Throughout high school and college, I have had the lamest school mascots available. When I went to Syracuse my first semester and realized our mascot was an orange, I felt like it might be a step up from Celebration's home team.

But can anything be less intimidating than an orange? Yes, yes it can. Like, say...Simba.

We were the "Celebration Pride"--like a pride of lions, only more loser-y. And less frightening. They tried to tell us the picture was not of Simba, but I don't buy it.

(*NOTE: After an extensive online search, I found it entirely sketchy that our old mascot does not exist anywhere. Even the K-8 school is calling their mascot "Spirit the Lion" and it looks like an actual lion. I'm determined to find a picture and will put one up as soon as I can.)

So, needless to say, Celebration was not known for being a sports school. Mostly for the following reasons:

1)   Our lovable mascot

2)   We only had a graduating class of 60, so our basketball team was our soccer team.

3)   We didn't have a football team. (Who wants to promote violence??)

4)   Our proximity to Orlando meant we were drinking the contaminated "boy band" water. We had a much better chance of producing the next *NSYNC than the next Globetrotters.

5) Who has time to practice while we're rehearsing for "Dreamcatcher- The Musical"?

After I left, whoever the Celebration authorities are must have caught on to this, and changed our classic mascot to this...

He's the Celebration Storm. His head is a tornado. 

Good job, guys. A+ for effort. It's the same grade I'm giving our sports teams. Or lack there of. 

From people who have never lived in Celebration, the number one question I get is: Why would you ever leave?

I think my favorite part of having escaped into the real world is that everyone here has a story to tell that's totally unique. And sometimes nucking futs.

Today I ate lunch at Au Bon Pain, and sat next to two (I'm assuming here) homeless guys and couldn't help listening in on their bizarre conversation. According to these guys, demons exist in the real world, and children who have been frightened at a young age can see the devil's shadow. If you let the shadow touch you, you'll be cursed with bad luck. But if you divert it? Instant good karma.

They went on to talk about one of the men's long lost loves--the owner of a science fantasy bookstore.  (Yes, I am constantly eavesdropping and have little to no control over it. Beware.)

But this is why I find Boston waaaaay more interesting than Celebration could ever be. Part of the population may be completely mad, but they come up with great story ideas.

Keep your eyes out for my first piece of inspired fiction:

Satan's Shadow:

One man falls in love with the owner of a science fantasy bookstore and starts to believe the books are real life accounts. Is he crazy? Or is he on to something?

Dun dun dun...

So I may have to ride the T instead of the monorail. I may have to drink Sam Adams instead of Mai Tais. I may be more likely to get a cheap bicycle than a Segway. But I think I'll stick around for a while and see what other stories there are to be had...Or I may run screaming back to Florida. Either or. We'll see which way the shadow goes. 

Step One: Drive to the Magic Kingdom's Transportation and Ticketing Center. Park your car, and hop on the monorail.

Step Two: Get off at every stop on the monorail and have a drink. (Or two. Complete with Mickey straw.)

Features of your bar hopping trip:

Contemporary Resort. This is where we had our prom junior year. It was contemporary though, in like 1970. So now it looks pretty not contemporary. But the monorail drives through the building, so I guess that's pretty advanced.

Grand Floridian Resort. This is the classic Disney hotel, and you can watch the fireworks from the beach here if you time it right. (*Mizner's at this hotel is the only place along this trip you can get a Sam Adams.)

Polynesian Resort. This one features a beach and hammocks, along with several references to Lilo and Stitch. Ohana means family. And Tambu Lounge means drunk.

Step three: Repeat as needed.

Step Four: Take the monorail back to the Transportation and Ticketing Center, and try to remember whether you parked in "Minnie" or "Donald."

Upside: Forget the T. This is my kind of public transportation.

Downside: The drinks are almost as expensive as they are in Boston.

I realized once I moved here that this probably isn't the normal way people celebrate birthdays, but oh well. Pass me another Mickey Mai Tai. 

Celebration School was a little more sheltered than others. Our idea of sex-ed was searching for the penis on the Little Mermaid cover. But that doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two about love.

No matter where you're from, it can all be boiled down to one simple truth: Everything you need to know about the opposite sex you can learn from a Disney parade.

I learned this lesson when I was fourteen, and my friend's mom brought us to the Magic Kingdom. As Prince Charming passed by in all his glory, she let me in on a little secret.

All the Prince Charmings are gay. Now she meant this literally, because at the time our hunky prince was dating another leading man. (Don't worry, Aladdin, your secret's safe with me.) And she knew, because she was the Fairy Godmother. Even a fake Fairy Godmother knows what's up.

But even at the time I wondered. Does this apply to real life? Is the perfect prince really just a fairy tale?

