The Battle For My Wallet VI: The Trip Report That Isn’t a Trip Report (P.24, 11/24)

[blue_river]

Yahooty

 

[carrieannie]

Yahooty

Hi Heidi!!!

 

[Yzma and Kronk]

Another tired Maelstromer checking in

“I thought this joker promised us he was going to stop pounding out this drivel?”

Exactly!

But I'm glad. Nana Happy

Love me some stories of the CR! Bouncebacking there next year too!

Sorry (or am I??) that I missed all the football talk on Saturday. I was too busy enjoying the Cali Ray/Ray's - The new Lemon Drop - but I now know what all the slapping was all about!

Roll Tide, is it?

Looking forward to Monday (for once)

 

[Philadisney]

I loved your last TR and am so glad to see a new thread from you. Can't wait to catch up!

 

[lisalonglash]

Hey, thanks for not writing a trip report - I couldn't handle reading yet another one

If I HAD read your musings/observations/NOT report, I would have said that your writing never fails to entertain/inspire and that this latest Disney foray doesn't disappoint. My mom was divorced twice during my childhood - I empathize with your earlier years. I am looking forward to meeting my younger self in the MK - and, dare I hope, meeting my dh's younger self there too (one can hope, right?!). I am not looking forward to the next installment - it's not like I'll be checking this thread daily or anything

 

[Liz]

Hey Zzub,

I had to share an experience my son had at work. He met another DISer! Small world huh? Anyway, this person said they liked the Trip Report board and my son asked him if he'd read Zzub. He hadn't so maybe he'll show up here!

 

[javamom]

HI ZZUB! Can't let a good battle die! Likewise, if none were to tell the tale, the world would certainly be a lesser place. Well, at least, mine would. Glad to see you back.

Though I am sooooo not a sports fan, here's one just for you!

ROLL TIDE!

 

[GBShorts]

Got to sub into this-I'll get reading in a moment here! Can't wait to read another report...that apparently isn't a trip report? ...

Hmm.

 

[ZZUB]

Chapter Two: Getting There

The weeks before vacation are always a busy time. Tons of work to finish up. Clients’ demands to attend to. Final preparations for the trip. Going to Target with the family to buy “trip stuff.” Packing. Giving the Schpup a bath. And earning a degree in meteorology.

That’s right. On top of everything else I was trying to get done, this year I became an amateur hurricanologist (not to be confused with a licensed joyologist). As Tropical Storm Fay was drenching Florida in its insane and unprecedented crisscross of the state, friends and family alike were emailing me and writing, “how glad are you that this is happening this week and not two weeks from now when you’ll be there?” Mr. Schadenfreude, the senior partner in my firm, could barely contain his disgust that TS Fay hadn’t delayed her course until right smack in the middle of our trip.

But while others around me were breathing a vicarious sigh of relief for us, I knew better. I knew something was coming to prevent us from leaving on time. I just knew it.

I didn’t want to know it. But because we were planning to stay at the Contemporary, the place I’d wanted to stay since before Nancy Pelosi’s first face lift, I was sore afraid that something would come up to dash it all.

I don’t know, maybe everyone has a fear in the back of their mind that their vacation will get upended.

Not me.

It’s not in the back of my mind.

It’s in the back of my throat. It’s in front of my eyes. It’s in my nose. My chest.

I’m a card-carrying worrier who accidentally lost his card. I regularly pray that God strengthens me in my inner man so that I don’t allow fear and anxiety to overcome me. (One of the first verses of Scripture I ever memorized was Philippians 4:6). In the weeks leading up to the trip, whenever I would start cogitating on the many things which could happen to prevent our timely departure, I’d stop and surrender those fears to God, being reminded that He, and not Alaska Airlines, is in control.

