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I realize, the title up there is extreme. But just listen.
Almost two years ago, the fall after Avalon was born, Rob and I learned that U2 was going to be in concert the following summer in Chicago. Neither of us had seen them live before, and we’re both pretty big fans, so realizing that it seemed like a bucket list-type of activity, we jumped on some tickets – and even spent decent money on them, justifying them as part of our Christmas presents to one another.
Fast forward to eight or so month later, the beginning of the next summer, and we get notified that Bono was undergoing back surgery and the concert we were scheduled to go to was being postponed until the following year. No money back for our tickets. Just waiting a whole year to see them.
Super-fast forward to this summer, and here I am, nine months pregnant at the U2 concert, FINALLY.
Only we almost didn’t get go to again because SOMEONE forgot to bring the TICKETS to CHICAGO and realized this only AN HOUR BEFORE THE CONCERT STARTED.
So there we were in our hotel room, getting ready to go to the concert; Rob making himself a little pre-concert cocktail and me, very much not drinking any cocktails, though in the following minutes I would have practically eaten a baby for a shot or five of vodka.
All of a sudden, Rob sits up really straight and smacks himself on the forehead with a very dramatic and panicked “OH MY GOD.”
Right then, I knew what he was going to say. He forgot the freaking tickets. He starts frantically rummaging through his backpack looking for them, as if they were going to magically jump out of thin air and into his hands along with a flurry of sparkly pixie dust and miniature unicorns.
I decide in this moment to just keep my mouth shut and not say anything. Granted, OF COURSE I wanted to start bitching and moaning and even crying a little bit, but instead I knew I just shouldn’t. Let him figure this out. Let him freak out. Pretend to be calm. Callllmmmm. So I turn to Twitter. Maybe I can get some sympathy there.
Meanwhile, Rob is practically clawing at his iPad trying to dig back into his email archives and find our ticket purchase receipt, hoping we can contact the seller to have them email us a new PDf of our tickets. Rob calls, and WOP WOP, they can’t help us.
I’m seriously on the verge of crying now and am giving the stink eye to the canteen of vodka sitting across the room. After more frantic calls on Rob’s part to various family members asking them go to our house to take cell phone photos of our tickets (which were IN HIS DESK DRAWER, FOR THE LOVE OF GAWD) and then text them to us, we jump into a cab and head over to Soldier Field in hopes that maybe our little janky cell phone photos are enough to convince the ticket nazis that we really did buy tickets to the concert and to PUH-LEASSSSSE LET US INNNNN, I’M NINE MONTHS PREGNANT, GIVE ME SOME SYMPATHY.
Well, it worked. The guy at the ticket office admitted that although it was possible for us to pull the wool over his eyes, he didn’t think we looked like the type of people to do that. I’m not really sure what that meant, other than the fact that he must not have had much personal experience with swollen, waddling, with-child thieves. He was able to use our printed-off email receipt and give us new, official tickets. We made it to our seats with plenty of time to spare before Bono rocked out the most killer concert ever.
And our marriage survived it all.
To sum up the last four days:
Sand, smiles, sunshine. This girl is a beach baby, for sure. I tried to take her in the pool today, and she wanted nothing to do with it. But take her to the beach to let her roam around independently, dig in the sand, and slosh in the surf, and Avalon is in heaven.
I’m in heaven, too. Every day has been so wonderful that when I lay my head down on my pillow at night even my prayers have changed. Usually when I pray I have a list of requests; that God would bless our family and keep us safe and secure through the night, and that He would give our bodies restoration for another day, etc. But since I’ve been here I have little to say other than thank you…thank you for the sunshine and cloudless, blue skies. Thank you for seventy degree temperatures. Thank you for this opportunity to be here, recharge, and have my spirits lifted in what is clearly my happy place.
