Very rarely at the boutique do I feel my heart leap in to my throat and my mind race with panic. In fact, other than my very first princess I have never felt particularly terrified. That changed the other day when I was absolutely positive that I had killed a princess.
My princess was very sweet and talkative and dressed as an adorable Sleeping Beauty. We were chatting away and I had gotten to the point where I was ready to roll her hair into the fairytale bun. I had asked her a question about her favorite princess, Sleeping Beauty, she had answered, and I had started to ask her another question when her chin dropped to her chest rather suddenly. "Princess, did you turn in to Sleeping Beauty?" I laughed, thinking she was joking around. That was when her whole body went limp and she pitched forward in the chair. I threw my arm around her waist, fortunately in time to prevent her falling out of the chair and on to her head. From this angle I could see her face and realized her entire body was paper white. Her lips blended seamlessly in to pallid cheeks and perfectly, horrifyingly still eyelids. I looked around frantically for her aunt and grandmother. I was holding her chest and couldn't feel any movement. Nothing was moving.
Did I pull the ponytail too tight? Have I cut off the circulation to her brain? Oh God, is that even possible?! Oh my God, this is how it's going to end. I've murdered a princess.
As her grandmother rushed over I called "Fairy Godmother Rose! Come here right now!" as calmly and sweetly as I could while holding a most likely dead child. She came over and after asking her aunt and grandmother if they wanted us to call as paramedic (Please call. Please call someone, anyone, who can maybe, just maybe, not let this girl be dead in my chair.) Fortunately, they said yes and as another mother who happened to be a nurse applied cool cloths to the princess's neck her eyes fluttered open and some color returned to her face.
Oh thank God... The paramedics rushed in and I was allowed to let go of the princess, although they had to gently move my arm for me as I was apparently not going to let go of my own accord. I hovered while the paramedics looked her over and got her talking in bits and pieces. Occasionally someone would ask a question or try to move me and I would say in an entirely detached voice "That's my princess" without looking away from her still too pale face. I answered the paramedics questions about her name, age, and where she was from. For some reason I felt compelled to add, "Her favorite princess is Sleeping Beauty. Isn't that funny..."
After what seemed like an eternity the paramedics had her pretty stable and explained that she was severely dehydrated. She had apparently not been drinking much water to begin with and she had recently started taking a medication for an ear infection that was supposed to be taking with water which only made matters worse. They determined that she didn't need to be taken to the hospital immediately but should go after they finished up. The paramedics left and my princess looked up and, ignoring the mass of people swirling around and fussing at her, stared at me and whimpered "Can I still have my sparkles?"
I descended upon her as relieved as if she had been my own child. We finished her hair, applied eye and lip makeup (leaving cheeks clean to watch her coloring) and sent the nail polish home with her (to monitor oxygen) and made sure she got as much sparkle as she could possibly stand.
I signed her autograph book "To my Sleeping Beauty..."
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
When I See an Elephant Fly
First, my blog loves, please accept my sincerest apologies for leaving you for the past week. I know you were waiting on baited breath to hear of my every exploit but fear not! I have returned with much to report. Some of it is even interesting!
Primarily, I have to share about the new section of Fantasyland that had its soft opening last night. Some of my fellow FGITs and I scooted straight over to the Magic Kingdom after work and (after a quick hotdog break at Casey's Corner) bolted for the back of Fantasyland, past the teacups and through a formerly walled off area to emerge in to the most beautifully colorful circus I have ever seen.
While only a small portion of the Storybook Circus section opened it was still so exciting to be there on the very first day it was open to the public. Only two attractions are up and running at the moment (and Dumbo is only at half capacity, really.) Dumbo has undergone quite the face lift and is looking stunning.
A perennial favorite among people too scared to ride Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, the Barnstormer has returned as the exact same ride but rethemed as The Great Goofini's stunt show. The prop work is actually, not surprisingly, really hilarious. Lemme show you...
I knew I was with the right people because not only did my fellow FGITs start chanting "Goofy! Goofy!" as soon as we boarded, but the entire train got in on it. Then we all started laughing when the operator said, over the mike, "Have we got some cast members here?" and everyone on the train threw up their hands and cheered. We screamed louder that whole ride than any other car and everyone attempted the the Goofy yell. When we returned to the station the FGITs and I yellled "Another round!" and waved our arms around as if buying shots for the whole car. (This is apparently a thing people do in places other than rap videos, I am told.) I cannot wait for the rest of the new Fantasyland to open but for now I am content with riding the Barnstormer over and over. Preferably without having to get off between runs.
