Tag Archives: Disneyland
Monkey just turned four.
During the TinkerBell Half Marathon Weekend, there are two races, the TinkerBell Half and the NeverLand 5k. I did the NeverLand 5k.
So basically, I did something I said I would never do unless someone was chasing me with a knife, at an hour I’m really not acquainted with. Especially from the front end.
And it was super duper fun!
While we were waiting, there were Pirates to taunt us. And to start the race! Fireworks! (Bet the people who live in the area LOVE the 5am fireworks!)
The NeverLand 5k is a fun run. It’s just over three miles, much of it behind the scenes of Disneyland. Most people were in costume and many walked. There were lots of characters to have your picture taken with, although the lines were too long for me to want to stand, freezing, to wait my turn.
Yesterday, for Mothers Day, since I’m an airhead, I spent the day in the dungeon. Over a month ago, I scheduled this session with my panty slave who comes from out of town and had made air and hotel reservations by the time I realized my mistake. And since I had already booked something with one slave, I went ahead and booked a session with my darling sweater fetishist as well. Two long sessions would, after all, go a long way to financing my Mother Day trip to Disneyland which was what I REALLY wanted for Mothers Day anyway.
Plans were made and play was negotiated. Both slaves has a variety of interests and I’ve known each for several years. They are both terribly submissive and looking forward to an afternoon in the dungeon being dominated.
I’m sure you, dear reader are conjuring up images of dark leather filled room filled with screams of pain. Truthfully, so was I. Both sessions went awry though, reminding me, once again of what I’ve known for years.
Three days at Disneyland. 28 miles walked. 60 puzzles. Several cocktails and a couple bottles of wine. The arrival of my first grandchild (by blood, I have three others by marriage.) Very little sleep and none of it with a blood alcohol level of less then 0.8.
I think I feel better now.
Shinteki, for those of you that haven’t heard of it before, is sort of like a nerdy scavenger hunt with puzzles that make you think so hard your brain bleeds. There might even be puns. It was 12 hours of hard core thinking outside the box. Sometimes while taking notes and riding roller coasters. At the same time. If you look and listen hard enough, you can find bits of binary and morse codes all over the Magic Kingdom.
Seriously so fun that I can not wait to do it again. Life is boring now that I’m not looking for codes in common every days things.
This last week at Disneyland, I realized that there were a few tips that I, as a frequent visitor need to share. Suggestions you might not see on other mommy/travel/Disney blogs.
Space Mountain, despite taking place in pitch black, is the worst place to give hand-jobs. As a mom who co-sleeps and never gets 2 minutes alone sitting next to my husband in the dark, it was tempting. It is a fast paced roller coaster veering with no notice to the right or the left unexpectedly(adding to the fun really), but there is a bar, holding you in your seat, and your target penis in their pants. I’m pretty sure they planned it that way.
The best place in the park to give a hand job is the back seat of the Bee-hicle that carries you through the Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, a halucinagic dream that the Disney imagineers have curiously created and called a childs ride. Just be sure you are quick about it. You have less then two minutes.
Every once in a while, for no reason what so ever, I will think of the word wiener and giggle a little. Usually out loud. Usually in public. And most of the time, in an inappropriate situation.
Like just now. In the library’s silent study area.
It’s because of my husband.
Because he overhear the following conversation in the mens room at Disneyland between a father and his 5 year old son.
Son. Loudly: “Daddy. You have a huge wiener.”
Father. under his breath: grumble grumble donttalkaboutthat grumble
Son. MUCH more loudly: “But you doooo!“
Alright ladies. Let’s put the fun back in infertility! Mom. You should probably stop reading now.
My sister and I always look for c*ckrings, I mean, new bracelets in Disneyland. (I TOLD you you should stop reading!) This trip – for this point in my life, I feel like I hit the mother load. A stretchy orange and yellow bracelet that says HOPE and has a cute little Mickey head on it. #Hope sorta being the twitter hash-tag for infertility, me starting my injections tonight, I bought myself one.
Then I wished I could buy them for all the infertility bloggers I follow because they are SOO cute! And useful! And, of course, Hopeful. But then I realized that most of the bloggers I follow wouldn’t really want a #hope/mickey mouse c*ckring. Or would they….
One of the horrible things about infertility, is that having sex becomes a job. A heavily scheduled, overly analyzed, job. Enter, your #hope c*ckring. You have something you can wear on your wrist that will remind you that there is hope. That at the end of this expensive, emotionally draining journey, we will all HOPEfully have babies. Somehow.
Yesterday I spent some quality girlie time with a good Domme friend of mine co-topping a submissive who’s main interest is erotic humiliation -mainly in public. Humiliation is always a tricky one. What one person finds erotically humiliating, another just finds humiliating. What the difference? No one knows. Sometimes even the parties involved don’t know until it actually happens. And if you are reading forward in this to read some explination?