So here’s what we’ve been up to:
Making sand castles…
Snacking on the beach…
Visiting the pier…
Going out to eat…
Taking walks and chasing sea gulls on the beach…
Making friends everywhere we go…
MAN, does she know how to make friends. Evidently she is the unofficial hostess of wherever she is, whether it’s the beach, a restaurant, or in her stroller on a walk. Without any hesitation, she says an enthusiastic “HI!” to everyone within a five foot radius of her. And if people don’t respond? She just repeats herself – “Hi! Hi! HI!” – until they acknowledge her and greet her back. Luckily most of the people down here at this time are retired, grandparent-types who are more than happy to indulge her and play along with her game. I am really beginning to see her daddy’s social extroverted personality shine through her, and I’ll go ahead and just wait to be worried about how friendly she is with strangers, at least until we leave Senior Citizenville.
So while we miss Rob and the rest of our family, in case it isn’t obvious, we’re having buckets o’ fun down here.
This afternoon at 2:30 I was so filled with joy I just about cried.
Didn’t, because my makeup would have been a mess, but almost.
Because at 2:30 we touched down in my home away from home, Florida, and I was greeted with palm trees, warm air and blue water. When I walked outside the airport and immediately felt the perfect breeze it was like a cold, gray cloud was lifted from my shoulders and my head was instantly cleared from all my nightmarish memories of dirty snow and frigid, below-zero temperatures.
I am the mental patient and Florida is my leather couch.
The trip getting here was successfully uneventful. Avalon was a peach throughout all of the traveling and made some very keen observations about different parts of the country and its corresponding climates:
As our plane was pulling out onto the Chicago runway to take off: “bye snow!”
After we landed in Florida, said with great enthusiaism and very matter-of-fact: “NO SNOW!!!”
She is totally her mother’s daughter.
Surprisingly, even though I had to wake her up at 7am to get her ready and out the door, she never did sleep a wink on the airplane during her regular naptime. I was shocked, knowing how tired she would have been by that point in our big day, but she was too busy watching Baby Einstein movies and playing with Mamie’s reading glasses to sleep.
Of course not even three minutes after we pulled out of the airport, guess who passed out in the backseat of the car?
And that is the story about how she only took a 30 minute nap and lived through the longest day of her life to date.
That little catnap managed to perk her right up, amazingly, and we were even able to rally her up enough to take her out to our favorite little local greasy joint for dinner:
NO COATS! DO YOU SEE? WE’RE NOT WEARING ANY COATS OR SCARVES OR BOOTS OR HATS! Really, I’m a simple woman. Very easy to please.
When we got back to the condo and got her all bathed and ready for bed, Mom tried to read to her before tucking her in for the night, but the poor girl was so tired she kept pushing the book away and saying “night night, night night.” And then, she was out like a light.
Personally, I’m pretty wrecked from today, too. Entertaining a toddler for so many hours, IN VERY PUBLIC, CONFINED SPACES, is totally exhausting! So now I’m off to bed now, too, where I’ll have visions of sand castles and SPF dancing in my head.
So, I went to San Diego last week with Rob, accompanying him on one of his business trips. To say the least, it sucked. I know it sounds nearly impossible – that a free trip to San Diego could, in fact, completely blow – but somehow the trip managed to take what could have been an amazing couple of days, crumple it up, stomp all over it, then flush it down the pooper.
I started a blog post while I was there, but never finished. Here is what I wrote:
*****
Today was my first day in “sunny” San Diego. Know why the word sunny is in quotes, there? BECAUSE IT AIN’T SUNNY. Mind you, this is after Rob’s and my conversation on Saturday when he told me it only rains in San Diego, “like, three days out of the year.” So then what exactly are the chances of that happening while we’re here? I’m not going to tell you, partly because I’m pissed and partly because I was thiiiiiiiis close to flunking out of my college stats class.
Besides the lack of sun and warmth here in SD, it’s actually pretty nice. I’ve gotten extremely reacquainted with myself (not that way, you pervs) in a way that I haven’t since Avalon was born. What I mean by that is I’ve had some major alone time today, time to leisurely stroll through the streets in search of cool boutiques where I could take my time scouring the racks of clothes that would normally make me break out in a panic attack because, crap! No time! NO TIME FOR THIS SHOPPING NONSENSE!