And now a little housekeeping:
We recently had apartment inspections which occur twice during our program to make sure we aren't putting on amateur wrestling competitions and smashing the chairs or smuggling illegal immigrants or cats or watching Song of the South and telling people about it. In order to prepare for this inspection we proceeded to erase all evidence of us living here, essentially. Bleach was involved and a great deal of my Disney purchases, which previously lived under my bed in several shopping bags (I have a souvenir problem... I'm dealing with it...) moved to the trunk of my car for the day. This speedy stuffed animal exodus was well worth it, however, when we received the White Glove Award for an exceptionally clean apartment. As a token of appreciation for not having 40 cats and 8 migrant workers living in our apartment (like I wanted) we were gifted a massive box of Ferrero Rocher chocolate. We felt quite fancy dividing them up and hording them away like gilded chipmunks, all while cackling maniacally as I brought back in the souvenir army and we returned our overly large collection of magnets to the fridge.
My fiance was in town this week (thus my radio silence) along with his family. I was very happy to see them all and, of course, especially happy to see him. It has been agreed by the FGITs that he looks like Prince Phillip and so he can stay. He met me at work. I was Pixie Dusting and looked up from my most recent small child to see him. My eyes felt hot but in a good way and I flitted over and hugged him openly, no doubt coating him in glitter. All the FGITs, who were standing around as the night was nearly over, oohed appropriately and I have never changed out of my costume faster than I did that night. It was wonderful to have him here with me at my favorite place in the world. We spent wonderful days at the park and had a great trip to the beach where I acquired the newest level of my wicked tan (not even kidding, guys.) Most importantly, I convinced my dearest love to ride the Rockin' Roller Coaster. This was essential because, although I did not share this with him before hand, our impending nuptials were severely threatened by the knowledge that I would have to single rider all the best rides for my entire married life until I had kids. And what if my kids turned out lame? The threat was too much. Fortunately, the thrill of the coaster was too much not to enjoy and I have converted him to a fan. The wedding is still on. Mark your calenders for that date I swear I'll set soon. Honestly.
Darn. I knew I was supposed to be planning a wedding while I was down here...
Primarily, I have to share about the new section of Fantasyland that had its soft opening last night. Some of my fellow FGITs and I scooted straight over to the Magic Kingdom after work and (after a quick hotdog break at Casey's Corner) bolted for the back of Fantasyland, past the teacups and through a formerly walled off area to emerge in to the most beautifully colorful circus I have ever seen.
 |
| Picture this with me and three other grown women screeching |
While only a small portion of the Storybook Circus section opened it was still so exciting to be there on the very first day it was open to the public. Only two attractions are up and running at the moment (and Dumbo is only at half capacity, really.) Dumbo has undergone quite the face lift and is looking stunning.
 |
| *shing* *sparkle sparkle* |
A perennial favorite among people too scared to ride Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, the Barnstormer has returned as the exact same ride but rethemed as The Great Goofini's stunt show. The prop work is actually, not surprisingly, really hilarious. Lemme show you...
 |
| Ticket Booth Entrances |
 |
| A previous production, no doubt successful |
 |
| Another former show, obviously more successful than the last. |
I knew I was with the right people because not only did my fellow FGITs start chanting "Goofy! Goofy!" as soon as we boarded, but the entire train got in on it. Then we all started laughing when the operator said, over the mike, "Have we got some cast members here?" and everyone on the train threw up their hands and cheered. We screamed louder that whole ride than any other car and everyone attempted the the Goofy yell. When we returned to the station the FGITs and I yellled "Another round!" and waved our arms around as if buying shots for the whole car. (This is apparently a thing people do in places other than rap videos, I am told.) I cannot wait for the rest of the new Fantasyland to open but for now I am content with riding the Barnstormer over and over. Preferably without having to get off between runs.
And now a little housekeeping:
We recently had apartment inspections which occur twice during our program to make sure we aren't putting on amateur wrestling competitions and smashing the chairs or smuggling illegal immigrants or cats or watching Song of the South and telling people about it. In order to prepare for this inspection we proceeded to erase all evidence of us living here, essentially. Bleach was involved and a great deal of my Disney purchases, which previously lived under my bed in several shopping bags (I have a souvenir problem... I'm dealing with it...) moved to the trunk of my car for the day. This speedy stuffed animal exodus was well worth it, however, when we received the White Glove Award for an exceptionally clean apartment. As a token of appreciation for not having 40 cats and 8 migrant workers living in our apartment (like I wanted) we were gifted a massive box of Ferrero Rocher chocolate. We felt quite fancy dividing them up and hording them away like gilded chipmunks, all while cackling maniacally as I brought back in the souvenir army and we returned our overly large collection of magnets to the fridge.
