This vacation

I want. To go. To Disney World. SO. FLIPPING. BAD. Why is this. I grew up in Florida, I had my fill, I knew people who worked there, I saw the grimy underbelly of the beast, but this only makes me crave the shiny bits all the more. I want to ride the teacups. I want to ride in the Haunted House. I want to go on Pirates of the Caribbean and squeal like a five year old at the sudden drop. I want to walk those freakishly well manicured cobble pathways, letting their silent message of unattainable perfection seep up through my shoes. I want to be lulled by the piped-in ambients from the embedded speakers in the bushes, whispering faintly of birds and crickets and frogs, such as have never seen the human-made creeks and scrupulously chlorined ponds of that magical land. I want to pay ten dollars for an ice cream pop shaped like Mickey's head. I want to bite the ears. I want a lollypop bigger than my face and a Mickey Ears hat with my name emblazoned upon it as if to say to the world "YES, I HAVE BEEN THERE, YOU CAN COME WITH ME FRIENDS if you have a few hundred dollars." I want to throw up on the Dumbo ride. I want to sing along with the Carousel of Progress, that bastion of white Christian meat-eating heterosexuality, and laugh when the animatronic uncle in the bathroom grumbles about his privacy.  I want all of it. PANDER TO ME YOU BEAUTIFUL DEAD RACIST BASTARD, PANDER TO ME!!! I'll eat it all up and swallow it whole every time. Am I ashamed of this slavish obsession? Yes. Of course I am.  Am I even now pricing off season tickets? Fuck yes I am.

This aside

I just crammed my gut full of basmati rice, kashmir spinach paneer, and cut up kofta ball. That's right. My gut is not discriminatory. It's multifunctional. And now it's gurgling loudly. This has been a special belly report.

These borders

Oh lordy.  I head for northern climes sooner than I realized.  It crept up on me.  In a week I will be getting ready, packing up, and preparing to see my mom once again as we Amtrak it to Vancouver.

In an odd twist of fate, I'll be seeing the boyfriend's dad Friday for dinner. I love that guy. Geeky gamer, wise old railroader, staunch unionizer.  Seemingly completely physically devoid of any judgmental tissues in his entire body.

The up-to-max contrast between boyfriend's dad and my own mater, I thought, would make the trip to BC harder, but, knowing there are people out there with real life functionality in their parent-offspring relationship, functionality, mutual respect, sensitivity, all that, well, it gives me a corny kind of hope for my own. Shut up. I like corn.