Right on cue, Hurricane Gustav appeared and began to threaten Florida. And shortly thereafter, Mr. Schadenfreude darkened my office door, his smile so big, you’d think he just came from debating a squinty fellow who mistakenly, but nevertheless arrogantly, asserts that Article I of the Constitution enumerates the powers of the execitive branch. He could barely contain his excitement that ANOTHER storm was brewing. Mr. Schadenfreude that is. Not the media-protected hair transplant who scolded the young governor despite being ignorant of the very Constitution he was lecturing her from. Ahem.

And so I became intimately familiar with the hurricane projection models. I knew what time the NHC issued its updated advisories. I knew which models were more reliable. If knowledge is power, I was a Saturn V rocket at lift off. Or a bean burrito at splash down.

Too much?

Gustav wasn’t alone, either. His meddlesome sister Hanna was lurking in the Atlantic. Lurking the way women of loose morals do. (Hi Mel!) And while Gustav’s track eventually moved clear of the blessed Florida peninsula, Hanna turned and churned. Not unlike the aforementioned bean burrito.

It wasn’t just the hurricanes, you understand. I had a few other things to worry about.

From what I’d read in the months and weeks leading up to our trip, The Contemporary Resort was riddled with problems. It is suffering through a bout of bad housekeeping worse than any resort at Walt Disney World which, as a whole, is suffering through something of a housekeeping crisis. Virtually every report I read both here and at Allearsnet described dusty rooms, dirty floors, abandoned room service trays. Random, unclaimed hair of the curly, kinky variety. Then there was this hysteria over the sinks. The lousy, useless, non-draining flat sinks. And almost all agreed there was a horrendous lack of storage. YOU HAVE TO LIVE OUT OF YOUR SUITCASE! This was of some concern to a guy who thinks unpacking at Disney World is every bit as exciting as the words “Vanderbilt 14, Auburn 13.” People alleged that the front desk staff was rude, unhelpful. The elevators are ALWAYS crowded. THERE’S NO DISNEY FEEL THERE! Which is to say NOTHING of the construction.

THE CONSTRUCTION!!!!!

Would the new quick service place open in time? How bad would the Tempo Grab and Go be? And then, just before we left for Florida, there were new reports about THE NOISE! The ear-drum shattering noise from the construction in the atrium. Someone even posted a clip on YouTube.

But all of that was simply the amuse bouche for the main course of anxiety I would feast on: what if it wasn’t what I thought it would be? What if we got there and it was completely disappointing? After years of dreaming about doing something, and a year spent planning for it, what if a room in the Tower with a view of the Magic Kingdom was no more exciting than waking up five minutes before your alarm goes off?

I began regretting not booking us into the Wilderness Lodge. We loved the Lodge. Why on earth wouldn’t we be returning there? At least the Lodge has a food court. Kind of. Its pool has theming. No people in business suits there. And so what if the bedspread has a stain not of your own making? It’s substantially cheaper than the Contemporary. Let ‘em pee on our bed if they want to.

Every so often, I’d entertain these thoughts out loud. I’d ask Mrs. Z if maybe she’d be happier at the Lodge. Staying in the Tower is my dream. Not hers. Each time I’d bring it up, she’d remind me of all the reasons we’re staying at the Contemporary. And that if we hated it, then we’d know the Lodge is our place and we’d return there next time.

No matter what concern I raised, she reminded me that I wasn’t the kind of person to let it ride. I’d make them make it right.

I dialed up some pictures of the rooms and the bathrooms on the internet one night and we studied them together. I said more to myself than to her, “I think there’ll be enough storage space.” The lack of a decent quick service food court place made me anxious, though. We love us some food court. There was no easy fix to that problem. Eventually, I concluded we could always hop the Monorail to the Polynesian or the GF for a food court if we needed to. We studied the menus on Allearsnet and concluded they offered some good fast food options if the Temp Grab and Go didn’t work.

But then I read that thing about the jackhammering in the atrium. Jackhammering. In the atrium. Good night nurse! That made me nervous. So again I considered switching resorts. Because if the place got super noisy, then what? I didn’t want to move in the middle of our stay.

