April 22 is Earth Day and my half-birthday I selfishly embrace to the fullest. I had grand plans to blow out my hair, take a long lunch to go see Oceans, and bike the Waterman trail before sunset. Did any of that happen? No! My alarm was once again set for PM (I like to call this the curse of Aly), so I went to work with waves that belong in the ocean--a movie I didn't have time to see at lunch, which also meant my dream of South Patch Kids went down the drain as well. And with work buzzing (it's like it was a weekday or something), I opted for The Vampire Diaries instead of hurtling my bike into Cary's truck.
The guilt is still on my mind. Grr. I don't even normally like to use italics and exclamation points for emphasis and cutesy editorial garb like 'grr' and 'sigh', but this was just too much. It was my half. It was the point at which I was two and a half years from 30, a time to celebrate my freedom from babies, my accomplishment in finding such a rock star of a husband, my solid job as a writer, my mediocre blog. Sigh.
However, this once upon a time, in a land filled with sunshine, of course all was not lost.
Mr. Walter Elias Disney saved the day. Friday, April 23, was actually a long time coming, a trip to Disneyland planned between four friends with surprisingly busy schedules. Disneyland. A place forbidden by the rock star since he basically grew up in Tomorrowland by living in Anaheim's backyard, only an hour or so from the beloved Ball Street.
There were new attractions that made me feel seven again. Seven was the best. I had forgotten how cool the bubbles were on the submarine ride. And you can now even insert your voice into a classic Disney song and find out what character you are at heart. (Lady. So yes, Cary is the tramp.) And yes, the smell of water inside Pirates of the Caribbean, and the air inside the Haunted House, were exactly as I had remembered. It's childhood forever, bordered by the hills of Toontown. The lines are shorter on a weekday, the weather still hard to dress for with a warm day and cooler night. We took our layers on and off, stopped for Mexican food in Frontierland, popcorn and Diet Cokes from the carts, tasted wine at California Adventure. Then had champagne at La Brea in downtown Disney and talked too loudly about sex. I'd also like to take up hang-gliding if I didn't distrust thermals. How do they get the smell of oranges and pine on that ride?
Christy is officially Disneyland's biggest fan in my book. (You should see this book sometime ... Sorry, I know parenthetical phrases can be annoying too.) But armed with the knowledge of every hidden Mickey and all kinds of myths, rumors, and facts, the girl is good company at the park. Kylie came in at a close second. I've also decided these two could prove very good consultants slash editors of a Disneyland short story. Would anyone read that? I think it might be up there with a book about President Lincoln's Doctor's Dog.
My walking muscles are still sore. Yes, yes, I know, marathon runner. Shove it. We left really late, stuck in the parking garage for longer than I'll admit for a reason we still don't know. But while I had to drink two bottles of water upon returning home to alleviate the pangs of champagne, I haven't slept that good in weeks.
So, needless to say, one season pass later, I was hooked.