“God didn’t make us go through millions of years of evolution to stand in a Big Thunder Mountain Railroad queue line for two hours.”

We made it back.

Disney in June is, well… DISNEY IN JUNE. It was hot. It was crowded. Although it was kind of refreshing to realize that I won’t HAVE to do The Disney again until Kaly has kids, and said kids are old enough to grind into her wallet for $25 tshirts and four dollar Minute Made Frozen Lemonades.

If my estimations are correct, I’d say I won’t have to worry about that for [at least] twelve years or so. Minimum.


My “Oh-Hell,-Get-Me-Out-Of-Here” moment happened as we were standing in line to ride the Thunder Mountain roller coaster. We were in the middle of the queue, the queue was in the middle of this barn, the barn was in the middle of the park, the park was in the middle of Florida, and oh, did I happen to mention it WAS the middle of June? The thermometer on my fancy-smancy Nike dive watch was registering 101 degrees ON MY WRIST!**

The crowd and the heat were not the critical components in my breakdown. The catalyst? The catalyst was the waves of vomit I kept choking down from the Big Assed Disney Breakfast Buffet® I had wolfed on just an hour earlier.

MMMMMM… Nothing says ‘you’re really on vacation‘ quite like: scrambled eggs x3, french toast x4, bacon xinfinity, potato casserole, cottage cheese, fruit, breakfast pizza, breakfast lasagna, granola, donuts x2, donut holes x4, orange juice x3, central Florida in the summer, crowd B.O. and a roller coaster.

To my credit, I didn’t eat anything else, seriously– nothing at all the rest of the week, and that Big Assed Disney Breakfast Buffet® incident was on Tuesday. I’ve only had an orange Tic Tac, a popsicle and an Exlax since we got home yesterday. Seriously, I swear. To God.

And speaking of getting home, and swearing to god… Our house got broken into while we were gone. “Broken into” sounds a lot more dramatic than saying a couple of Kaly’s teenage friends decided to sneak in and check the place out. Although when I questioned one of the boys about coming into the house, he promised he didn’t do it. As a matter of fact, he said, “I didn’t. I didn’t do it… I swear.

[insert silent pause that I let lapse for a good 45 seconds]

To God.”

He fessed up to Kaly just a few minutes after I called his dad and and told him “…Your son, [RocketScientistGenius] broke into our house…” I played up the whole burglary/criminal aspect like a champ. Man, I shot that poor guy’s Father’s Day all to hell.


All in all, the time away was needed. The Cirque du Soleil experience was good for my soul. Oh, I almost forgot to mention we got to spend an incredible week with Leslie’s sisters and their families (yeah, the in-laws). Did you know 11 people CAN stay together WITHOUT killing one another AND have a great time?! It’s true. I swear.

To God.

~ ~ ~

**Anytime I refer to any functions of that watch, I always say “ON MY WRIST!”. Like, “The barometric pressure is 29.08 millibars ON MY WRIST! The depth of the water is 4.9 feet ON MY WRIST!” The altitude is 128 feet above sea level ON MY WRIST!” Yes, it’s stupid. But at least there’s clarity and it helps validate the purchase of the watch to Leslie.