Adventures with Geannii

 We got up early—because nothing says “vacation” like voluntarily setting an alarm. Breakfast was at the Tiki Bar, same place we got drinks last night, which felt oddly like returning to the scene of a delicious crime. I ordered a Hawaiian croissant stuffed with pulled pork, fancy cheese, bacon, scrambled egg, and pineapple slices. Coffee? $23. For that price, I expected Mickey to serve it with jazz hands and a tap dance. He did not. But that croissant? AMAZING. I was basically back in Hawaii, minus the ocean breeze and the guy playing ukulele in flip-flops.  The Souvenir Olympics   After breakfast, we passed through security like seasoned pros—bags open, sunscreen ready, dignity optional. The kids headed for the monorail like it was the Hogwarts Express, and I set off on a noble quest: find a souvenir that wouldn’t end up in the Goodwill pile next spring. Options? Endless. Tees, hoodies, water bottles, backpacks, toys, Mickey and Minnie on everything short of dental flos...

 Chaos on the Highway: Dukes of Hazzard, LA Edition Back on the road, cruising along, when suddenly—brake lights! Dust clouds! Cars lunging into the left lane like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. We slowed to a crawl and passed a car tipped on its side, surrounded by people scavenging like it was a post-apocalyptic yard sale. I swear that car auditioned for Dukes of Hazzard and nailed the stunt. Scary? Absolutely. Slightly hilarious in its absurdity? Also yes. 🌴 Palm trees and ocean breeze—we’ve officially landed in California. We told the security guard we were staying at the Disneyland Resort. He gave us a look, then waved us through like we were royalty. I read the sign: $40 a day for parking. Are they charging us to breathe the pixie-dusted air too? Yes. Yes, they are. 🧳 We dragged our luggage out of the car like we were starring in a slow-motion drama. I watched my suitcase wheels wobble like they were auditioning for retirement. “Hang in there, little guys,” I whis...

 Thunder and rain rolled in like Biblical times.   Betty and I sat on the patio just listening to it drum on the metal roof. Pure bliss. She filled her little rock waterfall—complete with a hummingbird statue—and the big pond was going strong. Tomorrow, we head to Disneyland!  Yay excitement, anticipation… and suitcase paranoia. I weighed mine—33 pounds, still under control—but those wheels have seen better days. Can you actually buy tires for a suitcase like a car? Asking for a friend. The bigger problem: I haven’t even started shopping at Downtown Disney yet. The temptation, the shiny things, the fun stuff… my wallet is trembling, and my suitcase wheels are silently groaning. Packing tip #1: check the wheels. Packing tip #2: remember that souvenirs weigh more than your arm power. Packing tip #3: pack snacks, because Disney lines are long and hunger is evil.. I’ve added 6 shirts, two hoodies, and a pair of white capris.   Fuji bought me a bag of no-brand popcor...

  We started Sunday by… getting lost on our way to church. I helpfully pointed out, “Ya’ll, if you went to church more often, you’d know the way.” My humor was not appreciated. (Tough crowd before 10 a.m., I guess.)   Thanks to Rob—not the GPS—we eventually made it. Afterward, we told everyone we were heading to Sizzler. Easy plan, right? Wrong. Somewhere between church and lunch, Judy’s phone (or Google) rerouted us. Suddenly the new destination: Bravo Farms. (Thanks to Rob's Text.) Excuse me, what? What about the friends who think we’re at Sizzler?? I wisely kept my mouth shut. I’m just the tagalong—I go where I’m dragged.   Bravo Farms was… interesting. The boys used to come here when they were little and wanted to recreate old photos. While they were off chasing nostalgia, I was busy chasing food. Priorities. By the time Betty, Judy, and I finished eating, my crew was outside climbing the treehouse. Naturally, I followed, because apparently my “vacation insurance” doe...

    8/23/25  I heard Brandy at 5 a.m. Betty was gone, it was just me and Waddles. I’m NOT getting up I thought, until Waddles waddled over and nudged me like a furry drill sergeant: “Everyone’s up. You should be too. Let’s go, soldier.”   Betty was already in the kitchen, caffeinated and thriving.    I mentioned a shower and in need of a towel. (She has so many doors in the hallway I didn’t wanna be like Snoop Dog snooping.)  She handed me a towel and didn’t mention the fact I really needed a shower.     I grabbed a shower and met them out in the she-shed—. Betty bought some doors, Anthony hinged them together, slapped a roof on top, and boom—Nice retreat away from Fuji (her husband) and the dogs. Nope, he enjoys it as much as Betty.   Sitting by the waterfall, watching Koi fish do their lazy swimming like don’t you wish you were a Koi? Yes, yes I do.  I had my laptop out, trying to capture memories and take pictures, but hones...

