Horseback Riding

"Please don't let the giant sit on me."

By now, dear reader (I know who you are), you've realized that I heart animals. I love petting, cuddling, and asking them rhetorical questions ("Who's a handsome kitty?"). But no animal can bring me as much joy as the horse. Why? Because one can ride a horse (I tried riding my dog but she collapsed. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure she'll get up soon). Riding a horse is the closest one can get (in real life) to being an animal.

There's a little stable off the 57 freeway (fun fact: only Californians say 'the' before naming a freeway) in Anaheim named Rancho Del Rio. You know what you can do there? Huh? You know what? You can get horseback riding lessons there!

"OMG, fine. We'll turn right."

Ava has a business called Paramount Performance. She has a couple awesome trainers and a couple pretty horses. Lessons are private and affordable. If you've never ridden before, or if you (like me) just want a reason to ride, I recommend checking them out (they accommodate all ages).

Serrano Creek Ranch Equestrian Center

I'm a little surprised at myself for sharing this information with you. It's sort of top secret. Shhh.

Do you like horses? You have to know a little bit about horses for this to be a fun adventure. Go read a book. Did you read a book about horses? Good, okay, let's continue.

There's a stable in Lake Forest that I used to get horseback riding lessons at. There are lots of pretty ponies there (I said you have to know about horses - and if you know about horses you call them pretty ponies. Okay?). 

Now, (COA) I do not recommend you actually do any of this. I'm just telling you how. Not that you should. Got it? Don't do this.

Get yourself some carrots. Bitches Horses love carrots. Go on into the stables (there's an easy entrance through the park off Serrano. And pet those horses!

Some of the horses don't get ridden every day. They (most of them) like the attention of humans (that's you!), especially when said humans have carrots.

Here are your instructions for properly socializing with horses:

1. Look for signs on the horse's bars. Horse-people have a special way of communicating what their horses are thinking through first person signs. Sometimes they say, "I bite," "Don't give me carrots, I'm horse-diabetic (seriously)," or "I'm a republican because I F-ing hate donkeys." Always obey the signs. 

2. Provide a hand for the horse to sniff (this is how you say "Hello! I am not a threat to you, you silly beast!")

3. Watch for ears pointed back sharply or sudden aggressive movements (just like people, some horses are jerks).

4. Give a nice pet on the nose or head, "Good horsie."

5. Break off a 3ish inch piece of carrot and lay it flat on your palm to feed to the creature (make sure to lay your thumb super flat or Horsie may take a bite out of it thinking it's carrot (their eyes are really far away from their mouths, okay?)).

6. Use your psychic powers to connect with animal and virtually ride it into the sunset, "Sweet freedom!"

Wasn't that fun? It's my favorite.

Photos by Shannon Leith.

Laser Quest

Pew! Pew! Pew (That’s the sound of a laser gun, not the sound someone makes when it smells bad in here)!

My adult friend, Lars!

Because I’m an adult with adult friends I went to play laser tag at Laser Quest in Fullerton for my friend, Alex Herrera's birthday. AND IT WAS AWESOME.

We didn’t do the birthday package, we didn’t even make a reservation – and there were a lot of us AND it was a Saturday night. We just walked in and signed up. One pays $9 per person, per game (that might be a group rate, I’d call for more details). Each game is 20 minutes long. We waited only about 25 minutes before we got to go suit up (put on a vest with blinking lights). Oh, and you get to make a code name with a print out at the end of the game saying how many times you hit “ManBoy12” and how many times “TinkerTart33” hit you at the end.

“You guys wanna hear some uh, some techno when you’re in there or um… some Star War-“

“STAR WARS!!! OMG!!! WE’RE NERDS. GIVE US JOHN WILLIAMS OR WE WILL TAKE YOU HOME TO OUR MOMS’ BASEMENTS AND MAKE YOU WATCH US REENACT THE MOVIES FOR YOU!”

So, we won and got to listen to the Star Wars score while we were in there (my favorite part).

Room full of boys name choice fail

There were maybe twenty in our party which means that there were a few straggling children (easy targets) in our midst and one freaky dude who I’m pretty sure lives there and might be 108 years old but perfectly preserved at around 40 because of all (I’m assuming) the black light exposure.

