick) and come out absolutely exhausted from fighting the current. When did I get so flabby and out of shape? Lunch is sandwich stuff from home and a TL refillable mug, followed by more napping. Maybe I can do this relaxed Disney thing.
Our room is ready by three so we leave TL and head over to the CBR. I was more than a little worried since I'd heard several negative comments on this resort and was also convinced that, due to the charm and tact I had displayed at check-in we'd been given the buggiest, dumpiest, most distant room in the place. In fact, our room was very nice. Jamaica 45, second floor, just like I'd requested. It overlooked a small courtyard and really didn't seem like part of a huge resort. There was a fridge already installed too! Room inspection was followed by showers (love the privacy curtain, don't have to keep the room in a state of eternal twilight to dress! I think I may owe an apology to some of the guests at the WL pool for some inadvertant flashing last summer.). Next was a trip to Winn Dixie for a few vital supplies: mostly breakfast and sandwich stuff and a little beer. Okay, a lot of beer. In fact this is probably going to be a beerier than average trip report but don't worry, we're native Louisianians can really hold our beer.
In addition to being tacky cheap beer boozers I'm afraid we're both also hopelessly addicted to Survivor and it's a Thursday. By the time we'd gotten settled in we only had a couple of hours to kill before 8:00. We decided to drive over to EPCOT and just mill around for an hour or so. This is where things got extremely odd. Scott does not like thrill rides (and what are skiing and whitewater I ask you?) and I had promised not to pressure him to ride any. He especially does not like rides that spin, so when he enquired about Mission Space I told him that it was to big and bad for him. Wrong thing to say. The gauntlet has been thrown and his manhood challenged. Now he MUST ride Misssion Space and naturally this is the one day since it opened that there's practically no line at all. We must walk past at least 50 warnings telling us not to ride if you are 1. Subject to motion sickness (he is), 2. Bothered by spinning (ditto). When Scott spins, he gets a sick headache. When he gets a sick headache he gets grouchy. But, bouyed by beer and wounded male pride, he must ride or die. I've never ridden because of warning no. 3. Fear of enclosed spaces. Even when Lieut. Dan gives us that final warning not to ride we, like lambs to the slaughter, press on. Scott's the commander and I'm the engineer. The rest of our crew doesn't look any more confident than I feel. My trip is over before it even began. Surprisingly we both really enjoy the ride. I don't feel the spinning at all and it only bothers Scott a little, and that after he'd returned to Earth. I particularly love the lift-off sequence and, for the claustrophobe, its not nearly as bad as the tunnels at the HISTK playground. On the way out of the ride we find a shirt for Sam our DS (19). I don't remember the exact wording on the front of it is but the gist is something like this: I'm loud and I'm obnoxious but I'm FUN! I don't know what that has to do with Mission Space but it suits Sam to a tee.
We have a few minutes to spare and decide to hop on Spaceship Earth. Back in the day we used to love this ride since it was one of the few places we could get a little privacy with the kids along. Nowadays we have all the privacy we want so we behaved with utmost decorum.
Back to the room for TV and dinner out of the fridge. Not very exciting but quite relaxing. Scott is feeling very up what with his victory over Mission Space and all. My brave, brave boy. Besides there's football on the tube and beer in the fridge. So far, so good.
Jennifer
Scott (48) Humoring the wife. NOT a Disney fan.
Me (44) BIG Disney fan. Trying hard to convert abovementioned DH.
I just can't get into this new mellow WDW mode so I'm up at 5:30 am. I want to go ahead and check-in at CBR to see if I can avoid the lines and snag a good location while Scott has a nice lie-in. I've heard that this resort is really, really spread out. I've looked up the map and decided that Jamaica 45 is the building for us.
*If you work for National Rental Car or your morals just can't take it don't read the next bit.*
Since the busses aren't running yet I decide to drive over to CBR.
Technically, I'm not supposed to drive the car since Scott is the only authorized driver. I consider this for a second but with my usual prudence decide to blow that restriction off. I mean who's gonna know? I seriously doubt that National will be finger-printing the steering wheel and Scott, the responsible one, is sound asleep. It really is the silliest car anyway. Everything, the gear changey thing, the seat adjuster thingy (note to self: Return seat to a more manly position, DH is not a fool) is made out of cheapo plastic done up to look like chrome. It's like driving a Barbie car.
