Quite possibly the happiest place on earth

Last week when Lauren and I took Tricia down to the Santa Monica Pier, we stood in front of the amusement park and talked about how, with regard to rollercoasters and other rides, we had all, at some point, turned into our mothers. "I just can't imagine a scenario," I said, "in which I would ever go on a rollercoaster again."

So, naturally, that's exactly where I found myself last night, riding Space f'ing Mountain at Disneyland. And dammit if I didn't love every second of it. The Matterhorn was my second favorite, as from the top, it offered views of the entire park; and my third favorite was probably the Indiana Jones ride, because, hello, who doesn't love Harrison Ford? I went on five or six rides throughout the night, and the only one that made me just a little bit sick was probably the most tame - Star Tours. It was little more than a glorified IMAX movie experience, but we were so close to the screen, I immediately felt carsick. As soon as the first wave of nausea hit, though, I closed my eyes and started chanting to myself, "you're fine, you're fine, you're fine". And as soon as it over, I was.

The one thing I hadn't considered about Disneyland was the amount of exercise to be had. We walked/ran around for four hours straight, except when we were standing in line or sitting on a ride. By the time the park closed and we got off the last ride, it was after midnight, and I was starving. But I wasn't hungry for a meal or anything remotely healthy, however; instead, I craved the spun sugary sweetess of cotton candy. And so, at 12:30 AM, I guiltlessly inhaled the most tooth-achingly delicious dessert I've had in ages, and felt much less like my mother and more like a kid again.