WT on Parade Part Deux

Everyone asked for photos to go along with the stories. Well...then again I don't think anyone asked for the stories. Oh well, you'll get some anyway. These are mainly random photos. I will allow Jenny to post any decent photos at her own leisure. We actually took nearly 700 of them.

Her Name Was Lola

Have you ever felt like the only other seat in the vehicle you're driving, regardless of the vehicle, is a back seat. You know, the one from which all the mistakes you make in driving gets announced from. Well, I found the solution to all of my driving ailments. Her name is Lola, well actually in my case, it's Karen. Lola teamed up with my father-in-law, but you just got to love the name. She also has the sexy foreign voice to go with it. Karen does too, she comes from Australia. I think Lola's British. They have such soothing voices and they never complain. The worst that I have heard Karen say when I made a mistake was, "recalculating". It brought my stress level down to about zero on this trip. Yes, these were our GPS units: the greatest gift to men since the introduction of the gas grill. I will never have to stop and ask for directions again; not that I ever did anyway, but now all I hear when I drive aimlessly around without a clue is the soft intones of Karen saying, "recalculating", which I think she's really saying is, "Rex, you're one great guy". Oh, sure I could reprogram the GPS to have Bill from the Bronx talk to me, but 'recalculating' just wouldn't hold the same meaning for me.

Picking Fruit, Key Lime Pie, The Golden Corral, and American Idol

Everyone had at least one thing on their list that they had to do to make them feel like their trip was a success. I did my best to try and accommodate everyone's needs.

For my brother John, he wanted to be able to pick an orange right off of a tree. So, everytime we were on the freeway and I saw some lonely orange tree on the side of the road, I offered to stop, even if I had to hold up traffic for awhile so he could run out and climb up the tree to pick his precious fruit. So for some reason he never took me up on the offer. Heck everyone had a tree in their yard, it would be so easy. My brother eventually did get his orange but we were in the deep dark jungle with no one else around for hundreds of miles before he felt comfortable about picking his prize. I guess he felt the same about that as we do about picking our noses.

My mother-in-law, Pam, wanted to eat Key Lime Pie. So, first thing after picking up our rental cars at the airport, we stopped by the local COSTCO. Thanks Karen for the help (see above for clarification). This pie was the size of the State of Texas. We went through it like a bank handing out bonuses from an economic stimulus package. I thought that I would score some extra son-in-law points, so early one morning, I snuck out and bought another pie for Pam. It was more on the Rhode Island scale, (do they have special taxes on keys, limes, or pies in Florida because it was one expensive baby). I must have done something right, though, 'cuz when Pam bit into it she said that it was the 'real' type of key lime, with all of the glorious fattening ingredients. I kind of strutted around like, "yeah, I know my pies." Don't anyone tell her that I almost just bought a single lime with a package of sweetener. Sometimes, it does pay just to splurge.

For my parents, they wanted to take us out to the Golden Corral for dinner. I know here at home, the average age in one of these places is 113, and a walker comes with the tray. So I knew that in Florida, the geriatric capital of the U.S. was going to be quite an adventure. You just have to keep your eye on small children to make sure that they don't get caned to death in the stampede to the baked sweet potatoes. I mean no offense to my parents, it was a great gesture on their part and we all had a great time and filled ourselves to overflowing. It was funny, though, my parents had been debating for weeks which Golden Corral they wanted to take us to, I guess that they go through a rotation of 3 or 4, and they each had their favorites. I could just see their neighbors in their apartment complex calling the police over a domestic dispute involving a discussion on who had the fluffiest rolls with cinnamon honey butter topping.

It wasn't good enough that Disney MGM studios has an attraction that does the whole American Idol competition, along with the judges and bright lights. We had to be glued to a TV when the real Idol was on. This meant watching the fireworks at the Magic Kingdom, while speeding away on the the monorail to beat the crowds. As an added bonus to us all, Idol was on three times that week. Ok, I had to admit this was one of the highlights of the trip. Everyone, almost had me convinced to try out for the competition at MGM. I think that they just wanted to have a good laugh, but I think that I could have taken that sixteen year old and maybe even won a golden ticket to go to the front of the line to any American Idol competition in the Country. I think the real competition has an age limit of 29, so either I would have to go get some botox done or let the younger budding hopefuls have a chance. I graciously decided to step aside.

