A Few Life Lessons I've Acquried from Going to Walt Disney World 8 Times as a Kid

By: 

Kimberly

As I was growing up in Columbus, Ohio, there was one thing I absolutely loved doing and was lucky enough to do: leave Columbus, Ohio. This resulted in my Dad taking me to Walt Disney World about eight times. While this may sound like enough to spoil a kid rotten, I feel I’ve instead learned a few life lessons that come with putting into practice all of the “WDW” tips you read in your very own guidebook made for kids, by kids.

 The guidebook that gave birth to my smarty-pants attitude toward "park-hoppin'".

1)   If you want to be sure to see everything, you better take advantage of Extra Magic Hour. It’s not everyday that you’re going to be able to walk right onto Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster first thing in the morning or while everyone else is scrambling to find a decent spot from which to watch the nighttime fireworks. It really is extra magical (and, well, sometimes a bit surreal, to be honest) feeling as though you’ve got the park to yourself and that group of really happy German tourists you seem to keep running into. Sure, you’ll have to wake up an hour earlier and/or miss the fireworks (which I never much cared for anyway) but you’ve got to consider when or if your parents will schedule another Disney World vacation. (Turns out I didn’t really have to worry much about that, but it certainly kept me on my toes.)

2)   Sometimes the ride has to stop momentarily. And it’s not your fault – unless you’re the d-bag who decided it was a good idea to hop out of the boat on Splash Mountain to take a picture next to your hero Brer Bear. (They have character meet-and-greets, dude!) But sometimes people simply need special assistance getting on or off a ride vehicle and we just have to be patient and wait, because they, too, paid park admission. Other times, shit just happens. The Pirates of the Caribbean is an old ride. One of the boats might be backed up and you’re stuck underneath the pirate dangling his hairy, greasy leg over the bridge. The thing is, however, the ride always starts back up again, and once you get off you’re probably going to want to go back on at some point. Kind of like your youth, only, yes, you can experience it again.  

(Source)

3)   Listen to your crying child as s/he begs not to get on Tower of Terror. It’s actually park policy not to let a crying child onto a ride, and thank God. Some parents seem to have it in their heads that an 8-year-old is going to get onto a scary rollercoaster kicking and screaming and somehow walk off a full-fledged adult with a stable, well-paying job and a suitable spouse. (Insta-parenting!) That is probably why parents tend to whisper harshly, “You big baby!” into their child’s ear as they are asked to drag their wet, soppy-eyed offspring from the ride just before getting on. Because only infants are scared of rides that are meant to be spooky! No ride at Walt Disney World, or any theme park for that matter, is going to turn your son into a “man”. If you’re spending upwards of $1,000 for a week’s vacation in the Happiest Place on Earth thinking that The Haunted Mansion will, say, teach your children not to be afraid of death, then you probably should have neither children nor $1,000.

4)   If you can keep walking onto Space Mountain or Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster and it’s not right after a meal, do so to your stomach’s content. Because next time you’re waiting 2 hours in line, you’re going to be kicking yourself. There’s something still mystical and relaxing about stepping into the cool, galactic tunnel that is the queue to Space Mountain. If I had the chance, that’s what I’d do all afternoon. So do it while you’re there, because once that cheerleading convention starts it’ll be rather difficult to beat those bouncy teenage girls with glitter gel in their hair to the Fast Pass machines.

5)   Apply these tips to life situations where you feel it’s appropriate, and you’ll be having so much fun that it’s criminal! Well, perhaps not always outside the Disney property of central Florida, but it taught me to get the most out of each trip without feeling cheated or ungrateful. And while I certainly recognize that Disney World and Real Life World are two entirely separate playing fields (I’m not necessarily Becca from Bridesmaids, so give me a little credit, here) it definitely takes some extra critical thinking skills to determine when and where to apply them. 

  Not me, but we could probably share some tips.

Overall, Disney World has not only taught me that trolls have eight fingers and eight toes (thank you, Norwegian pavilion at Epcot,) but also to be patient, take advantage of what opportunities come your way, and that you don’t have to be forced to ride a ride to learn these things.

Troll statue in the Norway gift shop at Epcot's World Showcase. Educational!

