The Happiest Place On Earth

On a plane somewhere between Las Vegas, NV and Nashville, TN: At 6:30 in the morning, with a group of 25 people standing behind me, I was trying to comprehend what the driver on the other end of the phone was saying.

“I’m at the Tropicana,” he kept repeating. “Well, so am I – but I don’t see you,” I responded, just as many times. And then it finally it me: “Wait - are you in the Tropicana in Laughlin or Las Vegas?” I posed the question, fearful of what his answer would confirm.

“Vegas,” he responded, quietly. 

I could literally feel my heart drop to my stomach.

See, the thing is, our group was standing outside the Tropicana in Laughlin, NV. An hour and forty minute drive from Las Vegas, NV. We were booked on the 10:20am nonstop to Nashville, which meant we had about 30 minutes to figure out how the hell to get to LAS with no BUS. Like, NOW.

After semi-calm but hurried calls to the promoter, the travel agent and three other bus companies in the area (all closed on a Sunday morning, understandably), the Production Manager and I devised a plan: we would send the band and crew in five cabs and one show runner van from point A to a not-very-close point B.

Once all 26 of us were safely headed towards LAS, I started thinking about the feeling I got when my heart dropped to my stomach. (And for the record, I do mean “literally” figuratively, though it did feel literal, I promise.) 

I loathe that feeling. The situation itself was out of my control (I did what I could, other than drive the bus to the correct hotel myself!), but the thing is – I dislike being out of control very much, especially when it feels as if the rug is being pulled out under me at the same time.

Which is why I’m not a big fan of rollercoasters. (Welcome to the segue portion of this blog.)

You sit down (or sometimes stand up) in a machine that has known to kill people strap yourself in with a car seatbelt and then are thrusted into a jerky motion ride at a million miles a minute (give or take 900,000 miles) where you are whipped around, plummeted down, flipped over and left hanging… until the next drop. And you have no control over what comes next.

Again: a time where you can feel your heart literally figuratively drop into your stomach.

So when my friend / coworker, Justin, came to LA at the beginning of last month – for the first time EVER – and really wanted to go to Disneyland, there was a very big part of me that didn’t want to go. I’d either have deal with heart-in-stomach moments on rollercoasters OR be the girl who was too scared to ride the rollercoasters.

But… how could I say no to this face?

Plus, it was a chance to spend a Saturday afternoon with some of my newest friends / co-workers.

We were lucky enough to get our very own tour guide to take us around the park (meet Amber, who was formerly in the Army & is now a Disney tour guide – there is another piece that needs to be written about her life!),

which meant we avoided long lines (up to 2 hour waits!) by entering through the exits of rides (with Amber’s fancy & official Disney badge).

The only place this VIP privileged didn't work was in the ladies' room. Boo.

We just had to be cautious & courteous while going “backstage,” since that’s where Disneyland employees and characters spend their off time. IE: no photos. (Ordered by Amber to me, directly!)

It’s been years since I’ve been to Disneyland (so long that I don't really remember ever going, though I’m sure I must have as a kid. A sign of aging, I suppose.), so anything ‘new’ to Disneyland felt ALL new to me. In fact, I didn’t realize that we weren’t even in Disneyland itself until we were a couple of hours into our adventure. “But we’ve been on rides, seen people in costume and overpaid for food, where else would we be?” Turns out, there are two parks directly across from each other:  Disneyland Park and Disneyland California Adventure Park.

For a non-experienced-Disneylander, you really wouldn’t notice the difference. Except if you went to The Carthay Circle and ordered a cocktail. Which those of us who were old enough & not working did since, well, we could. (Disneyland Tip: No alcohol issold inside Disneyland Park.)

When we finally entered the gates of the official Disneyland Park (where a slight buzz honestly helps deal with the exorbitant amounts of children present), we took a group photo in front of the most photographed place in Disneyland,

then went to the Mad Hatter to complete the next Disneyland tradition: get Mickey Mouse ears.

I had been warned by Amber that they only inscribe real names – that is, no nicknames. But I felt there was no way I was going to go through Disneyland as Carolyn. With a little sweet talking to the sweet ladies who did the stitching, I got my wish granted.

Turns out, there are a lot of fun rides you can do at both parks that are not rollercoasters. Like flying spinning things you can ride with your friend, who also doesn't love rollercoasters. 

Or shoot-em-up games in the dark with complimentary 3D glasses. 

Additionally, there are photos available for purchase taken during the most intense moment of a ride. Unfortunately for Disneyland, everyone has some sort of camera phone to snap pictures -- of the pictures -- before leaving the area. Here are some of my personal favorites. (You can tell who's done this a million times before and knows how to ham it up when appropriate.)

Other special moments of the day included:

And then - the big moment of the trip: going to Mickey's house (through the back door, of course),