dumb things boys do at the bar

Disney World Trip Report Day #2 (Part 1) – Where Princesses Are All Up on the Book of Faces

Our first “real” Disney day was a Tuesday, and what a Tuesday it was.  Back to the Magic Kingdom for the first time in 15+ years…I was probably going to cry a lot.  And I did.  It started on the bus.  Yeah…that girl.  And it wasn’t just from waking up at ass o’clock in the morning to get to our 8:15 Cinderella’s Royal Table reservation, either.  That was a rough one.  I’m pretty sure it was still dark outside when we rolled out of Pop Century…which I didn’t take any pictures of.  Oh well.  It had a lot of giant props and served its purpose as a place to sleep.

Julie and I had a tear-filled bus ride over to Magic Kingdom (I think the toddlers were looking at me funny, but sit down, kiddies, I paid for this shit, I can cry if I want to), and when we got there, we found our Magic Bands were in working order.  Thank god the only snafu we had was at the Magical Express.  Once we were inside the park, we started taking pictures of ourselves, which would pretty much be the theme of the entire vacation.  Hellooooo 800 Photopass pictures.  We hadn’t gotten to pick up our plus card yet, so a nice cast member took about ten photos of us with both our cameras and his camera in front of the train station.  We got those added to our Magic Bands, and off we went to experience the park pre-opening…where we took another 40 pictures.  We made it our mission to stop every time we saw a Photopass photographer.  I do not regret this decision.

I think we were slightly late when we went to check in for our breakfast, but it didn’t matter, as we had to wait in a line anyway to take our picture with Cinderella.  It was here that I learned the importance of the “princess pose” and that we would have to do variations of it each time we took shots with a girl in a dress.  Good thing I learned this four seconds into the trip.  While we waited to go upstairs for breakfast, I decided it would be a fantastic idea to take pictures of random castle things, a skill which I have perfected thanks to years of training at Ren Faires and Medieval Times.




We finally took our picture with the woman of the hour, and then we were escorted upstairs where I proceeded to take pictures of the ceiling.


It’s really pretty inside the castle, but let me tell you, the food is subpar.  I don’t eat eggs, and Disney is like…egg-a-palooza at breakfast, so there was pretty much nothing to eat that didn’t have eggs somewhere.  I ended up getting the steak (and eggs), and, while it was okay, it certainly wasn’t worth the $60 per person price, as this was the one meal we paid out of pocket.  However, the staff was great.  Our server was so nice, seeing as we were two adults having breakfast with a bunch of princesses, she didn’t think we were ridiculous or anything.  In fact, she saw my first visit button and gave me an autograph book because it was the first day of our trip and I didn’t have one.  She even tracked down Snow White (who had come to our table first when I didn’t have the book) to get her to sign it.  SO nice.  I love Disney cast members.  We had one of the best character interactions here right off the bat with Princess Aurora.  I think she gets the shaft a lot, honestly.  Maleficent clearly steals the show in Sleeping Beauty, and I can’t remember anything about Aurora in the movie that really makes her stand out.  But this girl was a riot.  I think she talked to us for at least five minutes about princes and how far we traveled on horseback, and then when we were taking pictures, she asked, “Are you going to post these on the book of faces?”  I about LOST it, I was laughing so hard.  Then we had a conversation about this magical, magical book.  Every other Princess Aurora paled in comparison to this one.

tripreport-014Book of Faces Aurora, we love you.

It took about an hour to get through breakfast, and once we were done, the park was already open to the public.  We had a Space Mountain fast pass + to use before 10am (mistake, do not book your fast pass pluses until afternoon, as there is NOBODY there in the morning), but we decided to screw around for a bit first.  We headed off to Tomorrow Land, though, and my very first Disney World ride became…Buzz Lightyear.  I’m a big fan of rides that are games, and we rode it twice in a row with no wait, stopping to get our photo numbers each time so we could add them to the plus card.  Thankfully, Julie knew where the camera was.  We’re so pimp like that.  After our trip into space, we decided to cash in our fast passes, but I believe we found a random Stitch out meeting people first.  There was barely a line, and let me tell you, Stitch is TINY and NUTS.  I was practically sitting on the ground to take a picture with him, and he stuck his fingers in our ears, it was just ridiculous…ridiculously awesome.