My Drunk Life

By 

Kimberly

A good number of people I talk to seem to have their wacky stories of the first time they became inebriated. As in most of these story-telling situations, I'm half-listening to the story being told, half-thinking of a similar story of mine to tell and maybe one-up. Then, I find myself zooming through my past to uncover the first moment I felt all woozy and wobbly after a cup of bubbly (or other alcoholic drink.) But once I think I've backtracked to that very moment, I then remind myself of an even EARLIER time I hit the sauce.

And then it actually hits me - I've been drinking since the 3rd grade.

For my fellow Roman-Catholics out there reading this, I'm sure you're thinking, "Psh, BIG DEAL." That's because A. Your first drink was also a sip of Jesus' blood at your First Communion, B. You're also Italian and/or Irish, or C. You were playing in Mommy's liquor cabinet again, weren't you? I happen to be an Italian-American Roman-Catholic, so I'm pretty sure my first alcoholic drink was the one presented to me as the blood of my presumed Lord and savior (which, at the time, explained the "icky, bittery" taste to it.) But transubstantiation aside, I remember feeling  just the tiniest bit of joy in knowing that I was drinking a grown-up drink. 

Then, of course, there's the inevitable cousin's wedding. This is where I learned that appearances - when it comes to figuring out the difference between champagne and sparkling apple cider - can be deceiving, especially when the caterers have already poured the glasses and emptied the bottles. "Gee, this sparkling apple cider tastes kinda funny,"said a naïve, 14-year-old me. I didn't get drunk (or the slightest bit tipsy, for that matter,) but my brother, a college Freshman at the time, totally did. It was an interesting 2-hour car ride from Cincinnati back to Columbus, to say the least.

Let's skip ahead to high school, when I started drinking at family functions and during my school's Europe trip. Now, to give you an idea of the group of people I was traveling with, I'll mention this: I attended the high school that Heathers (1989) was based on. No joke. Needless to say, it was uptight, mostly conservative, and, like all high schools, teeming with assholery. We traveled to Spain, Italy, and Greece, where the respective legal purchasing ages for alcohol are: 16, none (16 in certain public places), and... none. Of course, what do the chaperones so pleasantly and courteously remind us before we go out on the town? That the drinking and purchasing age in all those countries is 18. I mean, I can understand that they didn't want a bunch of obnoxious, idiotic, drunk teenagers on their hands, but to flat out lie? I'm still pissed about that. I was 16 at the time, so I whenever I would order alcohol at a restaurant or bar I was thinking that I was getting away with something, only to discover the truth back in the good ole U. S. of A.

A sneaky 16-year-old me on a boat between Capri and Sorrento.

Two years after my Europe trip (which I took the summer after my Sophomore year,) I studied abroad in Madrid during the final semester of my Senior year. I ended up meeting a lot of great people from all over the world. This was mostly due to the "Copa de bienvenida", a little event my language school provided every Monday evening at a bar located right around the corner from the school for new incoming students to meet and mingle with others. 

Aware of my status as a citizen from (arguably) the most douchey country in the world, I was quite nervous for reasons that today seem pretty silly, because everyone I met was incredibly gracious and excited to meet one another. But I believe it was one of the first instances in which I discovered alcohol as "liquid confidence," as they call it. Thus, I always credit the Copa de bienvenida for both giving me the chance to meet some amazing people and discover the social lubricating powers of sangría and Desperados beer.

That takes us to my college days, those of which I am currently experiencing. Still underage, I've almost developed my alcohol tolerance perhaps to the highest it's ever gonna get. Other than sangría and Desperados beer, I know what my North American "poisons" are (rum and Coke, Stella Artois.) These are the glorious four years of discovery, in which halfway through I will be able to flash my driver's license with confidence. 

But really, there isn't (and shouldn't be) any shame for already having a "drunk history". (At age 20 and a half, I should have a drunk history, despite the U.S.'s rather strict drinking laws.) 

Unless I did something so completely and utterly terrible and unforgivable whilst under the influence or developed an unhealthy, socially damaging habit, then I consider myself a-okay in the drinking department. I'm sure a good number of you have more epic, illustrious stories to tell, but unlike the situation mentioned in the very first paragraph, I'm not looking to win Best Drunk Story or Best Text From Last Night 2010. 

Instead, I'd like to think I have left a beautiful, shining tapestry of empty bottles, cans, and glasses through which I've drunk alcoholic beverages -- one that illustrates the development of my alcohol tolerance and adult self, from my First Communion up untl that last bottle of 312 Urban Wheat Ale I nursed last night.

And, if you drink, hopefully you can imagine your own tapestry as well.