The downside to having all of this alone time is that it means I’ve seen Rob today for exactly Not At All hours. No, I take that back; we were able to chat over a glass of wine for twenty minutes in between his meetings. And our conversation basically went something like this:
Him: Hey baby. I miss you. Sorry I’ve been so unexpectedly busy today.
Me: Oh, don’t worry about me. I kept busy.
Him: Oh really? What’d you do?
Me: I went shopping. I bought these new jeans, oh, and these new earrings. And then I went to Nordstrom and bought Avalon a really adorable outfit. Then I bought a couple of other things that were on sale, and went to World Market for the first time, which, OMGosh, where has THAT been hiding? Oh, and then -
Him: ………..
What else was I supposed to do? We had assumed that Rob would have a little more downtime and that we could hang out together, but as it would turn out, he ended up booked with meetings and whatnot all flippin’ day.
So I worked out. Went to Starbucks. Video-chatted with my family several times. Took a long, drawn out shower – a really long one, one that if I had had a razor I would have totally shaved my legs! And then I shopped. Shopped a little more. Then took myself out to lunch for the first time ever, where I experienced the pure ecstasy of gluttony and indulged in an entire basket of chips and guacamole all by myself. While there, I discovered that dining alone is not as horrible as I expected, and also that 1) it means that I can salt my chips as much as I damn well please without worrying about anyone else’s blood pressure issues, and 2) ordering a gigantic fishbowl-sized margarita is a really great idea because, whooooooeeee! Those things are strong, man! They don’t require company to have a good time.
*****
And that was as far as my blog post went at that point in time. Because right around that time was when I sunk into a deep pit of loneliness.
I tried to pretend that being alone the whole time was okay at first, shopping and drinking margaritas at lunch. Then I remembered that I’m not good at being by myself, unless of course I’m sitting on a beach with the sun beating down on my skin and a good book in my hand. Which wasn’t going to happen while I was in San Diego because IT WAS RAINING. So I was left to my own devices to wander aimlessly around the wet, sloppy city, kicking myself that I never did schedule some time to meet up with my friends who live near there (Hi Shan! Hi Lindsey!), thinking that I needed to keep my schedule open so that Rob and I could spend time together when he wasn’t working. Who knew he’d be working from 6am-11pm each day?
I video chatted with my family constantly throughout the trip, and my mom swears she could tell I was on the verge of a breakdown every time I saw Avalon’s face on the computer screen and heard her say in her sweet, song bird voice “hi mama!” This was my first big trip away from Avalon, and had I been having a good time, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been so hard, but because I was so bored out of my gourd all day, I missed her terribly and wondered why I had even left her.
Then I drank another margarita.
The moral of it all, I suppose, is that being with your kid completely and totally trumps all the great shopping and leisurely lunches in the world. Even if your kid is a nutso, rambunctious toddler who runs around the house with your bra on her head.
Happy 4th of July! It’s now 8:22 pm and I’m typing this blog post from my bed because evidently babies who go to bed at 7 aren’t all that much fun and don’t really allow you to party on holidays that require you to stay up til it finally gets dark, which is practically midnight thanks to Daylight Savings. However, I can’t complain about missing out on all the fireworks this year, and if you read my rant from last year all about the loud, obnoxious shenanigans that go on around this time of year, it’s no surprise that I don’t really feel bad about being in bed before the sun even sets. Now I just get to lay here and cross my fingers that all those janky firecrackers popping all around our neighborhood don’t wake the baby up. I have a feeling that all mothers of young children unite during this holiday, and that we’re all feeling a bit anxious about All The Noise So Late At Night While Our Kids Are Peacefully Sleeping, So Don’t Anyone DARE To Wake Them Up Or We’ll Shoot That Firecracker Up Your…yeah.