Talking Birds out, Singing Midgets In

For the most part we wanted the full Disney World Experience; if they had it, and if we had time, we wanted to experience it. We allowed the family to opt out on only one thing and it came down to two attractions: It's a small world and the Tiki Room. The terribly annoying song that keeps repeating itself over and over and over again won out 10-1 over the other terribly annoying song that keeps repeating itself over and over and over again. From my disturbed look in this picture, you can probably guess who the 1 was.

The Art of Adding Rules

Our four-year old Andrew is extremely competitive. I am quite sure he doesn't get it from me, I always win, so I don't have to worry about silly competitive things. He also loved the swimming pool that we had at the house. The two of us logged in some pretty long late night hours in the pool. By the time we would get out of the pool, I would look like a prune and he would look like a raisin. Well, back to the competitive thing. Andrew developed a game in the pool that consisted of him tossing a ball to me. At first it was good-natured fun, until I didn't catch it once and then the following conversation ensued:

Andrew: I won
Me: What?
Andrew: You dropped the ball so I won.

Not wanting to be out done by a 4-year old, I got my game face on.

Me: Ok bring it on

Andrew throws the ball and I catch it.

Andrew: Oh, you can't put your hands up.

So, I put my hands down and he gets some balls by me.

Andrew: I won (Repeated each throw)

I finally catch one

Andrew: Oh, you can't stand that far away

I comply. He throws. I miss repeatedly

Andrew: I won (Repeated each throw)

I'm in full competitive mode by now, and I snag one.

Me: Yeah! who's your daddy!!

Not missing a beat and with a stoic face.

Andrew: Oh, you have to stand on your head.

Or some other outlandish request. Of which we repeat this process several times. Each time making it harder for me to catch the ball, and he more gleefully announcing that he had won each time I failed. Until, finally I cracked.

Me: Hey, Andrew you keep changing the rules, that's not fair.

With his best Dead Pan reply.

Andrew: I don't change the rules, I just add them.

So you're a Stick in the Mud...We have a job for you

Disney is so smart. We were told that they employ over 50,000 people. I'm thinking to myself, that is one heck of a collection of happy people. How is that humanly possible? Then I thought, they only have to hire people that like what they do. If you like being sullen and depressed you still can contribute to the 'Happiest Place on Earth'. There's Eeyore, all the Disney Villains, The Haunted Mansion, The Tower of Terror, etc.

All making money while having a scowl on their face. I guess Disney pays people, or do people work there for the pure pleasure of bringing joy to people's lives?

Stroller Dependency

We goofed. The first day we went to the park without a stroller for Andrew. He did great, he ran everywhere and had a good 'ole time. He was pretty tired, though, by the end of the day. We felt pretty bad so I ran to Walmart to buy a cheap stroller, which I have to admit was one of the best $15 purchases of my life. The Walmart experience wasn't all that charming, as I mentioned in my last post, but we were now set, ready to go.

It didn't take Andrew long to figure out that the stroller thing was a pretty cushy gig. In fact Megan, his older sister, soon picked up on this and was trying to get a ride any chance she could. I have to admit that I was pretty tempted to ride in that thing myself. Well, a strange phenomenom occurred. Andrews legs quite working. He became crippled. There was no more walking or running (just at times, I should clarify) like he did on the first day when he had to go it sans stroller. He became a stroller addict. The withdrawals seemed to be life threatening, as Steve and I kept saying to ourselves, "happiest place on earth" (further clarification for this statement can be found on the last post). Don't get me wrong, he wasn't that bad, but it was funny to see him limping around a little bit. He has such the flare for the dramatic.

Potluck Section

Air Temperature: 50

Water Temperature: 50

Combined IQs: 50















Cheesebuuuuurger!!!!!


Hey, Steve, would you share a bite?











AAAAH, that $25 a day for pool heat was well worth it.














African version of the Chicken Dance?


Man, I'm good.














Yeah, I know you've seen this one all ready. Plus, your asking the question, "Will anyone ever come up with an original photo idea?".












The acrobats in the China Pavilion at EPCOT have some stiff competition













Home Sweet home. Just don't accidentally go into the wrong house because they all look the same.













You didn't believe me when I said that Dave got wet on every water ride, well here is some proof.














Even Goofy had some time to play a little tag.