As I walked through Harvard Square recently, I heard my answer from a group of girls passing by.

"I know he loves me. But you know what he got me for Valentine's Day? A fucking sandwich from his work." Now, granted, Boston does have some excellent sandwiches.

But this gift doesn't really work for us, because as girls, we're brought up believing in the whole white horse thing. Since I've been in the real world, I've realized that Prince Charmings don't exist in the way we imagine them when we're little girls. 'Cause Prince Charming is living with Mr. Right. Or Aladdin. Your pick. 

Ladies, we're not getting the prince on the white horse, but I'm kind of glad about it, because at least what we do get is real. In the real world, what you're getting is a sandwich. And maybe it's better off that way. A girl's gotta eat. 

I'm taking this "cultural diversity/discrimination" course right now, and my participation grade sucks because I genuinely, honestly Don't. Get. It.

Initially to get into Celebration School, you had to win a lottery system. I believe looking back on it that the lottery was not actually random. Mostly because all of the students came from completely different backgrounds and were all smart and relatively non-violent. I pretty much grew up on the It's a Small World ride. Diversity makes people dance and sing, right?

We were taught from the very beginning that if you chose to hang out with people who were exactly like you, your life would be boring. We had Multicultural Day once a year with a full Olympic-esque flag parade, homemade cuisine from all over the world, and dancing. (Note: Grinding, although acceptable in some cultures, is still not allowed during school's Multicultural Day. They will kick you out. But that's a whole 'nother blog.)

Instead of homerooms we had "kivas"--big open meeting spaces named after American-Indian assembly rooms. When we did a school performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, our Joseph was black. My best friend's name is Shivali. (Hint: She's not white.)

So when we're in class discussing discrimination and stereotypes, I Don't. Get. It. And I'm sure my professor thinks I'm in denial. One guest speaker we had said that to not see racism everywhere is to be childlike.

My question is: What's so wrong with being childlike? If everyone were more childlike maybe we wouldn't need to have these discussions. I think the world needs fewer kids who act like adults, and more adults who act like kids.

So take those international flags and wave on, Celebration. Just keep the grinding to a minimum.  

Since I've moved here, I've gotten a lot of questions about my hometown. I thought I would address the most pressing ones with this "true or false" quiz.

1.     "All the people in Celebration are actually Animatronic. Right?"

Answer: False. If I am, they did a great job of making me lifelike because I'm freezing my ass off right now.

2.      "I heard residents who move out cannot say anything negative about Celebration. Or else."

Answer: False. But if my blog entries suddenly disappear, you'll know why. Call Dan Brown immediately.

3.     "Celebration is a perfectly safe utopia." This one has sadly been perpetuated by one of my favorite shows, The Office.

 Angela: I never felt safe here.

Andy: You're always safe with me. I'm a very good screamer. And one day, we're going to move to Disney's Celebration Village in Florida and leave all of this behind.

Angela: I would very much like that.

Answer: My answer to this used to be: False. But since I've been out in the real world, I've changed my answer to: It's pretty damn close.

"Does Disney make it snow in the streets of Celebration during the winter?"

Answer: Scarily enough, this one is true. And so I begin my Lesson on Snope.

 I'd probably be better off if I was.

 I moved to Celebration when I was 11, right as the school was being built and Walt Disney's picture was still up on the wall. Celebration was designed to be the real EPCOT--an Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow, where everyone could work, eat, sleep, and die all in the same place without ever leaving. We had white picket fences and field trips to the theme parks. We had a graduating class of 60-something, most of whom I know well and still see when I visit. I am pushing 24, but sometimes I feel like I grew up in the 1950's. I remember leaving campus to get glass Coke bottles from the grocery store on the corner. I could sit out by the lake at night without being worried.

And then I moved to Somerville.

I decided I needed to get out and experience the world during grad school. I'd always wanted to come to Boston. Mainly, I blame Celebration's Town Tavern, which was the only place in town to hang out once you turned 21. The Tavern was like a home away from home, with Celtics and Red Sox gear on the walls and the "Boston Garden" patio. It seemed so great, but I forgot to take two factors into account. 1) I was always drunk when I was there. 2) We had the heat lamps on once it reached 60 degrees. So did I know what I was in for? No. Not really. Definitely no.

But there are always parts of my new place that will remind me of home.

My new apartment in Somerville is a lot like a real world version of Fantasia, mainly because it involves a lot of flooding and oversized rodents. And I can always go to Johnnie's Foodmaster and buy a pizza shaped like Mickey. It's a lot like the Mickey-shaped ice cream bars from the theme park, except it tastes like s**t.

Overall, my reaction to being here is a lot like your reaction would be to pulling up on Celebration Avenue.

Where the hell am I?