You know you’re driving down I-5 to Disneyland when:
You can smell the grazing cows of Harris Ranch about a mile before you see them.
You make a mental note to look into who exactly is responsible for all of those Congress Created Dust Bowl signs.
If there are any more cities beside Los Angeles that have razor wire wrapped around their green freeway signs.
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You know you’re on vacation with the Picettis when:
Although this trip was booked back in March, apparently the person who did that booking neglected to make a note that we needed a fully accessible room despite a rather lengthy conversation detailing those needs. The result of that single omission: No handicapped room for you! We gave a regular room the proverbial community college try but we conceded defeat after a fifteen minute game of Let’s Get the Invalid on the Potty. These accommodations were simply not going to cut it.
What happened next was unbelievable. Even though this was the Disneyland Hotel, I still couldn’t believe it when Fehmeen told me all the details. It could have been Emma’s undeniable cuteness or perhaps it was my glowing aura of ALSness or maybe they could sense that Nani was about six hours overdue for another verbal spat but the management had decided to give us an upgrade to…
Wait for it
… The Mickey Mouse Penthouse on the 11th floor of the hotel. According to the bellman, this suite being occupied was such a rare occurrence that he himself had only ever seen it two other times. The space was a sight to behold. I felt like we had just landed in the suite in The Hangover minus the alcohol, the tiger, the duck, and the baby in the closet named Carlos. My meager words would not do it justice so I intend to post videos tomorrow. Our stay in the MMP only lasted one night until we were able to move into our other (now available) accessible room, which of course could only be described as a downgrade.
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You know you’re at Disneyland with the Picettis and Khans when:
The ride you go on the most is the Monorail (4x in 3 hrs).
Emma is still scared shitless of costumed characters like Goofy, Pluto, Chip, and Dale.
The highlight of our lunch on Tuesday was the seemingly never-ending quest for Stuffins with Nana and Mamoo.
You know you’re on vacation with Fehmeen and Jason because school is still in session and the opportunity to learn constantly seemed to present themselves like:
It is practically impossible to recreate that same feel and vibe of last years trip considering my abilities are no where near where they were eleven months ago.
In no way, shape or form is my manual wheelchair considered a remotely comfortable option for a few minutes much less a few hours in the Magic Kingdom.
I think that I can unequivocally say that my days of road trips have drawn to a close. Give me the comforts of home from now on. And lots of shorter, more manageable day trips.
It doesn’t matter that neither of us had a particularly good time, as long as Emma enjoyed herself, that is all that truly counts.
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You know you’re heading back to the Bay Area on I-5 when:
You dime out Nana for driving only 55 mph at certain times on the freeway when the speed limit was 70.
The cost of a $2 Meal Deal at the Taco Bell in Button Willow was actually $3.29.
The mind-boggling concept that San Francisco and Sacramento are only one mile apart from each other. At least that’s what about two dozen green road signs led me to believe.