You see what was happening, don’t you? I was trying to plan “the perfect trip.” But the perfect trip doesn’t exist. It’s a fiction. Like Georgia’s defense. Like Free Dining or like Joe Biden’s understanding of the Constitution. Even though I had learned not too long ago that I cannot plan the perfect trip, and that expecting perfection is foolishness, well, I forgot. I don’t mean I fully forgot. I just didn’t realize that I was gunning so hard for perfection. In my head, it seemed I was just trying to make certain we had well-advised plans. Covered all contingencies. But that’s just seeking perfection by another name. Faith for me isn’t like riding a bicycle, or hadn’t I told you that before? And as I sat staring off over the handle bars, I realized I had forgotten how to ride that thing.

This came home to me over the course of a week or so. One day I was working in my study and ZZUBY was sitting in my plaid arm chair pouring over one of her Junie B. Jones books. The screensaver on my computer was running through a slide show, and there were two pictures of the Lodge in a row. I looked wistfully at them and then looked at ZZUBY and said, “You know, I sure wish we were staying there this year. I hope we like the Contemporary as much. I’m afraid we’re going to miss the Lodge, though.”

She said, “Oh Daddy! You’re just looking for a reason not to stay at the Contemporary now, aren’t you?”

She’s six by the way.

A few days later, I was reading about the construction zone cleverly disguised as the atrium and reports of people who had to move because of the noise bleed into their rooms. My concern for our trip piqued, so I decided I’d check availability for the Lodge on line.

Do with this what you will. On the day I checked, for the dates we were going to be in Disney World, there was not a single room available in the Wilderness Lodge. Not a one. Undeterred, I changed our arrival date. Then our departure date. Clicked concierge level even.

Nothing.

It might as well have been Barack Obama’s resume. There was nothing there.

The number of available rooms equaled Georgia’s score at the half: 0.

You might say there was a black out.

But you shouldn’t.

When I realized we couldn’t switch our reservation to the Lodge, I also realized God was trying to remind me that anxiety is foolishness. He was in control and there was no sense trying to make sure everything was perfect.

Because it aint gonna be perfect no matter what you do.

I was reminded of another trip not too long ago when our plans were completely upended. When the worst thing I could imagine interrupted an otherwise sanguine Disney Eve. And even though the fear and panic of that night still feels fresh and raw when I revisit it in my mind, when I continue the thought to its eventual conclusion and I am reminded that everything ended well, then I am again bathed in the peace and security of knowing Someone other than me is in control.

So when in the days just before we left, I read reports of the painting going on inside the Contemporary atrium and I saw the pictures of scaffolds that covered the Monorail platform, I didn’t fret none.

Mostly because I don’t even know how.

I’m from Florida. I’m not really southern.

And also because I remembered a last minute stop for a bathroom break mere feet from the gates of Walt’s Disney World. Scaffolds and paint are the new “Well, it’s pretty late in the day . . .”

There were a few other middling concerns. For the first time in forever, Mrs. Z was completely packed and finished with her stuff well before bedtime on Disney Eve. Which could only mean that our trip was going to get cancelled, right? Again, you know, the thing with the bike.

Our Disney Eve was about as quiet and subdued as any night before a vacation. We got to bed at a decent hour. And slept.

Which is ironic.

It has been at least 35 years since I first laid eyes on the Contemporary Resort, first looked up at those balconies and wondered what the World looked like from up there. It has been at least 25 years since I promised myself I’d stay there one day. It has been almost a full year since I called the Disney Travel Company and revised our reservation and booked a week with a Magic Kingdom view. It had been three months since ZZUBY and I began marking off the days on our calendar each night.

And yet I had no trouble falling asleep. For all of my fears that we wouldn’t get to go after all, or that the experience would disappoint me deeply, if I had any anxieties at all that night, they weren’t pestering me. I finished praying with my wife, gave her a kiss and fell deep asleep. Soon after, we were up and readying ourselves for the airport. Showered. Shaved. Putting last things in our suitcases. I loaded the bags in the car and began marking things off my exit checklist. We got the kids up and ready and we climbed in the car for the drive to the airport.

