Jessica was thrilled as ever to be going to Disneyland. After all these years, I still don’t understand where she finds the energy for her enthusiasm. She can’t be bothered to clean her house or do anything remotely adult, but at the thought of Disney, she has all the hyperactivity of a child on a sugar high. I suppose this is because she has the mentality of a child. I didn’t dread it so much, but I was still wary after that disastrous trip I made to a Disney park last year in Paris. Oh, that was misery, reader. I still think of it with horrifying regularity. I remember those taquitos and feel like screaming out in pain. I don’t, but the sadness is ever near the surface.
We had to leave at some godawful hour of the morning, but that proved to be something of a blessing because I couldn’t fuss over what my hair was doing. It looked all right in the end, but when it was first dried, it looked like a ball of fluff. Just fluff with no shape. Rather like having cotton candy stuck to your scalp. Not a good look…well, not for me. The earliness of our departure also meant that it took no time whatsoever to get down to Union Station. The streets were empty, and it wasn’t too long before we boarded the Amtrak to Anaheim and were regularly glaring at the man who sat in the row opposite us boring his child with all his responsibilities.
If for some reason I ever have a child (which I’ve already named in case one shows up on my door…the only way I’m getting one), I would probably have the world’s most spoiled child. They’d wear designer clothing and go to private French schools and be accustomed to all the luxuries in the world, even if their Saint Laurent backpacks were Chinatown knockoffs. This guy kept telling his child to read for fifteen minutes, which is all well and good, but forcing a child to do something is not the way to get them to do it. I’ve learned an awful lot from working at a middle school for the past four hundred years. It certainly feels that way.
I had barely finished my hummus when the train chugged to a stop at the Anaheim station, leaving Jessica and I dazed and rather confused on the platform wondering where to go. This was a different train station from the one I had arrived at last time. It had been demolished and a new massive structure (with a great setting for dramatic photo shoots…wait for the end of this post) stood in its place. Somehow we missed all of the signs pointing us where we needed to be, so we wandered around until we found ourselves inside the glorious glass structure. It was the easiest thing in the world to get our tickets and then board a bus to the parks…then give them all of our money and a hefty chunk of our souls for admission.
There were no waits at all when the doors opened, so we had a rather gleeful time running directly onto the rides. We started at the Indiana Jones one, and I was prepared to give a series of lectures on how Dr. Indiana Jones was truly the worst examples of an archaeologist to ever walk the planet, but for some reason, I couldn’t find many signs of archaeological malpractice. This annoyed me. Of course you don’t want tourists careening on a rickety train through a temple (especially one you are attempting to excavate), but you do want tourists because they are who fund a lot of archaeological sites. I would put them on tastefully led tours. Anyway, tourist money funds places like Egypt (even though I have written extensively before about how they are wasting their resources and have the potential to be one of the most delightful nations on the earth…nobody seems to have bitten on that post, though. THEY’RE WASTING THE SUN AND THE WATER! I’ll stop now before I rant on for forty-thousand words.)
Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion were all good fun, and the Hat Box Ghost made an appearance for the sixtieth anniversary of Disneyland. He looked too new, though, and didn’t really fit in…still neat to see.
As we wandered through the park, I kept hearing from those Disney know-it-alls. They exhaust me to no end with their meaningless facts. I’ve been to Disney theme parks more times than I can honestly say, but I’ve never become one of those people, looking for Hidden Mickeys or knowing about certain levers to pull on certain rides to do certain things. It’s a bunch of nonsense. What was even bigger nonsense was the fact that I was not admitted into Club 33 for the second time. WHO DO I HAVE TO SEDUCE?
I was in no mood to have soaked shoes for the entirety of the day, so I sent Jessica on her own through Splash Mountain. She likes that ride more than I can understand and more than I can explain. She lives for it. See?
I don’t. I don’t like being wet. I don’t mind being rained on if it’s a gentle shower, but when you wear pants as tightly as I do, and it’s a downpour…you chafe. Nobody’s got time for that.
