Friday was our departure day to Tulsa to spend the night, then fly out the next morning. We were unwilling to get up at the crack of dark on Saturday, thus an extra night away from home. Then we had a tiny storm and not so tiny power surge that did something nasty to husband's computer. Turned out, it mostly (at the time, more on that later) just reordered what to boot up and was trying to primary boot from the photo printer. Almost a comical little computer problem. Look at the funny computer trying to boot from its photo printer, it should know better.
After much dialogue with the nice tech support from Cybertron, husband fixed computer so he would go with us instead of yelling, "You will just have to go without me. I'm ruined." We did go and he went with us a little later than originally planned, but we headed out before 5 p.m. to drive to Tulsa (about two hours away) to a Super 8 near the airport to spend one, cheap night before our flight at 9 in the morning.
We go to Tulsa, getting lost a bit as our GPS is a little bit of short bus, so we saw more of a seedy section of Tulsa before we found our slightly seedy Super 8. I checked us in, we trundled down the narrow parking lot to our slot in front of our beige room to find a king bed (what we wanted) with exactly two pillows on it. Two pillows? I tried not to stomp to the office to ask for more pillows to be told, "Sorry, only the first four rooms on this side have four pillows, the others just have two. We don't have extras." Who knew we'd lose the pillow lottery.
After we settled in for the night, it wasn't too miserable. We had eaten at Denny's, which was its usual post-modern pablum in the 70s setting. We knew we had an early morning to get re-packed and shuttled to the Southwest terminal for our flight. The uninformative East Indian guy took us to the airport, we dragged our big-ass luggage in, checked it and got our back of the group boarding passes. My walk through the beep hallway wasn't as miserable as usual cause Tulsa has a full body imager for those of us who set off the security alarms. Instead of being wanded, patted and foot-checked, I stood in a futuristic telephone booth thing with my hands out and some big magnet circled me a couple of times. Easy peezy.
Our first flight was a fairly uneventful one to Phoenix. Then we ate in Phoenix, but I can't remember what. Then on to flight from there to Orange County. That flight had absolutely no open seats, was really crowded and I was pushed to sit by myself next to a Middle Eastern guy I couldn't understand who hogged the arm rest. He might have said he was in gas futures or bass fishing. I have no clue. That flight couldn't have ended soon enough for me. I'm a big girl (and by that, I am not making a point about my grownup-ness, I'm fluffy, but not squishy and I don't fit well into the window seat with a shared arm rest) and this was uncomfortable for me.
When we landed, we were feeling excited about being near Disneyland. Then we had to endure the "renting of the car." I had already reserved it but the lines, me not realizing my damn license had expired, the car my husband picked that felt like it was digging into my hip. Husband drove, the GPS was pretty good, we found the Fairfield Inn. It looked a bit shabby but was located two blocks across the street from Disneyland, so hard to complain about it. Except the part where we got there just before 3, exhausted, ready to schlep our stuff into the room and were told it wouldn't be ready until four. Clerk asked if she could call me when it was ready and what was my number.
So, off we went to Downtown Disney to waste time. Etc.
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