My fiance was in town this week (thus my radio silence) along with his family. I was very happy to see them all and, of course, especially happy to see him. It has been agreed by the FGITs that he looks like Prince Phillip and so he can stay. He met me at work. I was Pixie Dusting and looked up from my most recent small child to see him. My eyes felt hot but in a good way and I flitted over and hugged him openly, no doubt coating him in glitter. All the FGITs, who were standing around as the night was nearly over, oohed appropriately and I have never changed out of my costume faster than I did that night. It was wonderful to have him here with me at my favorite place in the world. We spent wonderful days at the park and had a great trip to the beach where I acquired the newest level of my wicked tan (not even kidding, guys.) Most importantly, I convinced my dearest love to ride the Rockin' Roller Coaster. This was essential because, although I did not share this with him before hand, our impending nuptials were severely threatened by the knowledge that I would have to single rider all the best rides for my entire married life until I had kids. And what if my kids turned out lame? The threat was too much. Fortunately, the thrill of the coaster was too much not to enjoy and I have converted him to a fan. The wedding is still on. Mark your calenders for that date I swear I'll set soon. Honestly.
Darn. I knew I was supposed to be planning a wedding while I was down here...
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Princess Rose and Other Stories
Pixie dusting is my favorite thing to do as a Fairy Godmother. I get to go out among the people who otherwise may not have experienced some Disney magic that day and spread the love (and glitter. Mostly the glitter.) It is also the time I encounter my more strange and, sometimes, wonderful stories.
Case in point: I have finally figured out how to say the spell in Spanish which always startles and delights Spanish speaking visitors. I can't understand this as I am clearly of Latin descent ( Scandinavia is Latin, right?) but none the less they are surprised to hear someone who uses the absolute lightest foundation color available speak Spanish, however poorly. The trouble comes when they then assume, not unreasonably, that I speak and understand Spanish. I have answered more questions with blank stares and frantic jumblings of the vocabulary I know than in my entire history of science classes ("so that means the moon is in phase 4, or metaphase, and should be waxing gibbons by the time it splits in to two moons... Right?") but at least they appreciate my efforts. Unlike the French who can just go right back to EuroDisney for all I care. You smell oddly off putting. This is not true for all French speakers. The Canadian politeness out does the French tendency toward rudeness in my visitors from Quebec and Montreal. Canadians can't help but be delightful. It's a national affliction. When I am treated rudely by a French guest for mutilating their language in an attempt to communicate with them since they didn't bother to learn even terrible English before arriving I smile and remind myself that without Americans speaking poor French they would be speaking really polished German. In my head I am Rick Blaine and of all the Disney Parks in all the world the walked in to mine...
I have gotten used to people taking pictures with me as long as I don't over think it (which, of course, I do on a regular basis.) It is not weird for me to take a picture with them because I think of them as people and I know I am a people but to them I am essentially a prop. I am not a real person and am more akin to the giant Lego sculpture of a dragon. This is weird. Almost as weird as when they take a picture of me rather than with me. Much like the castle I am an interesting object that should be snapped so as to recall it later. I just recently mastered the pose I like best (an overly dramatic curtsy I see the princesses use when photographed solo but with the fun addition of an outstretched wand! Glitter! Ya!) but only because there must be more pictures of me in Asian countries than of David Hasselhoff. And they love the Hoff.