*National employees resume reading here*
The check-in area at CBR is vast. I can't imagine being here when it's crowded. Fortunately I'm the only fool around at 6:00 am. Me and the lone employee at the check in desk. We get along as well as I do with most people I deal with, not very. First she tells me I can't check in because I only have Scott's credit card with me. The room has already been paid for in full so I happen to know that I CAN INDEED check in. We debate this for a while until a manager of some sort is roused, goes to the back (and probably checks our lengthy Disney dossier) and returns with the decision that I can, indeed, check in. Check-in lady is not happy with being over-ruled and warns me not to try to pull another stunt like this ever again. Great, I've antagonized the staff, again. We'll probably be assigned a room somewhere north of Gainesville. I request Jamaica 45 and she does a little typing and I'm done. She gives me my keys and all that paper they load you up with and sends me on my way. I have to ask for a card with the number to call to check on the room and ask which room # we've been assigned. She gives me the card but won't divulge the room number or even the building she's put us in. The woman admits she knows the room # but swears she just can't reveal it to me until the room's ready. What does she think I'm going to do? Burst upon its sleeping occupants and insist on their immediate departure? The new, mellow-Disney, me decides to just drop it.
The drive back to the ASMu is very nice. It's an absolutely lovely day, sunny and warm. In the daylight you can see a bit of hurricane damage but for the most part WDW has weathered the storm well. There are groundskeepers and tree guys everywhere fixing things up. In the room Scott's still asleep, blissfully relieved of ever having to suffer from knowing that I'm out and about using the rental car in an illicit fashion. I watch the local news and wait until 9:00 to wake him.
The weather definately indicates that today will be a Typhoon Lagoon day. We jump into our suits, pack up and head out with a short stop for Scott's coffee at Mickey Dee's. Like most obsessive/compulsive people Scott consumes gallons of the stuff every day.
Typhoon Lagoon is absolutely loverly. We spend most of the day just lazing about with a few slides and a little snorkeling thrown in for good measure. I play solo in the wave pool for a while (wave pools make Scott seasick) and come out absolutely exhausted from fighting the current. When did I get so flabby and out of shape? Lunch is sandwich stuff from home and a TL refillable mug, followed by more napping. Maybe I can do this relaxed Disney thing.
Our room is ready by three so we leave TL and head over to the CBR. I was more than a little worried since I'd heard several negative comments on this resort and was also convinced that, due to the charm and tact I had displayed at check-in we'd been given the buggiest, dumpiest, most distant room in the place. In fact, our room was very nice. Jamaica 45, second floor, just like I'd requested. It overlooked a small courtyard and really didn't seem like part of a huge resort. There was a fridge already installed too! Room inspection was followed by showers (love the privacy curtain, don't have to keep the room in a state of eternal twilight to dress! I think I may owe an apology to some of the guests at the WL pool for some inadvertant flashing last summer.). Next was a trip to Winn Dixie for a few vital supplies: mostly breakfast and sandwich stuff and a little beer. Okay, a lot of beer. In fact this is probably going to be a beerier than average trip report but don't worry, we're native Louisianians can really hold our beer.
In addition to being tacky cheap beer boozers I'm afraid we're both also hopelessly addicted to Survivor and it's a Thursday. By the time we'd gotten settled in we only had a couple of hours to kill before 8:00. We decided to drive over to EPCOT and just mill around for an hour or so. This is where things got extremely odd. Scott does not like thrill rides (and what are skiing and whitewater I ask you?) and I had promised not to pressure him to ride any. He especially does not like rides that spin, so when he enquired about Mission Space I told him that it was to big and bad for him. Wrong thing to say. The gauntlet has been thrown and his manhood challenged. Now he MUST ride Misssion Space and naturally this is the one day since it opened that there's practically no line at all. We must walk past at least 50 warnings telling us not to ride if you are 1. Subject to motion sickness (he is), 2. Bothered by spinning (ditto). When Scott spins, he gets a sick headache. When he gets a sick headache he gets grouchy. But, bouyed by beer and wounded male pride, he must ride or die. I've never ridden because of warning no. 3. Fear of enclosed spaces. Even when Lieut. Dan gives us that final warning not to ride we, like lambs to the slaughter, press on. Scott's the commander and I'm the engineer. The rest of our crew doesn't look any more confident than I feel. My trip is over before it even began. Surprisingly we both really enjoy the ride. I don't feel the spinning at all and it only bothers Scott a little, and that after he'd returned to Earth. I particularly love the lift-off sequence and, for the claustrophobe, its not nearly as bad as the tunnels at the HISTK playground. On the way out of the ride we find a shirt for Sam our DS (19). I don't remember the exact wording on the front of it is but the gist is something like this: I'm loud and I'm obnoxious but I'm FUN! I don't know what that has to do with Mission Space but it suits Sam to a tee.
We have a few minutes to spare and decide to hop on Spaceship Earth. Back in the day we used to love this ride since it was one of the few places we could get a little privacy with the kids along. Nowadays we have all the privacy we want so we behaved with utmost decorum.
Back to the room for TV and dinner out of the fridge. Not very exciting but quite relaxing. Scott is feeling very up what with his victory over Mission Space and all. My brave, brave boy. Besides there's football on the tube and beer in the fridge. So far, so good.
Jennifer
