To continue to stretch my brain muscles, I’m going to attempt to write this recap of day two WITHOUT LOOKING SHIT UP. Granted, I took no notes, but thanks to the overlords at MyDisneyExperience, I could at least see what photos were taken. Also, as if I would ever enter into a WDW vacation without an Excel spreadsheet detailing our every move. But I will not check with these references.
So let me think…
I believe this was the day that we started off with breakfast at Cape May Café. Yeah, let’s just go with that. Worst case scenario, I’m getting a head start on day three’s recap.
This is what a person enthusiastic to meet a character looks like.
We had opted to book this character breakfast (Minnie’s Beach Bash, I think it’s called; I could look it up, but we’ve already established that no research is going into this post whatsoever, and that includes getting things straight like names, dates, details, facts, etc.) because My Mother enjoys character interactions. As I do not, this is her way of tricking me into getting photos with characters, because I’m too busy eating crepes to notice that Goofy’s creeping up behind me. Hashtag CrepeCreeping. Yeah, I just came up with that.
From a purely culinary angle, the breakfast was good. Any time there’s a crepe station involved, there’s not too much to complain about. Oh, your hamster just died? Here’s a crepe. Feel better, don’t you? Yeah, thought so. Also, charcuterie. Goofy could’ve started humping my leg and I’d hardly have paused chewing.
This is what someone caught unaware and not good at interacting with characters looks like.
From a character angle, I think My Mother was happy, which is all that matters to me. I, for one, was pretty bullshit that Mickey wasn’t there. What kind of bitch does Minnie think she is, throwing a beach bash and not inviting Mickey? I once made the mistake of introducing Mark to someone as my “traveling partner,” and I didn’t hear the end of that for at least two weeks. If I threw a beach bash without him? I think I’d end up on a couch somewhere being encouraged to use “feeling words.”
After that, we were off to what’s left of Hollywood Studios because it’s my conscientious duty to visit High Octane Refreshments as much as humanly possible before they bulldoze it in April. If you were to move that, Tower of Terror, and Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster to Epcot, I’d officially have no need to visit DHS again until Toy Story land opens. Even then, I’ll likely still skip Midway Mania because ain’t nobody got time for that (#NotMyTierOne), plus my forearm strength is not up to par.
I LOVE sailors’ valentines and was giddy to see this one at the Beach Club.
Today’s visit to the Studios was set apart from our typical in-and-out because we had the great fortune of meeting up with the one and only Mr. Monkey. This is a Twitter friend, for those of you trying to follow along at home. Despite never having seen a picture of him, I quickly picked him out of a crowd given that there are only so many grown men at theme parks by themselves holding a stuffed monkey. Usually that honour goes to Drunko, but today was special.
Due to the fact that this meet-up was a bit last minute, Mr. Monkey was not on our FP+ schedule. When given the option to be polite to a new friend or hit up my Tower of Terror FP, my answer is always the same: “Why not both?” So we pulled a move I like to call “The Confused Tourist.” It can also be called, “When in Doubt, Blame MM+.” It goes like this: you walk up to the FP entrance, scan your MagicBand, and when the third person in your party comes up as Blue (AKA DECLINED), you act super confused. Usually this is enough to get the CM to wave you all through. But sometimes it requires escalation where you insist that their system is buggy as shit, and you didn’t pay this much money to be fucked over by IT issues.
In our case, neither approach was really necessary, as when Mr. Monkey scanned blue, the CM working the entrance of ToT didn’t even notice. High five to the DHS Employee of the Month!
Me and Mr. Monkey
After an enjoyable series of drops, it was about time for a different kind of drop: Rope-dropping High Octane Refreshments. This is trickier than it sounds, as no one really knows when this bar opens. It seems to be based on lunar phases or the personal mood of the bartender opening up that day. Regardless, whatever time it is (usually 12:30), it’s not the same time as quoted in the Park Times thingy offered at the gates that also includes the times of various shows throughout the day that I do not care about.