Everybody say “good bye house.” We prayed as we headed down the hill towards the interstate. And as we drove, listening to Disney tunes on the radio, Mrs. Z and I talked about everything and nothing. Just like it was any old day at all.

Our flights were fairly uneventful. Save for the hour we sat on the ground because the ground crew and the pilot couldn’t agree on whether our flight had been properly fueled, it was mostly uneventful.

We landed in Orlando about an hour behind schedule. We walked off the plane and headed towards the Magical Express check-in. It was fairly quiet, just a few families in front of us. But there was only a minimal wait. All checked in, we were directed towards the queue for our bus. We walked to the front and were immediately taken to our waiting ride.

I fall for this EVERY time.

No sooner had we settled into our bus when it dawned on me that we weren’t going anywhere for a while. A LONG while.

ZZUB had to pee. I had held it because I thought we would be on our way and didn’t want to have to wait for the next bus.

I got off the bus and asked the driver and the Magical Express employee standing next to him, Franky Frownypants, how long before our bus would be leaving.

“About 25 minutes.”

“25 minutes?!” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, 25 minutes,” Franky Frownypants repeated, annoyed that I questioned him.

Obviously, he’s never been to Disney World before. Although judging from the looks of his shirt, he knew where the nearest Golden Corral was. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I turned and headed towards a bathroom. When I got back out to the bus, Frownypants was nowhere to be seen. I imagined he had gone to another waiting area to tell little children that Mickey Mouse had been run over by a truck and that Santa Claus was pedaling a tape of him and Britney Spears doing naughty things.

Our driver was standing in front of the bus, talking with Sadie Smokesacamel, the lone other passenger. I asked him which resorts he’d be taking us to and in what order. He said it would depend on who else they put on board but it could be up to four stops. I asked him what it would take to stop at the Contemporary first. Since my kids had been up since 3:00 am west coast time. In other words, I dangled the promise of a hearty tip.

Being a capitalist himself, our driver then disappeared inside the airport. Before Sadie Smokesacamel could finish her Camel, he was back outside telling us to get on board, we were leaving. That’s right, a little promise of a tip and Driver Dan was all about getting us on the road.

In a completely empty bus.

My carbon footprint was starting to look like Oprah's butt-print. You know, massive.

It’s funny to me how a year goes by and nothing changes. Getting off the plane, feeling the air, walking through the airport, standing in line, getting annoyed by the slowness of Magical Express, riding on the bus, seeing the palm trees, headed to Disney World. It felt like we had just been there a week ago. It’s funny to me how there was nothing particularly unusual about the ride. Or the conversation my wife and I were having. It all felt very familiar and ordinary.

Except every so often, I'd think about where we were going.

Sure, I was a little anxious still. But I was mostly excited. And a little tired.

Turns out, the ride from the airport to the Contemporary Resort went by rather quickly. Which is ironic when you consider it took me 35 years to get there.

____

Click Here For Chapter Three:

 

[Goofyluver]

But because we were planning to stay at the Contemporary, the place I’d wanted to stay since before Nancy Pelosi’s first face lift, I was sore afraid that something would come up to dash it all.

Okay...I'll give you that one. You made a funny.

Just please don't insult Ol' Joe. He's a favorite of mine.

He could barely contain his excitement that ANOTHER storm was brewing. Mr. Schadenfreude that is. Not the media-protected hair transplant who scolded the young governor despite being ignorant of the very Constitution he was lecturing her from. Ahem.

Doh.

Or a bean burrito at splash down.

Too much?

Nah. I'm from New Mexico. We say our bean burritos are "nuk-u-lar"...not to be confused with nuclear.

Like Free Dining or like Joe Biden’s understanding of the Constitution

Double doh.

I’m from Florida. I’m not really southern.

Well...that is yet to be judged.

I've seen narry a 'ya'll' or 'yee-haw'...

We shall see how this pans out.