So anyway. I’ve had sort of a whirlwind last couple of days. Rob and I headed up to Chicago for a little overnight getaway on Friday, which was somewhat of a surprise on my end. The U2 concert that we purchased tickets for last November ended up being postponed because Bono up and decided to get back surgery during the dates of our concert. Unfortunately for us, we don’t get our money back, either – we just have to wait until to see them in concert NEXT summer. How much does that suck? Anyway, this was the weekend that we were going to see them up in Chicago anyhow, so since it got cancelled we thought we may as well still go up there and enjoy a little mini-vacay.
We stayed at the most kick ace hotel ever, The Wit. Very modern and brand new. Plus they have the most hip rooftop bar that I’ve ever been to…not that I’ve been to any other rooftop bars, but still. This one totally wins. There were so many beautiful Chicagoans all gussied up in their summery chic maxi dresses and designer aviator shades, and no kidding, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so uncool.
(Photo courtesy of The Wit)
The surprise of the day was when Rob told me that I had an early birthday present/spa appointment at 3:00, complete with a massage, manicure and pedicure, and I was so relaxed when I walked out of the spa that I could have cried.
After that we got ready, went and had a few drinks up on the roof, and headed to a quaint little Italian restaurant for dinner where I ate more carbs in an hour than I’ve had in the past month. I was so thrilled about all the bread that, again, I could have cried.
It was still warm and slightly light out after dinner so we decided to take a little stroll down by the river, where Rob proceeded to try and get artsy with our crappy camera, resulting in these potentially-pretty-if-they-weren’t-so-grainy photos:
The next day we did a little shopping before heading home, and while we were in Nordstrom I spotted Kelly Ripa’s YSL black pumps that I’ve been lusting after. The $795 ones. Those. And while I still can’t really believe I did this, because it’s such a slimy thing to do, I went ahead and tried them out with no (NO) intention of buying them. I think the salesman totally knew I wouldn’t be handing over my credit card and taking them into my possession right from the get go, but whatever, who is he to judge? So I tried them on, and guys, I can’t believe I’m admitting this but I totally didn’t even like them! I know. How is that possible? But they just didn’t feel good. I think it was due to the platform on the bottom of the shoe that they didn’t feel high enough. And if I’m going to be wearing heels, I want those suckers to be as high as Snoop Dogg. Call me crazy, but I feel like my legs look better when I’m wearing four inch heels. ADMIT IT, YOU DO TOO. So, whew, cross my heart, I really didn’t like them. Or want them. But I did have Rob take a very incognito photo of my feet in those billion dollar shoes which is good enough for me:
Now I can die happy and $800 richer.
I made the mistake of announcing yesterday that I had a rant over AirTran to share. And boy did that get a rise out of you guys! It seems as though some of you are waiting to hear some very melodramatic, riveting story about how our flights got screwed up, we boarded the wrong flight and found ourselves headed to Bangladesh, our luggage got lost and ended up in the hands of an blue-haired ol’ bitty wondering why she now possess a suitcase full of multi-colored Hanky Pankies and burp cloths, and Rob wound up in a Pay-Per-View-worthy rumble with an arrogant flight attendant.
Well, if that’s what you were expecting, I’m sorry to let you down. Because honestly, looking back on the situation now, it really wasn’t all that severe. However, when traveling with a baby, any little hiccup in travel plans can cause a tightly-wound individual like myself to freak out. Amen.
But here’s the story anyway: Rob booked our flights a couple of months ago through Orbitz after discoving that AirTran had the best deals. We picked our seats, paid for our tickets, and that was that. Then, the night before our flight to Florida, we discovered that we no longer had seat assignments, despite the fact that we had previously chosen our seats. So, whatever, we went ahead and chose different seats out of whatever was still available, and unfortunately, that late in the game the few seats still open were in the very last row. The row without a window, the row without seats that recline, and the row that is LOUD AS HELL BECAUSE, EVIDENTLY, WE ARE SITTING DIRECTLY ON THE ENGINE.
