Category Attractions

The Happiest Place on Earth

November 16, 2016 Comments Off read Attractions, California, Pacific, Travel, USA, West

The first and only time I’ve ever been to Disneyland* was when I was six years old, and my strongest memory of that visit was demanding a mickey ears hat with my name embroidered on it even though I had already spent my souvenir money on a pretty pink princess hat, because I was a little shit**. I got that mickey hat, though both hats have since been lost. Jason’s strongest memory of Disney is of throwing an unholy fit until he acquired a set of stuffed Chip & Dale, rescue rangers, and he got them, though Chip and Dale have both since wandered off into the great beyond, possibly in need of a rescue of their own. So while obviously I’ve seen a lot of the mouse in popular culture since then, the only thing that I personally knew to be a fact about Disneyland was that it had the power to make tiny humans want things with a need so visceral that it might tear them apart. I decided that I wanted to go at least once as an adult to really get the breadth of the experience–ride the rides I wanted to ride, eat the food I wanted to eat, buy the stuff I wanted to buy. In other words, the sort of happy time my parents could have had if they hadn’t had me.

In the morning, at breakfast, some of Cinderella’s helpers decided to try and help themselves to my oatmeal, but I was not having it. Where were they when I was having a wardrobe malfunction the previous evening? Nowhere to be found, the jerks.

On the walk to the park, I saw an interesting warning sign: “The Disneyland Resort contains chemicals known to the state of California to cause cancer and birth defects or other reproductive harm.” This sign justifies all the disregard I’ve given these sorts of warnings, because if motherflipping Disneyland, the pinnacle of family friendly entertainment, wasn’t able to meet these safety guidelines, either these warnings are about elements so trace as to be negligible, or absolutely everything gives you cancer and harms reproductive health. It officially doesn’t matter anymore, have some more of that cancer kale with sperm damage dressing, because none of us are getting out of this alive, anyway. Or, if you’re like me and at Disneyland, you’ll have a cancer churro and an egg damage dole whip.

When I visited, Disneyland was all decked out for Halloween, and it was pretty flipping adorable, with pumpkins everywhere and the few characters we saw roaming around decked out in festive costumes. Some of the rides had even been altered for Halloween–Space Mountain became Ghost Galaxy (which mostly involves ghosts screaming at you in spaaaaaaaaace) and the Haunted Mansion was redecorated in a Nightmare Before Christmas theme which I was obviously all about. But more on that later: my first stop in the park was Tomorrowland, aka Star Wars World***.

Star Tours: The Adventures Continue is a motion simulator ride–one of those rides where you’re strapped into a moving chair in a room with a movie screen. This one was in 3D, so you get to wear some really fetching glasses to show off just how cool you really are. (Spoiler: not that cool.) I did like that during the ride, they showed us a photo of a “rebel agent” who was actually in our group, which is something I feel like I haven’t seen before and was a nice touch.

We exited into the Star Wars gift shop and my immediate lust for a BB-8 style mouse ears hat was just as immediately quenched when I saw what it looked like on my big, round head. Far from cute. I have seen many, many trendy bloggers on instagram out and about in their spangled mouse ears, and occasionally I have envied their cuteness. Now I know for certain I can never be part of their elite blogger cabal. Somehow, they pull mouse ears off. Those hats turn my fivehead into a twelvehead. Don’t believe me? YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

That’s allllllllll forehead under there. Forehead for days. And where my forehead ends, my skull gives birth to Jack Skellington. Don’t ask how, learn your lady anatomy, people.

I do have to wonder if perhaps I’m just not the sort of person who can pull off Disney regalia in general. We tried on a lot of hats that day, friends, and none of them looked anything other than especially stupid. Or maybe I don’t have the Disney Attitude™. Although, I did see a bunch of ladyblogger types walking around in sequin mouse ears, crop tops, and eight pounds of makeup, and when they weren’t posing for “omg look at how much fun we’re having (#blessed)” selfies, they looked pissed. So they probably don’t have the Disney Attitude™, either.

The Pirates of the Caribbean ride has definitely changed since I was a kid to incorporate things from the movies, and it’s still quite fun. However, the name should be changed to Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of Soggy Bottom because the seat was sopping wet which made my seat sopping wet for the better part of the afternoon, the better to make it look like I had a fear-based accident in the Happiest Place on Earth.

At some point, lunch happened:

And after lunch, we finally hit the Haunted Mansion. And wouldn’t you know it, as soon as we got close to the entrance, the ride broke down. Most of the people around us in line left, but I decided to wait. Thankfully, the extra wait wasn’t long, though I was prepared to wait as long as it took–days, if necessary. Nothing was keeping my spooky ass out of that mansion.

And it was just as good as I hoped it would be.