Our Disney Eve was about as quiet and subdued as any night before a vacation. We got to bed at a decent hour. And slept.


Which is ironic.

Honey...that's not ironic. That's sick.

Really...how are you supposed to enjoy your first day on a good-nights rest.

Obviously, he’s never been to Disney World before. Although judging from the looks of his shirt, he knew where the nearest Golden Corral was. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

'Round these parts...we call Golden Corral a sure thing...

As in: It's a 'sure thing' you're going to go home with a parasite from some day-old ranch dressing. It's really a gift...from Golden Corral to you.

My carbon footprint was starting to look like Oprah's butt-print. You know, massive.

Ahhhhh...be fair to Oprah.

Her butt-print has been much more massive at other point's in her life.

Oh Mr. Zub...

I shall wait and see what this resort holds for you on the inside.

It sure is purty on the outside.

But, I"m nervous.

After your schpiel about how something may go wrong.

Am I sensing a looming forboding event??

I shall hold out hope...(NOObama)...and hope that your stay and trip will be much like this exerpt in this little not-a-TR you have going here...full o' fun and a spankin' good time (NOMrs.TheKing)

 

[LouDisney]

Great entry ZZUB.
We must have been there around the same time.

 

[LaLa]

I asked him what it would take to stop at the Contemporary first. In other words, I dangled the promise of a hearty tip.

In other words, you bribed the freakin' bus driver. What'd you give him? A five spot? You did, didn't you? If so, you should be ashamed of yourself. From what I understand, that's hardly enough to get a funnel cake anymore. Five is the new half dollar. Shame that.

And so I became intimately familiar with the hurricane projection models. I knew what time the NHC issued its updated advisories. I knew which models were more reliable.

Somehow this all seems strangely familiar to me. Maybe it's because I was right there with you. Checking storm tracks every three hours and trying to determine which model would be the one that had it right. Albeit for completely different reasons and completely different locations. But still. Let's just hope you fared better with the Fudge Rounds than we did. Why is it that whenever a storm comes, they're always the first Lil' Debbie snack cake to fly off the shelves? How 'bout you cogitate on that for awhile and get back to me?

It’s in the back of my throat. It’s in front of my eyes. It’s in my nose. My chest.

Here we go again with the "my eyes were bigger than my stomach" BBQ story. Frankly ZZUB, I don't understand your sick preoccupation with vomit. And I suppose I never will.

But the perfect trip doesn’t exist. It’s a fiction. Like Georgia’s defense. Like Free Dining or like Joe Biden’s understanding of the Constitution.

DED!

Too much?

At this point, do you really think it matters?

Our Disney Eve was about as quiet and subdued as any night before a vacation. We got to bed at a decent hour. And slept.

Which is ironic.

That's not ironic. Rain on your wedding day and a free ride when you've already paid, now that's ironic. Actually sleeping on Disney Eve is just plain ole weird.

Although judging from the looks of his shirt, he knew where the nearest Golden Corral was. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

There's PLENTY wrong with that. Everybody knows Ponderosa trumps Golden Corral any day of the week.

When I realized we couldn’t switch our reservation to the Lodge, I also realized God was trying to remind me that anxiety is foolishness. He was in control and there was no sense trying to make sure everything was perfect.

Because it aint gonna be perfect no matter what you do.

Amen brother. Regardless of the fact that we know full well that we can't bring about perfection by our own hands, sometimes we still try. And fret (you don't have to be Southern to fret ZZUB, you just have to be Southern to call it that) over how things may or may not turn out. So it's awesome when He reminds us to just be still. Sounds like you got ahold of the message (you do, however, have to be Southern to get ahold of something) and I hope we'll be hearing (reading, whatever) before too much longer that your pre trip worries and anxieties were all for naught.

So what can I do to get you to speed these installments up some?

I've got a five spot that's just lookin' for a new home.