My first ride on Space Mountain was…well.  I was terrified.  I have no idea why, as the ride isn’t really that scary, but by the time I got off, I felt like I needed a cigarette.  It didn’t help that my shoe got stuck in the damned car, so I was praying my leg didn’t separate from my body as I tried to get the hell out of there.  We picked up our photos, and then I needed like…a break.  I know, it was 10am, and I was practically dead.  So, we made our way to pick up our Photopass+ card, and headed towards (New) Fantasyland where I teared up at pretty much everything.  I believe we went on Winnie the Pooh (which was the longest ten minute wait of my life because that ride smells like children…I have no other way to describe it), and the Teacups, where I missed my first opportunity to eat that cupcake that comes in a cup that’s mostly frosting.  Spoiler: I talked about it the entire trip, and then I never got one.  I still mourn the loss of my cupcake cup.  Eventually, we made our way over to use our Enchanted Tales with Belle fast pass pluses, and I was pretty upset that we missed half the cottage, which was a huge selling point for me.  Seriously, when I was a kid and at Disney, the thing I remember the most was walking through Mickey Mouse’s house and looking at all the little details, and now that we couldn’t walk through Belle’s I was like…the hell?  However, getting into the experience with no wait was pretty fantastic, and Maurice’s work room…holy crap, the magic.  If I didn’t have a goal in mind, I would have cried through the whole thing.  But, being the attention whore I am, I had to get in the show.  Let’s be real, it took all of three seconds for the cast member to pick me to be the wardrobe.  YES.  My music degree had finally paid off.

tripreport-015She told me I sang better than the real wardrobe.  Damn straight.

The experience was adorable, although more for little kids and their parents than adults.  Julie got to play Fifi the feather duster, aka Lumiere’s Girlfriend.  Ooh la la.  We all got our pictures with Belle and then special photopass cards and a bookmark.  Treasured.  Then we tried to ride the Little Mermaid and got denied, as it was down.  I guess that was okay, because I spied my boyfriend off in the distance, and had to get close to him.  Oh yeah.  You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?  You should if you have read any of my Dumb Things Boys Do at the Bar posts.

tripreport-016Oh yeah.  You know how I like ’em cocky.

Gaston, despite his shoulder pads, was GREAT.  He was spot the fuck on, drawn eyebrows and all.  I mean, we threw semi-dirty pickup lines at him like it was nothing and he shot back immediately.  I wish our date could have lasted a little longer, but, I mean, he’s a popular man.  I had to have a threeway with him and Julie and there were throngs of women all around him just waiting to have a go.  We’d meet up again later, though, don’t worry, and I got to sit in his giant chair when I had withdrawals, so it was all good.  Sidenote: Lefou’s Brew…not all that great.  I’m glad I got my souvenir plastic fake beer stein, but I definitely don’t have to drink that crap again, though it got better the more you drank it.  Maybe it was real beer after all.  Hmm…

And I will leave it here for now.  Don’t be sad, more New Fantasyland adventures await, along with a Pirates League makeover and that time karma hit me in the face for scaring little children when something else scared the living crap out of me.  Buahahaha.

Dumb Things Boys Do at the Bar – Part 2

Let me preface this post by admitting something that will shock most of you who know me personally (and no, I didn’t say that just because I wanted to use the word “preface” as a verb): I have stopped drinking.  I know.  I KNOW.  It’s not for health reasons or to better myself, it’s merely a personal choice I’m attempting to make right now.  And it’s not like I’m going to be all, “No, I can’t have that margarita at TGI Friday’s because I AM NOT DRINKING!!” it’s more like, I’m not going to drink for the sole purpose of getting drunk.  Please keep in mind I am a gigantic party girl.  I didn’t live in dorms at college, so I’ve done most of my partying as a legal adult.  Am I done partying?  No.  Am I done marking shots on my arm with a sharpie?  Yes.  Everyone I’ve spoken to about it really doesn’t know how to take the news because I’m always the one who channeled her inner P!nk and got the party started.  I can’t cook, so my hostess gift at housewarming parties and graduation fiestas and probably baby showers has been three trays of Jell-O shots.  Now I don’t really know what to do with myself.  If nothing else, being the DD at bars will provide me with more fodder for this blog because I’ll actually remember all the stupid shit that boys do while they’re drinking 34 bottles of beer.

On the other hand, going to the bar is not nearly as fun when you’re sober.

If you don’t drink and still party, please, please share your tips with me on what to do other than to pretend I’m wasted while everyone else actually IS wasted.  I don’t want to be one of those adults who goes to wine bars and sips things for flavor while having a scholarly conversation where I discuss Chaucer or something.  I want to go see my damned friends’ bands play and learn how to flirt without having a vodka and Red Bull in my hand.