Needless to say, I was a little irked that the seats we had already reserved got magically unreserved and we had to sit in steerage.
Then, on our last day of vacation, we went ahead and checked in online again. Same story; already had our seats reserved but for some reason AirTran claimed that we actually didn’t have seats. So we tried to do what we did the week before and pick new seats, but their awesomely efficient website wouldn’t let us and instead gave us an error message over and over and over again.
Fine, we’ll call AirTran. Rob gets through to an agent after a couple of minutes and after we tell her our story about the Vanishing Seats she tells us she can’t help us. She told us that since we booked through Orbitz rather than AirTran’s own website that we unknowingly neglected to pay the $6 fee to choose seats (which we obviously would have paid, had we known that it was required), and therefore our seat selection was overridden. And, again, nope she couldn’t assign us to new seats. It was “out of her hands.”
This is where we got really pissed. First, this was her job, the reason she gets a paycheck every Friday, and she can’t help us? SO THEN, IN WHOSE HANDS IS THIS SITUATION? Second, she expects us to just arrive at the airport without a seat assignment, board the plane, probably end up with seats not next to each other, and hope that we can shuffle other passengers around so that we can sit together with our baby.
So Rob hangs up, having made exactly zero progress with the situation. Then, unbeknownst to me, he decides to take the bull by the horns and pay $99/each to upgrade us to Business Class on their website, which apparently was a breeze. How ironic, right? They won’t let us pick seats that we already paid for in Coach, but, oh? We want to upgrade? No problem! Here, have a virtual glass of champagne!
Reminder #793: I am an accountant. Tight with money. Frugal. So when I found out Rob upgraded us I was totally irritated with him spending the extra, unneccesary money, and with AirTran because they should have upgraded us themselves for putting us through so much hassle.
But then. THEN. I experienced the luxury that Business Class entails. No waiting in lines to check baggage. No waiting in line to go through security. Drink orders being taken by stewardesses before we even boarded the plan. FREE BOOZE! SNACKS! CUSHY SEATS! And the real treat: courteous flight attendants. They exist, they do! I was especially blown away when Rob asked for a scotch and was told that, unfortunately, they were out of scotch. But instead of leaving it at that, the stewardess actually went into a detailed two minute-long diatribe about why exactly the scotch was gone and how she was so very, very genuinely sorry she couldn’t offer him a scotch.
So, the morals of the story: 1) Don’t book your AirTran reservations through Orbitz, or you will lose your seats, 2) AirTran booking agents cannot assist customers because their job is “out of their hands”, and 3) stewardesses really can be nice. To Business Class patrons, at least.
Gosh, I’m in a place right now where I feel so behind on life; laundry, cleaning, and oh, that thing that pays me to do stuff, MY JOB.
That’s what a week of vacation will do. Why does it have to be that way? Why does there have to be a looming dark cloud of BUSY! URGENT! MUST-DO! when we return home from a delightful week of sunshine and blue water and pretending to ignore any and all responsibilities that we’ve left behind at home?
Anyway, yeah, I was in Florida last week. I had really great intentions of publishing a couple of blogs while I was there, which basically means I conned Rob into toting my laptop around in his backpack and dealing with the Computer Going Through Airline Security Hokey Pokey Bullcrap. Alas, while actually on vacation I didn’t even have the slightest urge to actually sit down at a computer and spell words, much less use the appropriate commas, periods, and of course a few CAPITALIZED LETTERS TO MAKE A POINT.
I’ve been back for a few days now and my head just finally stopped spinning. Or, at least it’s now reeling at a more gradual, acceptable pace, or enough that I don’t feel too much anxiety about writing a blog post instead of scrubbing my floors.