 

[LegoMom3]

Chapter Two: Getting There


.......That’s right. On top of everything else I was trying to get done, this year I became an amateur hurricanologist (not to be confused with a licensed joyologist). As Tropical Storm Fay was drenching Florida in its insane and unprecedented crisscross of the state, friends and family alike were emailing me and writing, “how glad are you that this is happening this week and not two weeks from now when you’ll be there?” Mr. Schadenfreude, the senior partner in my firm, could barely contain his disgust that TS Fay hadn’t delayed her course until right smack in the middle of our trip.

I have never watched The Weather Channel as much as I did this past late Aug./early September.... Talk about touch-n-go! I'm becoming increasingly convinced that we may have indeed been there at the same time.

You don't have a "Pedro for President" shirt by chance, do you?.....

....Which is to say NOTHING of the construction.

THE CONSTRUCTION!!!!!

Would the new quick service place open in time? How bad would the Tempo Grab and Go be? And then, just before we left for Florida, there were new reports about THE NOISE! The ear-drum shattering noise from the construction in the atrium. Someone even posted a clip on YouTube.

I did indeed cancel a Chef Mickey's dinner ADR due to the hoopla over the noise. But I mean really, the place is noisy enough all on its own.... And at the end of a long hot day in the parks, I wasn't feelin' the Mickey love about eating there with the potential for a melt-down disaster.

Because it aint gonna be perfect no matter what you do.

This should be the tag line on all Disney planning tools!!! We know that the Perfect Trip does not exist, and yet we try so, so hard to pull it into being...

I feel like I should insert something witty here but alas it's quite early in the a.m., I just got up, and the coffee hasn't taken full effect...



.

 

[TarzansKat]

Chapter Two: Getting There
If knowledge is power, I was a Saturn V rocket at lift off. Or a bean burrito at splash down.

Too much?

From you? Remember, we've read worse.

But all of that was simply the amuse bouche for the main course of anxiety I would feast on: what if it wasn’t what I thought it would be? What if we got there and it was completely disappointing? After years of dreaming about doing something, and a year spent planning for it, what if a room in the Tower with a view of the Magic Kingdom was no more exciting than waking up five minutes before your alarm goes off?

I felt the same way about our trip this year.

You see what was happening, don’t you? I was trying to plan “the perfect trip.” But the perfect trip doesn’t exist. It’s a fiction. Like Georgia’s defense. Like Free Dining or like Joe Biden’s understanding of the Constitution. Even though I had learned not too long ago that I cannot plan the perfect trip, and that expecting perfection is foolishness, well, I forgot. I don’t mean I fully forgot. I just didn’t realize that I was gunning so hard for perfection. In my head, it seemed I was just trying to make certain we had well-advised plans. Covered all contingencies. But that’s just seeking perfection by another name. Faith for me isn’t like riding a bicycle, or hadn’t I told you that before? And as I sat staring off over the handle bars, I realized I had forgotten how to ride that thing.

I can't tell you how much I'm identifying with you right now. I fell into the same trap, the same high (unreasonable) expectations, completely losing sight of what was really important in the grand scheme. I just had no idea that I had a comrade in arms in my insanity.

She said, “Oh Daddy! You’re just looking for a reason not to stay at the Contemporary now, aren’t you?”

She’s six by the way.

Does she know you, or what?

Because it aint gonna be perfect no matter what you do.

I was reminded of another trip not too long ago when our plans were completely upended. When the worst thing I could imagine interrupted an otherwise sanguine Disney Eve. And even though the fear and panic of that night still feels fresh and raw when I revisit it in my mind, when I continue the thought to its eventual conclusion and I am reminded that everything ended well, then I am again bathed in the peace and security of knowing Someone other than me is in control.

I got off the bus and asked the driver and the Magical Express employee standing next to him, Franky Frownypants, how long before our bus would be leaving.

“About 25 minutes.”

“25 minutes?!” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, 25 minutes,” Franky Frownypants repeated, annoyed that I questioned him.

Do you have a built-in cranky cast member magnet? I swear, you haven't even set foot in the World yet, and already we've got one just flocking to you!