We saw a bunch of canoes, which is something we’d never seen before, so we got on thinking that it would be on a track or something, but it wasn’t. We actually had to row that canoe with a bunch of assholes. I’m serious. The guy ahead of me was one of those macho losers that thought he was some kind of gift to rowing. All he did, though, was tease the surface of the water with his paddle. Even I know that you’re supposed to use the paddle to scoop through the water and take deep strokes…get your giggles out…to get the boat moving. I could have joined the Olympic rowing team on the spot. Nobody told me this, but I was confident in my athleticism.
The line to go on some submarine Nemo ride was like fourteen miles long, but there was nothing else we were desperate to see, so we waited. It was…okay. They were working on this attraction the last time I was here, so it was nice to see what it was. Certainly not worth the fifty minutes, though!
Tired of the masses of people crowding around, and more tired of their inability to walk with any semblance of humanity, we went over to the California Adventure. I liked this park much more the last time, and I still prefer it after my second trip to Disneyland. Perhaps it is because it is so different from the other theme parks I’ve visited? Whatever it is…it has that pizzazz.
The first thing we did was an Aladdin show. I never go to the shows at Disney. I love musicals with all my heart, but that off-Broadway shit they do with the weightless plots and endless dancing is exhausting to me. I’m glad we went to this show, though, because it was truly hysterical. Not Aladdin…he wasn’t even cute. And not Jasmine…she didn’t even sing that well. And not Jafar…because the actor kind of sucked. And not Iago…because it was weird seeing a fully grown man walk around with a bird puppet. It was great because of Genie. He made very up to date jokes about deporting Justin Bieber, saying things were on fleek, snapping sassily, saying “BYE FELICIA,” and doing an endless list of other things that were perfection. Jessica, I, and the crew ahead of us were snapping, squealing, screaming, and saying, “NO HE DID NOT!!!” It was fantastic. There were elephants and camels and it was just perfection. Here’s a video somebody filmed awhile back:
Starving, as always, we made our way to Boudin to get bread bowls stuffed with tomato soup. Unfortunately, they didn’t have tomato soup that day, but they did have a really good cheese and broccoli soup. I ate the whole damn bowl in minutes. I think I have some kind of disorder. I was going to order a margarita, too, but the sign said that their margaritas were served with a “splash of liquor.” Why would you want a splash? I want a hearty dousing of liquor.
After lunch, we went over to this crazy ferris wheel that has cars that dangle freely and swing like mad. It’s good fun if you get the right car. This one was pretty tame, but that was fine because I was too busy studying the people in front of me and lusting over one of their phone cases. (I’m getting a new iPhone this weekend, so I’m trying to find the perfect case.) This one was a folio type by Louis Vuitton. I thought it was a fake, but I found it online. Look at it:
Only $330. That’s a lot, of course, especially for a phone case, but less than I thought for something designer. I want it badly. I’m going to get it. Just need to save up. Aside from the one girl’s phone case, they were awful people, and I was glad to be rid of them.
Jessica went off to ride on some water ride — again, why? — while I waited in the single riders line for a roller coaster. It took exactly as long as waiting in the regular line, so this didn’t make any sense at all. It was a great ride, but that was a ridiculous wait. And the girl I sat beside was like ten and she was terrified of me, which was delightful.
We didn’t have much left to do, so we stood in line at the Tower of Terror for ninety minutes. Every time I go on this one, I wonder why Disney hasn’t made an actual hotel that is like this? It needn’t be creepy, it can be the way this one was styled to look in the 1930s. If it existed, I wouldn’t stay anywhere else. Think how fabulous it’d be to have a Disney hotel with bellhops and muted trumpets and an elegant tearoom with Art Deco decor. I’m orgasming.
Speaking of my suggestions to Disney…WHERE THE F*^K IS YZMA? WHERE IS THE EMPEROR’S NEW GROOVE RIDE? Think of it! Think of the perfection of that secret laboratory water ride. Think of the water park they could build in imitation of Kuzcotopia. Think of the thirty minute show they could do! Think of the parades! Think of the Yzma impersonator. It’d be my dream job. Think of the Yzma kitten stuffed animals! THINK OF THE GLORY THEY ARE MISSING OUT ON!
