Ghost Galaxy, Googlitis, and Jason Mraz

Some randomness that is rolling around my head and I can't focus my brain to write a coherent post about each one. Rolling stones gather no moss, right? Or perhaps it's more like I'm losing my marbles.



It is Halloween time at Disneyland and Jack Skellington rules the night. (I'm an annual passholder.) BFF was supposed to go with us but she is down with a cold, so it was our young friends who are servers from our favorite happy hour and I. They are so cute to hang out with us. One of them went to school with one of the Book Babe's daughter. I think of them as our "kids." 


We stood in line at the recently refurbished Space Mountain. So weird. I have a bumper sticker from the first summer they opened Space Mountain and now decades later I'm in line...for freaking ninety minutes...to ride it again. 


There is spooky kinda creepy music. The kind of music where you expect a really haunted looking house to pop up. Very Outer Limits. They have images and fluctuating colors projected on the mountain. One is a rusty, slightly greenish, orangish color, then swirling tie dye looking colors, then like the surface of the moon. Stars and galaxies float by. I was really waiting for the icky girl who climbs out of the damn TV in the movie "The Ring" to come crawling down the sides of the mountain. Let me in, let me in. That scene freaked me out.



Uh. oh. I don't want to say how they changed the ride for Ghost Galaxy...but I think I had an accident in my granny panties. 


BFF and I were gabbing today and we got to talking about health care being as it seems to be all anybody can talk about. I personally don't go to doctors. I told her that if I want to know what the different colors of mucus from my nose means, I look it up on Google. 


She told me I didn't need to do that, she could tell me. Clear is okay, no problem. Slightly yellow means something is brewing. Green means you got it, and green with red is trouble. 


Or maybe you need to stop picking your nose so much. 


We had to go eat fried pickles at Lucille's after that.


I have to mail in my taxes by October 15th. I truly wish everyone had to write a check every year...and only once a year...to pay their taxes. You realize then that what you send them every year would probably pay for top 'o the line insurance. Or at least keep me in Pop Tarts. 


Tomorrow we head to San Diego to see Jason Mraz in a fiesta type concert. Teddy Bear says they will kick my butt out of the concert if I try to sneak in booze. 

I better break open the piggy bank. What? What do you mean Uncle Sam has left me a note. Does anybody know if the IRS takes Pop Tarts in lieu of penalties and interest?