Mostly, though, Pixie dusting is where I meet some truly delightful people and get to out delight them (or get coated in sparkles trying.) An entire family of adults approached for dusting recently and each forced the others to get their glitter on. Wendy and I worked through everyone (twin sisters who had to go at the same time, the bald grandfather who wished for flowing locks, everyone) except for grandma who thought she could hide by smiling in the back of the crowd. "Come on, mom! You have to! It's your birthday!" I closed in on this detail like a hawk on a poorly watched pet guinea pig. "Your birthday, Princess? Well you have to make a wish now. Pixie dust is especially powerful on birthdays." she acquiesced and everyone clapped when she got dusted. As they all clustered for pictures I asked her son what the birthday princess's name was. "Rose. She's 80 today." I disappeared in to the boutique and made up a birthday button like we give the girls that says "Happy Birthday Princess Yournamehere" and coated it with glitter (of course) and returned to the group. "Princess Rose," I stepped close to her, "when a princess celebrates a birthday the entire kingdom must know so they can celebrate too. As the birthday Princess you have to wear this button all vacation long so that everyone can wish you a happy birthday and treat you extra special. If they don't you can, of course, banish them to Universal Studios." Her smile was so big and she eagerly turned to her husband and said "Put it on me! Put it on me!" General happiness all around and off they went but her son, who had told me her age, stopped me. "That was really awesome." I started to tell him it's just how we do things here but he continued, "you made a really special day even better. Not only is today her birthday but it was also the day of her first grandson's wedding. That's why we're all here." I said "Congratulations!" "Thank you. Really."
She just might be my favorite princess. Even if I couldn't show off my rudimentary Spanish.
Case in point: I have finally figured out how to say the spell in Spanish which always startles and delights Spanish speaking visitors. I can't understand this as I am clearly of Latin descent ( Scandinavia is Latin, right?) but none the less they are surprised to hear someone who uses the absolute lightest foundation color available speak Spanish, however poorly. The trouble comes when they then assume, not unreasonably, that I speak and understand Spanish. I have answered more questions with blank stares and frantic jumblings of the vocabulary I know than in my entire history of science classes ("so that means the moon is in phase 4, or metaphase, and should be waxing gibbons by the time it splits in to two moons... Right?") but at least they appreciate my efforts. Unlike the French who can just go right back to EuroDisney for all I care. You smell oddly off putting. This is not true for all French speakers. The Canadian politeness out does the French tendency toward rudeness in my visitors from Quebec and Montreal. Canadians can't help but be delightful. It's a national affliction. When I am treated rudely by a French guest for mutilating their language in an attempt to communicate with them since they didn't bother to learn even terrible English before arriving I smile and remind myself that without Americans speaking poor French they would be speaking really polished German. In my head I am Rick Blaine and of all the Disney Parks in all the world the walked in to mine...
I have gotten used to people taking pictures with me as long as I don't over think it (which, of course, I do on a regular basis.) It is not weird for me to take a picture with them because I think of them as people and I know I am a people but to them I am essentially a prop. I am not a real person and am more akin to the giant Lego sculpture of a dragon. This is weird. Almost as weird as when they take a picture of me rather than with me. Much like the castle I am an interesting object that should be snapped so as to recall it later. I just recently mastered the pose I like best (an overly dramatic curtsy I see the princesses use when photographed solo but with the fun addition of an outstretched wand! Glitter! Ya!) but only because there must be more pictures of me in Asian countries than of David Hasselhoff. And they love the Hoff.
Mostly, though, Pixie dusting is where I meet some truly delightful people and get to out delight them (or get coated in sparkles trying.) An entire family of adults approached for dusting recently and each forced the others to get their glitter on. Wendy and I worked through everyone (twin sisters who had to go at the same time, the bald grandfather who wished for flowing locks, everyone) except for grandma who thought she could hide by smiling in the back of the crowd. "Come on, mom! You have to! It's your birthday!" I closed in on this detail like a hawk on a poorly watched pet guinea pig. "Your birthday, Princess? Well you have to make a wish now. Pixie dust is especially powerful on birthdays." she acquiesced and everyone clapped when she got dusted. As they all clustered for pictures I asked her son what the birthday princess's name was. "Rose. She's 80 today." I disappeared in to the boutique and made up a birthday button like we give the girls that says "Happy Birthday Princess Yournamehere" and coated it with glitter (of course) and returned to the group. "Princess Rose," I stepped close to her, "when a princess celebrates a birthday the entire kingdom must know so they can celebrate too. As the birthday Princess you have to wear this button all vacation long so that everyone can wish you a happy birthday and treat you extra special. If they don't you can, of course, banish them to Universal Studios." Her smile was so big and she eagerly turned to her husband and said "Put it on me! Put it on me!" General happiness all around and off they went but her son, who had told me her age, stopped me. "That was really awesome." I started to tell him it's just how we do things here but he continued, "you made a really special day even better. Not only is today her birthday but it was also the day of her first grandson's wedding. That's why we're all here." I said "Congratulations!" "Thank you. Really."
She just might be my favorite princess. Even if I couldn't show off my rudimentary Spanish.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)