We hit a few more rides, had a dole whip, did some more shopping, and at that point, I’d pretty much had enough. There weren’t any other rides I was interested enough to wait for, the park had gotten insanely crowded (it went from reasonable levels to shoulder-to-shoulder everywhere which makes me feel panicky), I didn’t particularly want to meet any characters or collect autographs, so we decided to call it for the day. I think it’s funny that while Jason and I both remember throwing mighty tantrums at Disney as children, the only bad behavior I witnessed there was from other adults.

The verdict? Disney is fun–the things that they do well, they do really well. There’s attention to detail everywhere, the grounds are much better taken care of than any other theme park I’ve visited, and their animatronics are outstanding. I just don’t know that I’d ever want to go again. I definitely don’t understand the people who go every year, the people with the real Disney Attitude™. I am, however, interested in decking out my home in full Haunted Mansion fashion.

Oh, and I finally got one of those caramel apples. Dreams DO come true at Disney, so long as those dreams are specifically Disney-related.

*I did go to Disney World when I was twelve, and I do remember that visit much better–for example, I remember the employee in Epcot’s France calling me fat, which I was, but goddamn, dude. That was savage.

**I mean, I still am a shit, I’m just a much bigger one now. This tantrum-y behavior is now known in my home as “moon door-ing” as in “there sure are a whole lot of moon doors at the mall today”. Not that someone is likely to overhear your conversation, anyway, when their kid is screeching at jet engine decibel levels, but I’m just trying to comment on the situation with my husband, not make someone feel bad on the scale of Epcot Frenchman.

***Not actually also known as Star Wars World, but it should be.

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Mellzah’s stop is snoozy lane to rest her sweet caboose.

November 11, 2016 Comments Off read Attractions, California, Pacific, Travel, USA, West

We stopped for dinner in the town of Weed, California, because who would know food better than stoners, right? Right? Wrong. I hereby submit that the Pizza Factory slogan “We toss’em, they’re awesome!” henceforth be changed to “Technically food, but far from good!” or “We make the dough, you’ll find it so-so!” either of which would be more accurate. I’ve had better frozen pizza, and that’s just plain sad.

Across the street from Pizza Factory is a grocery store named “Ray’s Food Place” which is pretty much exactly what I would imagine a stoner naming a grocery store*. “Man, you know what sounds good? Like, we should get some pizza and then go to the, uh, food…place for some cheetos to put on the pizza. Make like a chee-cheese pizza. Heh. Chi-chis. Suddenly I could really go for Mexican food. What?”

I didn’t stop at The Weed Store, which is a store that sells pretty much everything you would expect a store named The Weed Store to sell, because as much as I like tourist traps and snickering at novelty t-shirts, I had other places to be: namely, my lodging for the night down the road in Dunsmuir. When planning this trip, I figured that since I knew I was going to be spending several nights in hotels, that I ought to try and find lodging that was a little more exciting than whatever motel happened to be available on the side of the road when I’m too exhausted to drive any more. It just so happened that one of my ideal stopping points coincided with the Dunsmuir Railroad Park, a combination campground and motel, where you can stay in a restored antique railroad car. It was an obvious yes for me. I mean, look at how flipping cute they are!

The interiors are…a little less cute, bordering on really dated**, but clean and comfortable, with a ceiling rail in case you wanted to do some pull ups or maybe hang your purse. We did both. Well, actually, each of us did one of those things, Jason with no purse to hang and me with no upper body strength. I did dangle ineffectually for funsies, though. What I loved about it, aside from the novelty, was that it was SO QUIET inside. One of the worst things about rooms on the road is the constant noise that makes it difficult to sleep–loud people going up and down the hallway, the ice machine, kid meltdowns, people stomping on the ceiling, the sound of people screwing on the other side of paper thin walls, which is incidentally also why I never want to live in an apartment again. While playing at being a Boxcar ~~Child~~Adult Baby, I had full quiet. I didn’t hear a single person who wasn’t Jason the whole time I was inside and the value of that cannot be overstated.

Also: SO FLIPPING CUTE.

The dining car is also a restaurant! I wasn’t there for dining hours, so I didn’t go. Also I remember the last time I ate out of a train.

Way better than that Motel 6 I stayed at in Redding the last time I rolled through. And the time before that. Man, you’d think I really had something for that particular Motel 6. No more! Now you can call me Boxcar Mellzah.

*I know it’s a chain, let me have this.

**Ok, it doesn’t so much border really dated as it is living smack dab in the middle of dated, but wood paneling for a railroad car in a campground works in a way it wouldn’t in, say, my home.

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Jesus Christ, it’s a lion, stay in the car!