Michael’s 18th Birthday and the Airport Circus Why does packing always feel like preparing for the apocalypse? You’d think after all my traveling, I’d be a pro. Spoiler: I’m not. My suitcase sits half-packed, silently judging me from the corner like, “Really? No Rest For the Wicked?” Then crunch time hits, and suddenly it’s Survivor: Closet Edition. What stays? What goes? How many white shorts does one human actually need? (Apparently, a lot. My name is Jeanne… I have a white shorts problem.) And the BTS shirts? Non-negotiable. Leave them behind, and how will I ever find another ARMY in the wild? Next up: writing gear. Journals, colored pens, stickers, washi tape… all essential, naturally. Funny thing is, I only use my Chromebook on vacation. I keep thinking I’ll get bored, but: hasn’t happened yet. Years of packing like a pack mule, rarely using any of it—but hey, better safe than creatively stifled. Carry-on packed! Essentials: undies (most important), five white shorts, five BTS shi...

The next day after the concert, we’re on a mission for breakfast. First stop—BadAss Breakfast. Closed. I mean, how can you call yourself BadAss if you can’t even get out of bed in the morning?  We end up at Benedicts. Brandy and I split a BLT on a croissant delicious. We’re leaving, Betty heads to the bathroom, and suddenly Brandy’s in full panic mode: “I think I left my phone!” We’re searching everywhere, she’s freaking out—then she goes, “Oh never mind, I’ve got it.” Meanwhile, I’m holding her hoodie like, “Uh, were you also looking for this?” Then it’s back to Specialty store shopping. Question: do I need a tiny little bag just big enough for my phone and wallet? Answer: YES. Because when you’re bargain-hunting, logic is the first thing that gets marked 70% off. Next up massages. Betty and Brandy get this dreamy, romantic 90-minute couples’ massage. Picture it: soft music, synchronized breathing, maybe a little foot massage that makes you question why life has ever been st...

First thing we do in Denver? Starbucks. Because priorities. Nothing says vacation like paying nine bucks for hot bean water. Then we Google breakfast. GPS takes us… to the airport. Yeah. Nothing like being starving and lost to make you laugh like hyenas. We finally eat, and I’m like, “Okay… not funny… but at least the omelet was good.” More Specialty store shopping in Denver? Oh, it’s not thrift. It’s Rich People Runway. Brandy’s driving us, she goes the wrong way down a one-way street—then takes us OFF-ROAD. Over the sidewalk, between dumpsters, back onto the street like nothing happened. Rob hears about it later and says, “That’s because you’re a smooth criminal.” Even Michael Jackson would be proud.” Meanwhile, Betty’s praying, Brandy’s crying-laughing, and me? I’m yelling my big curse word: “CRAP!” Not the f-bomb. Just… “CRAP.” Somewhere out there, a nun is proud. We’re still looking for this one ARC thrift store—can’t find it. We ask a clerk, she pulls up Google Maps, turns out...

So my trip started with Betty flying in, Denver traffic could be brutal—it’s basically Mario Kart with actual consequences. Little did I know, they have like four lanes dedicated just for going to the airport. I half expected one of them to be the “Good Luck” lane where you just pray you end up at the right terminal. No worries though, I showed up an hour and a half early and claimed a victory prize: a chair in baggage claim. Honestly, highlight of my morning. Forget the Rocky Mountains, I found a seat. We finally get to our hotel—fancy Greenwood Village. Very classy. You know it’s classy when it takes two grown women to figure out the elevator. We’re standing there like, “Okay, zero is parking… but there’s no garage. Who’s the evil genius behind this button?” We’re laughing so hard the elevator probably said: Well, bless their hearts. Truth be told, our two brains couldn’t get a hummingbird to fly backwards. Next up—Betty and I love Specialty shops. (My term for Thrift Stores. “Specia...