Now that that’s out of the way, onto the moronic things I witnessed when I went out on Black Wednesday to my usual haunt.


Dumb Thing #3 – Refusing to be of Any Help Whatsoever

Okay, look, boys.  I am at the bar with two other girls who are tall and gorgeous.  We’re not tiny women, so it’s not like you can’t see us.  And I realize the bar is crowded.  You all want your beer buckets while we are trying to have a single person order two vodka and cranberries and a Red Bull on ice.  Why the fuck can’t you move out of the way once you have your drinks so this girl who wears size zero pants can place her fucking order?  Legit.  You now have 24 beers between the four of you.  And you’re all gigantic.  You take up this giant space at the bar.  There are no stools.  You’re not sitting there, enjoying your foam.  You’re standing there, taking up valuable real estate, blocking anybody else from ordering drinks unless we yell over your goddamned heads.  Here’s the kicker: if you all took just three steps to the front, we could get past you in order to scream at the bartender because it’s so fucking loud in here.  Just three.  They don’t have to even be large steps.  Maybe even one.  Take one foot, put it in front of the other while carrying your buckets, and FUCKING MOVE.  It’s not rocket science.  It’s common courtesy.  When we finally are able to get our plastic cups, we will be bolting away from the bar just to get away from clusterfuck central.  Why do you feel like you have to make it another circle of hell for people who may or may not be claustrophobic?  It’s not like we’re asking you for your first born, or even a body shot.  We just want to order our own drinks, goddamn.

Let me add to how worthless you are with this: you see me half dragging, half carrying one of my friends out of the bar to my car because she’s so fucking wasted/exhausted she can barely stand.  She doesn’t even have her eyes open at this point.  She’s not heavy, but attempting to maneuver another person who can’t fend for herself while following another who also wants to leave is next to impossible when you won’t take a jump to the left or a step to the right and clear a path to the exit.  Now I know how Moses felt when he was parting the Red Sea, except he actually had a shot at that one.  No, no, I have to drag this girl wearing spike heels through three different rooms before we can even get outside.  You’d think, if there were any gentlemen, they would see that a gorgeous woman is about to face plant on the floor and would be chivalrous and try to help her, swinging her arm around their shoulders or something, but no.  It’s just me, literally having to shove people out of the way so my girlfriend doesn’t puke on anyone’s shoes, while my other, just as beautiful, just as drunk friend goes through her wristlet in an attempt to find my car keys.  What a mess.  You can’t move AND you can’t help?  Come on.  What is this world coming to?  I’m not asking you to slay a dragon for a damsel in distress, I just need to get my friends to my car in one piece.


Dumb Thing #4 – Being “Too Cool” to Participate

The band at the bar on Black Wednesday was the shit.  They played cover after cover after cover without a break, and with the exception of one Dave Matthews song (I hate DMB, you will never change my mind about this), every song they performed was great.  I mean fuck, they busted out “Under the Sea” from The Little Mermaid and it was like they had opened their mouths and sang a calypso version of “Gangnam Style.”  EVERYONE was dancing.  Well…almost everyone.  You’ll always have that group of guys who refuses to get into the samba and just stands there, drinking beers and rolling their eyes while everyone else is having a great time.  You know that song from Beetlejuice?  I know you do.  It’s this one.  It is meant for a conga line.  Even in a crowded past capacity bar, there is going to be a conga line, and if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to jump in.  Everybody else jumped in and people were making their merry ways from one end of the stage to the other, snaking through the room.  But oh, no.  Not you guys.  You were just standing there LOL-ing at how “lame” all the other people were, kicking your legs out to try to trip the line as it went by you.  Stop being an asshole.  You can roll your eyes at the crazy shit drunk people do all you want to, but when you’re drunk and you think you’re too cool to do something like jump in a freaking conga line, get a clue.  We’re all here to have a good time.  Are you here to just rip on people having fun?  If so, go up in VIP where no one can see your sorry asses and you don’t have to interact with anyone but yourselves.  Just be warned, if you only hang out with the people you came with, your chances of hooking up with anyone at the bar (because we girls know that’s why you came in the first place) are zero to none.  No one likes a buzz kill, especially when you’re trying to actually kill someone by tripping them and seeing if people will start a stampede.  Just have a good time with everyone else.  No one is going to remember you sang along to “Call Me Maybe” anyway in the morning, but we will remember that you acted like an elitist shit while everyone else was pretending to be on “Dancing with the Stars” while ballrooming it up to “I’ve Had the Time of My Life.”


