I'm home. Home's good.
Disneyland is also good. I love Disneyland. I love that my kids love Disneyland. My six year old loved Space Mountain and Thunder Mountain, of all things.
But, you can't live like that for long. Eventually churros attack. You cannot tell the difference between the World of Color show and the hallucinations.
Again, we stopped on the way home for a night in Vegas. There was some sort of concert rave thing going on which had a multitude of young people at our hotel all dressed in tu-tus and furry muppet type socks (and had nothing to do with why our room smelled like a hookah exploded.) None of the young men wore shirts.
And again, I felt matronly.
Last night I looked at our Disneyland photos and I was not at all proven wrong about this.
Sure, I can ride Hollywood Tower of Terror like a rock star but now I know why the twenty somethings in the row next to me looked at me like "Aww, she's riding this. How cute!"
No one else would go on this with me. Pussies.
Fine. It's just my spreading hips, my middle age and me.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Absent Minded Archives
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