Anyway, in front of us were two children who didn’t seem to understand how to queue. It’s not difficult. You just move when the line does. You don’t sit on the ground when the line moves literally three times per minute. They sat and sat and sat, and it was absolutely ridiculous. Jessica had had enough. I think she yells at children more than I do. I’m around kids every day, so I think perhaps I have a buffer that she doesn’t have, but even I was irritated. Eventually Jessica gave them a lecture on how to be in a line. One of the girls cried a little. It was great. The ride was also great, but the best part of the whole hour and a half was a lamp in the lobby. I’m serious. I’m obsessed with this lamp. It was stained glass and showed a pyramid and a camel. I screamed. I have to get one.
We kept hearing a thumping bass, so we followed the sound into some kind of incomprehensible alternative universe. There were people dressed up like a parody of rock costumes singing 90s hits. We were living. We were dancing. We were singing. We were the only ones. And yet, for some reason, we were not invited up on stage to demonstrate how to really put on a show. Rude.
Famished, we headed out to Downtown Disney to get some pasta, but this turned into a bit of difficulty since we couldn’t get there. We followed all the signs, but the signs took us on some excessively long route. Eventually we arrived, though, and just in time, too. Screams were heard! We know what that means, so we ran. WHICH CELEBRITY IS IT!!!!!?!?!?!?!?!
Kris Jenner and her boy toy. I was thrilled to see a star, of course, but of all of them in the world, why her? I’ve already met Kris Jenner. Why couldn’t it have been Kim or North or Caitlyn or one of the One Direction boys? I shouldn’t feel too upset, because it was still a triumph. My phone was dead, though, so I couldn’t take a picture. That was a bitter moment for me.
There was an ominous sign in the sky. Never could figure it out:
We went to an Italian place for dinner and it was…shall we say…an experience. Outside of food at EPCOT, Disney food sucks. Don’t fight me, it’s the truth. It’s bland, overpriced, and uninspired. Dinner tonight was no exception, but that isn’t the only reason it wasn’t the best. We were ushered upstairs to sit with about a dozen other people and there was no semblance of order. Eventually we were asked to come forward to sit, and the man beside us lost his shit about the order and us budging and it was annoying. Jessica and the man got into it while his wife and I exchanged apologetic glances. I think we both must be accustomed to dealing with irrationally righteous hotheads.
The food was lame. I had eggplant ravioli and Jessica had cheese ravioli, but it was really one stuffed ravioli the size of a salad plate. Even though the food was unexceptional, their Diet Coke was on FLEEK! So good.
We tried to go for a few more rides, but it was absolute chaos in the parks, so as the fireworks were bursting, we hurried back to our bus, quite pleased by how well everything was going.
At the ARTIC transportation building, we had an impromptu photoshoot, which is probably one of my favorites. It was just such a gorgeous setting and I was really feeling my look. Look at me. LOOK:
Living.
It’s called fashion, look it up.
It’s called modeling, look it up.
It’s called posing, look it up.
The train came, and we were soon in Los Angeles, but getting back to the apartment wasn’t as simple as it was that morning. It was after midnight and we were in downtown and that’s just not a great combination. Especially on the Metro. Actually, there are way worse places to be at midnight in downtown LA, but this was pretty bad with Jessica, who is routinely alarmed by the breeze. There was a guy stripping, there was a guy smoking, there was a guy screaming, there was an ex-con shouting about his fifteen years in prison, there was yet another man trying to buy heroin… I felt fine. Like I said, I don’t think anything is ever going to happen to me. (This is surely going to be ironic sometime in the future.) But, I’ve walked through Cairo at midnight, I’ve walked though south Chicago in a bespoke suit. I’ve been on the dark side of New York at two o’clock in the morning. Hell, I’ve walked through the East side of Des Moines. Nobody ever bothers me. Don’t know why, but I was glad to be out of that train. Especially because Jessica has a face that is begging for somebody to murder her. She looks like she’s waiting to be killed.
The bus took absolute ages, so I called an Uber, and after about 18 hours of being away, we crashed. Exhausted.