Incidentally, one show I do care about and whose future is as confirmed as doomed as High Octane’s is Lights Motors Action! (Exclamation point theirs — I’m not THAT excited). Drunko’s actually never been to this show ever, and the lack of his trace upon it makes it a very non-scorched earth experience for me. As such, it was the perfect place to take our Rum Runners on the Rocks (my personal High Octane beverage of choice). The show was, as always, entertaining and enjoyable. Drunko’s seriously missing out. You know who else I think is missing out? Mark. Of all the random Disney shit I drag him to, I think he may actually thoroughly enjoy this one. And here I was there with another man/monkey. I’m as bad as Minnie. Don’t tell Mark.
Okay, fine, I’m getting better at this. Practice makes perfect.
After LMA! (emphasis still theirs), things took a dark turn; Drunko appeared like a harbinger of death at a geriatric’s birthday party. Things got so crazy, I actually found myself in a line to meet Donald (ironically for the second time that day). Madness, I tell you, madness
. Once more drinks were secured to ease me through the experience (That’s What She Said, and that She is usually me), we meandered out of Studios and headed toward Disney Springs. Luckily, I was able to put Drunko’s appearance to good use and conned him into driving us there. I am nothing if not an opportunist. Or bad friend.
Once at our new destination, we pondered which bar to spend our time in (as one does). Hoping to introduce My Mother to some of the new sights and scenes, we aimed first for Morimoto’s only to be told that the upstairs bar was not open until 5. Screw that. If I can’t overlook the entire restaurant and ponder whether or not to throw things at patrons below, then it’s just not worth my time. So we ended up at Jock’s, which was fine, as I now had enough people with me to sit in the Bell Diver booth and not feel like an asshole hogging the best seat in the joint — just me and my phone as company (it is my best friend, after all).
So much wrong with this picture.
Bell Diver booth acquired!
Sadly, My Mother was called away by a family conference call, so I was left alone with a monkey and a man who calls himself Mr. Monkey. More drinking ensued. Cocktail Party tricks were performed. I’m not totally proud. Just a little.
Eventually, Mom came back, we settled up, and we finally shed Drunko like my cats after a long 3-day Florida winter. Next up: shopping! (Excitement and emphasis mine this time). Mr. Monkey was ever the cooperative gentleman. Most men would’ve fled with Drunko at this point, but clearly Mr. Monkey is not most men. I drew the line at asking him to carry my bags, but the thought did cross my mind. After a few hours (and some number of dollars), we had to sadly bid adieu to the simian and head to our BOATHOUSE dinner reservation (I’m allowed to call it that, as I booked it on OpenTable and not through Disney).
Monkey Mayhem when allowed loose in a store.
All was well, as I dried my tears with the amazing bread service and then rediscovered my love of extra dry gin martinis. It’s like Robyn sings, “the only way her heart will mend is when she learns to love again.” I did. I also loved the oysters, the calamari, and the filet sliders. BOOM. Woman healed.
You know what else I loved? The seasoning salt provided at the table. It was so amazing, I considered stealing it, which is something I wouldn’t think twice about at a Chili’s, but Disney? I have too much respect. Luckily for me (must be all that good karma for not committing petty theft), they sell the stuff in their gift shop! I now use it almost daily. I’m considering mixing it into sriracha and calling it my own sauce that I invented. And if this were 2011, I’d call it Awesome Sauce, but it’s not, so I’ll have to come up with something new.
I’m lactose intolerant.
After making our way back to the Beach Club, we made the most obvious move for two people who just ate a big, amazing meal: we went straight to Beaches and Cream for ice creams. I must confess two things: 1) I’d never before been to Beaches and Cream, and 2) IT WAS WONDERFUL. I always assumed it was yet another Edy’s hiding behind pretty decor, but it was not! It was actually good, high-quality ice cream!
At this point, I’m pretty sure we had to steal ECVs to get back to our room, and being in a partial-food coma, my memories end there. Probably for the best, as I start to feel a little guilty when my blog posts reach Harry Potter length. Until next time…