So! Vacation! Rob, Avalon, and I flew down the week after the whole Spring Break whirlwind since we’re old and have a kid now and are, you know, very un-cool. Lucky for us, my mom decided to spend an extra week in Florida with us, which basically meant she graciously sacrificed a week of work for a week of free babysitting. She watched Avalon a lot so that Rob and I could have some quality time together, and now that he’s traveling more often it meant the world to us.
We didn’t ditch Avalon all together, though. She got to swim in the pool almost every day, and even though it was her third time (she also swam during our other two trips to Florida), she definitely loved it the most this time.
We also took her on lots of walks to our favorite little ice cream parlor. Even though it goes against everything I stand for – SUGAR, GODFORSAKEN SUGAR- we gave in and let her try some banana ice cream. I think the fact that it had fruit in it made me feel a little better about the whole thing, sort of in the same way that my Hawaiian Martini had pineapple juice in it. COMPLETELY HEALTHY. She obviously loved the ice cream and in between each bite would whine for more, like seriously, we could not shovel it into her mouth fast enough. The girl knows what’s good.
Then we took her to the beach.
Surprisingly, she didn’t eat the sand, just sort of played with it and let it run through her fingers trying to figure out what the heck that stuff was.
Although she tolerated the sand, the water was a different story…
Not a fan of the Gulf. Definitely not a fan.
All in all, it was a really great trip, though flying down and back on AirTran airline (AirTran, just wait, you have quite a rant coming your way) was a little bit of a crazy experience. So much of an experience that the entire time we were flying I was composing a few colorful blog posts in my head. I’ll be getting around to that soon, or at least hopefully, or at least as soon as my house is so clean it squeaks.
I can’t believe it’s already January 5, 2010. I have obviously been MIA for a couple of weeks because dang, this holiday season was a flippin’ whirlwind. I think adding a baby into the mix of an already chaotic time of year is akin to dumping some Red Bull into your morning coffee, plus with me and my neurosis about the schedule I have Avalon on right now (great comments on that post, by the way!) I was freaking out the whole time thinking that she would get all out of sorts and forget how to sleep at night or something. Thank goodness the whacky days didn’t mess her up, and she trudged through the holidays without any major hiccups in her nighttime sleep.
We did our typical Christmas routine with our families, and spent Christmas Eve morning/afternoon with Rob’s side and Christmas day with my side. We have a tradition of spending the night at my parents’ house Christmas Eve so that we can wake up and open presents on Christmas morning just like I have been doing for twenty-five years. I’m not sure how long we’ll continue this tradition as we add more kids to the mix, but for now it’s perfect. Besides, we don’t have our own hot tub and Christmas morning wouldn’t be complete without a soak in the tub with mimosas in hand after opening presents.
Avalon received her first Bible from Grandma and Grandpa T.
Santa brought Avalon a jumper to play with at Mamie and Grandpa Jeff’s house.
Aunt Courtney made Avalon this killer new chair. She digs it.
Great Grandpa B. made Avalon her very own adirondack chair. She now has plenty of seating options.
A few days after Christmas we packed our bags and headed to Florida for a week. Avalon was an angel on the plane ride both ways and had a lot of fun swimming in the pool, but mostly it was just an excuse for me to doll her up in a bikini, sundress, and hat. By the way, isn’t this hat something else? We coined it her “Gertie Hat” last time we were in Florida, because Gertie is what we call her when she’s fussy and grumpy and acting like a mean old lady. And this hat just says Gertie all over it.
Now we’re back home, back to the daily grind, which means I really need to wrap this horribly written holiday recap up so that I can get some work done. Invoicing calls. But wait, before I go, here’s a video of Avalon and her Grandpa Jeff being goofy in Florida…
So here’s the thing: Avalon and I are in Florida! And here’s the other thing: I had a few anxiety attacks prior to make the trek down here. See, I always get a little anxious when I fly, not because of the FLYING part, but because of the security. I HATE GOING THROUGH SECURITY. Those people are so mean, and so demanding, and do I really need to practically strip down naked to assure those people I’m not hiding a bomb in my bra? So obviously my anxiety was multiplied knowing I was taking my seven week-old through security and on a plane with me. Would she scream the entire way? Would her schedule that I have worked so hard to establish get totally thrown off? How was I going to change her diaper on a plane?
