This journal entry basically starts off only a few hours after I wrote the last one.

After finally getting through to Air Canada, I found out that they had royally messed up my flight and had moved my departure to Sunday instead of Saturday. Also, because my booking was made through points, they couldn’t modify anything. Shit.

I sat in bed, running through all of my possible options. Eventually, I decided that I was going to do the craziest thing I could. I would get up early, call a cab, and try to get on the 8:10 a.m. flight out of Toronto. I figured that would be my best chance to avoid RX. As in, the hurricane. Not my ex-boyfriend. I shut the lights, and fell asleep for about three hours.

5 a.m. hit me like a truck. Unlike my 7 a.m. workday mornings, I quickly found the willpower to get my ass out of bed. I knew that I needed to hustle. The risk with all of this was that I would have to make my travel arrangements on the way to the airport. If I waited at the Witch Cave until the phone lines opened, I wouldn’t get to the airport in time. I figured that the risk was worth it, though. If the plan didn’t work out, I would just go back home. I finished packing, did all the dishes, ate, showered, and called a cab.

Last year, I had swiped a taxi voucher from The Toronto Film Group before the end of my contract. I had been saving it all this time for an emergency. I figured said “emergency” was just going to be a wild night out for me and Dan, but this was clearly the moment I had been waiting for. The subways don’t run before 6 a.m. Even if they did, transit would’ve taken too long. Time was not on my side this morning. Neither was money. There was no way I was about to pay for a cab to the airport out of my own pocket. Always remember the first rule of money: never spend your own.

To cover my tracks, I ordered a taxi to an address around the corner from the Witch Cave. After jumping inside, I immediately got on the phone with Air Canada. We were almost at the airport by the time someone answered. Through some sort of miracle, just as we pulled up to the curb at the airport, the booking agent confirmed that he was able to transfer my flight to the 8:10 a.m. departure.

I filled out the taxi slip with a massive tip – and a $75 total. Once inside the terminal, I checked into my flight without any issues. I mean, come on. What kind of – what? This was crazy. I’m not sure if I was just exhausted – I still am – or if I was in a state of disbelief, but none of this was really fazing me. I was just going through the motions. I would celebrate once I landed in Orlando. I texted Big Bird from the departure gate, letting her know I wouldn’t be coming into work today. I’ll give credit where it’s due. Big Bird responded soon after, saying everything was fine and to enjoy my trip. Thanks, boss!

The moment I knew everything was truly going to be okay was when I took my seat on the plane next to a sassy, “Marge Lorraine” type from Boca Raton. As in, the fictional 47-year-old Jewish divorcée that I created on Instagram last year. This woman was dressed in all black, sporting noir nails, toenails, and matching peep-toe wedges. Classic Marge. Or, “Loretta” in this case.

“I gotta lotta snacks if we need ‘em,” Loretta wheezed through her smoker’s rasp. “I also have ice wine. It’s for my assistant, but I have a small one for me, too. You know, in case I need it to get through this flight.”

Loretta wasn’t finished.

“I gotta get a rental car and drive up to Boca,” she continued. “Fort Lauderdale airport is closed. I should probably have some coffee, otherwise you’ll be listenin’ to me snore the whole way there!”

Loretta also took a call from someone named Autumn, who I had hoped was her version of Marge Lorraine’s daughter, “Arugula.” Everything was going to be fine.

A few hours later, we touched down at Orlando International Airport. Despite my attempted scamming, Disney wouldn’t let me on their Magical Express transfer bus. I paid out my ass for another shuttle service, which took an hour and a half to take me to Disney’s Polynesian Village Resort. Mom and Dad were up to speed with my flight changes, but I told them to continue with their plans for the day. The last thing I wanted was to be dragged around Orlando while they went to outlet malls and vintage camera stores with Phillip. No thank you, please!

After a good lunch at the Polynesian – featuring some “complimentary” bottles of wine and a Mickey Premium Ice Cream Bar – I explored the beautiful new Disney Springs area. From there, I went to the Contemporary Resort and rode the monorail loop.

The fear mongering of Hurricane RX is truly next level. I don’t know whether to laugh at the ridiculous nature of American news coverage, or actually concern myself with this storm. It all seems so over the top. We’ve now reached a point where Rick Scott – the idiot Florida calls its Governor – said, “This storm will kill you.” Calm the fuck down, people!

Due to all of this and more, Walt Disney World was shutting down the entire property at 5 p.m. sharp. Some of Disney Springs had even closed before that. When the rain started coming down, I called Dad to pick me up from the Contemporary Resort. We picked up my bag at the Polynesian Village – they were holding it while I “waited for my room” – and drove over to Wyndham Bonnet Creek Resort, which is where we’re staying this weekend.

I relaxed with the family in the hotel suite, but not for long. I had to rest. After a much-needed nap, I had successfully curbed the shitty behavior I caught myself starting to display. Not this trip, Kurt! Don’t you fucking dare. I’m trying to go with the flow on this vacation, but also maintain a sense of, “This is what I want to do.” Meaning that, if the rest of the crew wants to explore Orlando, that’s all well and good. However, I am not setting foot off of Disney property this weekend. With the exception of a day at Universal Studios, of course. We’ll see. Either way, it’s an attitude that’s helping me keep it together. I’m not putting myself in situations where I know I will be annoyed.

All of that being said, we are kind of stuck in this hotel room for the next while as we ride out whatever this storm ends up being. It’s pushing midnight. Right now, Hurricane RX just looks like a bit of rain. Drizzling. All I know is that I want to get out of this hotel room tomorrow and into a Disney restaurant. I need to start chowing down on some more grub.

Tonight, we kept it pretty relaxed. The four of us grazed on snacks the crew had picked up at Costco and Trader Joe’s while we watched the better half of Dumb and Dumber and sifted through the ridiculous and seemingly unending broadcasts of this fucker named RX. I mean, come on. This has to be some sort of sick joke. My magical return to Florida, and I have this asshole to deal with? Leave it to me to make a Category 4 hurricane all about myself. But, seriously? RX? Hurricane RX? Fuck right off, you cunt! Beat it! Or, as Marge Lorraine would say, “SCRAM!”

Overall, I’m still very excited to be here. After all of the scrambling that happened this morning, it sort of worked out as a nice little bonus for me. At the end of the day, there’s nothing I can do about the weather. Except maybe work around it. Instead of arriving two days from now, I basically got an entire extra day of vacation. It’s all I ever wanted!

Goodnight xo

@yalittlenasty Instagram post from early this morning.