That’s all for this time.  Don’t forget to leave me comments with your sober party tips.  Lord knows, I need them.

Dumb Things Boys Do at the Bar – Part 1

On Thursday, I had the pleasure of going to my favorite local watering hole to partake in some musical entertainment and participate in ballroom dancing…just kidding.  Dude, I went to the bar.  It was ladies night, come on.  Every time I go there, I feel like the boys just get more and more ridiculous.  Plus, it’s hit or miss on a Thursday.  Let’s be real, girls get in for free, which means there will be a lot of women dressed in very little clothing.  However, guys know this and will pay money to show up and troll while we drink our $2.50 long islands.  The bar I go to is huge.  We’re talking multiple rooms, several bands, beer garden, etc.  Mostly, you can find the dumb guys hanging out and smoking while one or two of their friends toss some beanbags into a wooden box with a hole in it.  This Thursday, though, a huge section of the place was closed off for remodeling, which meant that the main band only played one set (the main reason why we came) and then the biggest room morphed into a dance club so the DJ could close out the night.


There are a lot of idiots on the dance floor, friends.

So now I present to you “Dumb Things Boys Do at the Bar” part one in a series.  Trust me, every time I go, I will add to this list.


Dumb Thing #1 – Staring at Women in a Creepy Fashion

It’s one thing to be a creeper and you know it (insert some LMFAO lyric here).  Sadly, in today’s society, I am used to being grabbed from behind by some dude I’ve never met before.  But this time, there was a creeper that came up behind me, stayed a respectable distance away, and stared at my chest every time I turned around, along with my friend’s boobs while my back was turned.  Didn’t try to dance with us.  Didn’t try to talk to either one of us.  He just stood close enough to almost breathe down my neck and had a massive case of wide eyes.  I didn’t even know I was there until my friend yelled in my ear, “CHECK OUT THAT CREEPER BEHIND YOU!”  Turned around.  Didn’t make eye contact.  Just stared.

Seriously?  Please tell me what good that does anyone.  If you want to dance, let’s dance.  If you want to talk, say something.  Anything.  “How’s the weather?” would have even been okay if your brain couldn’t function enough to come up with a shitty pick up line.  Let’s be real, if we are drunk enough, those are funny enough.  Eventually, he moved away when we left the area to go back to the bar, but the stare, dear god, the stare.  I guess I’m not one for the not-as-stalkerish silent type.


Dumb Thing #2 – Random Dance-Offs

Let me preface this dumb thing by saying that if a guy is with a group of his male friends and wants to see who can do the best robot between all of them, go for it.  That shit can be hysterical.  However, when one random dude grabs me or one of my friends to show us his “moves,” (which can only really be described as a chicken running in circles with its head cut off while hopping on one leg) and then another random dude he doesn’t even know decides, “hey, it’s time for a showdown!” and then attempts to pop lock after throwing even more girls into the mix, it’s time to take a breather.  Watching guys have a contest to see who can shake their butt the fastest does not make girls want to sleep with them.  On the contrary, it makes us want to watch in horror for fifteen seconds, scream obscenities at the DJ for playing a horrid Gotye remix and then take some shots to get the image out of our minds.  The worst/best part happens when so many people join in that there’s a goddamned circle like you see at weddings, but only two drunken idiots are the ones in the center, seeing who can perform the world’s worst moonwalk.  The guys will even forget the girls they started out to impress and go all out to best one another.

Sorry, I didn’t know my trip to the dance floor would include a walk-on role in Step Up 17: Barmageddon.  Someone’s gonna get kicked in the face with your Zumba moves that you try to make look tougher by throwing in some MMA-style punches every once in awhile.  Are you fighting?  Are you dancing?  Did I accidentally wander into a rap version of West Side Story?  Usher would be rolling his eyes at you dudes.  And you don’t even notice when we leave to go to the bathroom.  By the time all the girls get back, all we hear is a chorus of “I love you man!”  “No, bro, I love YOU!” as some Rihanna song deafens us for life.  Please stop this.  I don’t want to get a robot elbow to the jaw while listening to some auto-tuned mess.


Next night out, I’m sticking to the bar.  The boys there at least know how to buy girls shots.  Guess what, guys?  You’re doing it right.