Needless to say, I prayed for safe and seamless travel for the past two weeks. And as always, Jesus provided. Avalon did awesome! She slept the entire car ride to Chicago and all through the airport, security was a breeze, and we even had time to grab a bite to eat at a restaurant before boarding our plane.
Then after we boarded the plane she nursed through take-off and believe it or not, WAS AWAKE THE ENTIRE PLANE RIDE. And didn’t even cry! She just relaxed, sat back, and enjoyed the ride, just as every commercial pilot has instructed his passengers to do. There was one time when she had a bit of an explosion in her diaper, which was bound to happen…so we changed her diaper right there in our row, across the legs of my mom and sister. We instantly became one of those families.
Avalon’s had a lot of fun since we’ve been on vacation and is getting loads of attention from her Mamie and Aunt Courtney. She’s been such a good girl, and we’re going to have so much fun Girl Time with her. We’re starting by having a pillow fight in our panties tonight!
Thanks, everyone, for all of your concern about our dolla billz being stolen at the hotel. Luckily it ended well for us, but possibly not so well for the housekeeper.
For the following two days after we reported the theft, we spent a significant amount of time talking to the hotel’s security people about the incident. They wanted to clarify our story and double-check all of the facts so that they had plenty of information and details when interrogating the housekeeper. They also kept reassuring us that they were taking it very seriously and wanted to make things right with us.
We finally found out that the hotel wanted to credit our account for the entire $215 that had been stolen. Unfortunately for us, we had already pre-paid for our hotel room (we got a better deal on the room that way) so we didn’t really have an ‘account’ for them to credit.
However, the hotel allows its guests to charge things to their rooms, like food and gifts and whatever other outrageously overpriced items were available. Rob and I had already charged a dinner and some drinks to our room, and figured that by the end of the week we would have enough crap racked up on our account that the $215 would cover, which is exactly how it all played out.
We’re both extremely grateful to the hotel that they were gracious enough to pay back, in a sense, what was taken from us and to deal with the housekeeper situation in a timely and efficient manner. I was fearful that we would have been totally screwed by the whole situation, but thanks to the people at the hotel I have a new-found faith in the American society. I’m not exactly sure what is going to happen to the person that had the sticky fingers, but I’m resting assured that they will do what’s right and justice will be served.
Now, about the hotel. We decided to stay at the The Dolphin.
I had never stayed there before, but always gazed at it from afar imagining it to be wonderful, as it does have a certain unique, massive visual appeal to it.
Did I love it and would I stay there again? Eh. Possibly. The rooms were nothing special and definitely looked old and worn. If the hotel were a face, it would have some serious crows feet and saggy jowls, and not in the cute, old lady, ‘oh, it gives her such beauty and character!’ type of way. Plus, I’m not gonna lie, having been stolen from doesn’t exactly leave a great taste in our mouths about this place.
On the upside, however, the location of this hotel is killer and is basically why I chose it. From the hotel you can walk to Epcot and the Boardwalk and can ride a boat to Hollywood Studios. I knew that Rob and I would be frequenting Epcot quite a bit for dinners, so I knew it would be a convenient place to be. Plus, compared to the other hotels that are in this vicinity (like The Boardwalk Hotel, the Yacht Club, and the Beach Club), the Dolphin’s rates are at least $150-$200 less per night.
(Although now I can see why. Heh.)
All in all, I guess my theory is that the point of taking a vacation to Disney is not to hang out in the hotel room anyway, it’s to go and be in the parks. But if I did ever go back to this hotel you can bet $215 that I’d be keeping my cash, jewels, gold, frankincense, and muhrr in my back pocket at all times.
Trust no one, that is my new motto. Thank you, Disney.