I imagined he had gone to another waiting area to tell little children that Mickey Mouse had been run over by a truck and that Santa Claus was pedaling a tape of him and Britney Spears doing naughty things.

In other words, I dangled the promise of a hearty tip.

Being a capitalist himself, our driver then disappeared inside the airport. Before Sadie Smokesacamel could finish her Camel, he was back outside telling us to get on board, we were leaving. That’s right, a little promise of a tip and Driver Dan was all about getting us on the road.

In a completely empty bus.

He shoots, he scores!!!

It’s funny to me how a year goes by and nothing changes. Getting off the plane, feeling the air, walking through the airport, standing in line, getting annoyed by the slowness of Magical Express, riding on the bus, seeing the palm trees, headed to Disney World. It felt like we had just been there a week ago. It’s funny to me how there was nothing particularly unusual about the ride. Or the conversation my wife and I were having. It all felt very familiar and ordinary.

It's so true. Certainly there must be a term for that. It's like the opposite of Disneyschadenfreude. AntiDisneyschadenfreude?

Turns out, the ride from the airport to the Contemporary Resort went by rather quickly. Which is ironic when you consider it took me 35 years to get there.

__

Aww, ZZUB. I hope that it was well worth it, and can't wait to read more.

 

[Mrs. The King]

It’s in the back of my throat. It’s in front of my eyes. It’s in my nose. My chest.

Now you know what the poor Dude who walked into the Canada bathroom after you felt like.

Random, unclaimed hair of the curly, kinky variety.

Those are Goofy's. It's like Tinkerbell's pixie dust, 'cept different, but just as magical!

After years of dreaming about doing something, and a year spent planning for it, what if a room in the Tower with a view of the Magic Kingdom was no more exciting than waking up five minutes before your alarm goes off?

No people in business suits there. And so what if the bedspread has a stain not of your own making? It’s substantially cheaper than the Contemporary. Let ‘em pee on our bed if they want to.

I think I am the manager of this place.

Good night nurse!

Every time you say this I picture a foreign nurse with a unibrow stabbing you in the neck with some sort of injectable drug. (NOMel)

She said, “Oh Daddy! You’re just looking for a reason not to stay at the Contemporary now, aren’t you?”

Kids never miss a trick.

It has been at least 35 years since I first laid eyes on the Contemporary Resort

Some of us didn't even have eyes 35 years ago.

Everybody say “good bye house.”

Awww

I turned and headed towards a bathroom.

Set this sentence on repeat, and you have an instant Zzub trip report.

I imagined he had gone to another waiting area to tell little children that Mickey Mouse had been run over by a truck and that Santa Claus was pedaling a tape of him and Britney Spears doing naughty things.

That is just wrong.

I asked him what it would take to stop at the Contemporary first.

What, are you a member of some sort of Mickey Mafia?!! You made him an offer he couldn't refuse.

My carbon footprint was starting to look like Oprah's butt-print. You know, massive.

The Jiggler is not speaking to you anymore.

Well, at least you can take a picture while twisting the bus driver's arm.


I think all the Hurricanes were God's way of giving Disney a courtesy flush before the Zzubs arrived.

 

[CRSNDSNY]

Just found a new TR! Glad to see you're writing something for your latest adventure. My husband and I look forward to the read! THANKS in advance!

 

[DisneyNutMary]

Ack, do I have to wait two weeks to know if the Contemporary lived up to your expectations?

I'll never make it Great installment Zzub, I'm on the edge of my seat here.

 

[DJR]

Arrgh! I can't believe you've been pontificating for two weeks and I've just now arrived.

I would have been here sooner, but I've been busy helping Alaska try to secede from the Union.

Somehow I knew you'd be back, the faithful Kool-Aid drinkers are insatiable.

 

[LISAMWDW]

Now you know what the poor Dude who walked into the Canada bathroom after you felt like.

Now that is funny!!!!



You seriously bribed the bus driver!?!?!?

Great update!

 

[lisalonglash]

and and , as usual! Not that I'm reading this non-report...