November 9, 2016 Comments Off read Attractions, Oregon, Pacific, Travel, USA, West

I’d first seen a billboard for Oregon’s Wildlife Safari way back in 2011 on my way home from my trip to Halloween Horror Nights. That trip was a hard push both ways and we passed by it in the dead of night in both directions. Every once in a while since then, Jason and I would talk about going to make a visit, but it was one of those destinations that was always just a little too far to make it a day trip, and a longer weekend trip to that area just hadn’t been a priority. Some friends visited Wildlife Safari this summer, and that reminded me to try and get down there–so when I was planning this road trip to L.A. and back, I decided to incorporate it on the way down. This, incidentally, meant I had to be ready to leave the house at 4am so that I wouldn’t hit morning commute traffic in any of the three major metro areas I’d be driving through, get to Wildlife Safari well before they closed for the day, and hopefully make it to that evening’s stopping point before dark (because, as you’ll see, it was a bit special and something to be appreciated in the light).

They really try to create an atmosphere at Wildlife Safari. A giant arched sign looms over the road, reminiscent of Jurassic Park. Other signs dot the winding roadway leading to the park, letting you know the animals are watching, that you’re in danger, and they know what you did last summer. I’m only exaggerating slightly. Cognizant of the fact we were being watched, when we arrived we pulled into the parking lot to step out of the car for a hot minute, stretch our legs, grab a snack from the trunk, and take a gander at the animal exhibits they have for people on foot. After pressing a penny (PRIORITIES), I spent some time looking at the adorable marmosets while they lounged and snacked. Those little tufts of fur they have on the sides of their heads are just too cute!

I wasn’t here for this on foot business, however. My friend had fed emus while driving through the park, and that was exactly what I wanted to do. Unfortunately, at some point during the three month span between her visit and mine, they stopped doing car feedings because some of the animals were getting too aggressive. And I suppose I should be grateful for the fact that they stopped said feedings, knowing a thing or two about aggressive animals eating from one’s car. Aside from the no feeding thing, the rules were fairly similar to that of the Olympic Game Farm: you can roll down your windows, take as many photos as you like, but stay in the damn car–for your sake, for the animals’ sakes, for the sake of their insurance premiums.

Unicorns are real!

…They just look a little different than five year old me pictured them.

You know, it’s probably for the best that something with horns this size didn’t approach the car, because it would gall me a ~~little~~lot to have a horn hole in a car I’m still making payments on.

What all those signs at the entrance of the park didn’t tell us, however, was that the animals had moved from observing their human visitors to laying a series of traps for them–note the pallets scattered across the road, designed to either damage the tires and undercarriage of a vehicle or lure a Pinterest user out of the vehicle to claim them for their rustic reclaimed pallet wood farm table. Monsters.

Just look at those smug bastards, carefully doing that thing where you are interested in something but make a show of looking away, feigning innocence. I see you, elk. I’ve done that look before. I know what you’re up to.

Now, I’d like to talk about another important issue: the fact that I have been so indoctrinated into this pro-bear stuffed animal agenda that I don’t even see danger when I see a bear anymore. I look at those fluffy motherfuckers and think that they would probably give the best hugs in the universe, that we could sink into some fuzzy cuddle puddle and be bear and non-bear bestfriends and they’d even let me flip their ears around a little because they look extra soft and adorable. They even call big hugs bear hugs for chrissakes. What I am saying is, if I get torn apart by some steely bear jaws and claws, dig up Teddy Roosevelt’s corpse and sue him, because it is definitely his fault. His and the bear’s.

LOOK AT THOSE EARS. Fuzzy and flippable. Huggable, snuggable bears.

And then this emu caught me with my window rolled down and tried to cram his head inside and I was never more thankful for automatic windows, because they are actually kind of terrifying up close. That’s right, I’m not afraid of bears but I wouldn’t want to tangle with an emu, so you can see my priorities are a little out of whack.

With our admission, I could have driven around the entire park twice if we wished, but I was satisfied with one loop. There were only a couple of cars there (I saw a number of employee vehicles driving around, but they aren’t gawking at the animals and waiting impatiently behind me to move already so they don’t count), so I got to spend as much time around each animal group as I wanted, which was completely different from my bumper to bumper Olympic Game Farm experience. Plus, by the time I finished one loop, the rain was really starting to come down which isn’t conducive to wanting to spend a bunch of time idling with one’s windows down.

Directly across from the road that leads to Wildlife Safari is a Noah’s Ark themed restaurant, with signs reading: NEW OWNER MUMMY OUT OF EGYPT! DINO SKULL! JURASSIC ARK! ESPRESSO! HALIBUT! PEPPERCORN STEAK! and I can only assume that the new owner is in fact a mummy who serves up animals who have set their last trap at the wildlife safari and has brought in some dinosaur stuff and peppered his steaks to jazz up the joint. I mean, that’s the only obvious conclusion, right?

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