Then, one gets into the dark warehouse-sized room and romps through the terrifying black plywood maze shooting one's friends. There’s an upstairs that got overrun by children during our first game. That move made us nerds so angry that we complained to each other about it later. That’ll teach those stupid children. Ruining our adult fun.

Because I’m a coward, my strategy is to find a nice, dark corner to nestle into, then defend, defend, cry a little, and defend! One time I got tricked out of my safe little corner by the creepy old laser dude (who promptly disappeared (maybe he’s a ghost?)) to find it had been swiftly reoccupied and I was a wreck! But, aha, I formed an alliance and we were victorious (that’s a lie, we were destroyed)! But I learned how not to be afraid and just have FUN! PEW! PEW! PEW! Something smells in here…

K1

Do you have abnormally high levels of testosterone?

Eww. What’s that like for you?

Also, I bet racing is a thing you enjoy.

At K1, you can race your friends in tiny cars (It’s like living in Italy, but with less pasta).

Bring your own helmet, or you get to wear this.

The lowest pack of races you can get is $40. You go around the track a lot of times and then find out which one of you is the slowest. Then, you go around the track a lot of times again, but this time there’s a winner. Hurray!

My only experience with tiny cars is from that of the ‘bumper’ variety. So, it makes no sense to me why bumping is not allowed at K1. There certainly are sufficient bumpers on them… But man do those guys get all annoyed when you try to ram your step dad off the track. They hold up their little sign, all arrogant, “NO BUMPING.” Jerks.

Look at that step dad... he's asking for it.

The cars themselves are a little confusing because of the addition of brake pedal. It’s hard to operate the brakes with my left foot and the gas with my right. I felt like Walter Jr., only less handsome. How the heck does he do it?

The scenery is super repetitive.

One cannot order a beer in the facility, apparently it’s against the law to drink and drive tiny vehicles with giant bumpers on a monitored track. How do they think we get ourselves to and from bars?

At the end of the race, the winners are presented with medals, given supermodel brides, and invited to meet the president. I hate the winners so much.

"Here's to manliness!"

Trampoline World

“You know, if we lived on a bigger planet and then visited Earth, it would feel like Trampoline World everywhere. PERSPECTIVE.”

Phones are not allowed = no personal pics.

So, some guy was like, “Ugh, if only I could throw my stupid kid on our family trampoline and he wouldn’t just roll off the other side… My wife and I would fight way less.” And that is the totally factually accurate way that Sky High (which I will henceforth refer to as Trampoline World because I like it better) came into existence.

It’s basically a big warehouse, sectioned off into different zones of trampoline-ing. There is the children’s area (not gonna lie, there were some creepers milling about), the bounce, bounce, land in pit of soft foam cubes (and never ever escape) runway, the dodge ball + trampolines = even more dangerous arena, and the general room full of trampolines.

Before entering the fun zone, one must sign a liability form. They insist you do NOT try tricks that are past your skill level (but then how will I learn?!). And, since my skill level is -3, I mostly ran back and forth in the big, generic trampoline room and pretended I was stuck on fast-forward.

Oh, and you may bounce barefoot or in shoes. BUT YOU MAY NOT BOUNCE IN SOCKS! FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS DO NOT BOUNCE IN SOCKS. SOMETHING TERRIBLE AND UNFORSEEN WILL HAPPEN. THINGS WILL NOT END WELL FOR ALL INVOLVED.

Employees, I presume.

One pays for an hour ($10) of access into the warehouse at a time. What? Only an hour? Oh, trust me, Little One, an hour is plenty of time to collect an injury and ashamedly pretend you’re not crying while every member of the staff of teenagers (“Happy 20^th birthday Brittany! Here’s your cake, now pack up your locker for you are no longer welcome here.”) shuffle by and offer to bring you ice (it’s such an automatic response for the employees, that I imagine before every shift the manager forces them into roll play exercises where the correct thing to do is ALWAYS offer ice. “Okay, Kimme, you’re turn. Ouch I stubbed my toe.” “Let me get you some ice.” “GREAT JOB, Kimme! Now, Tyler, you’re turn. Oh, no! My dignity is bruised.” “Can I get you some ice?” “Oh, so close, Tyler. Remember not ask if they need ice, assume they need ice. ICE! ICE! ICE! Ice…”).

You will get hurt. There’s no “maybe” about it. If you visit Trampoline World you will become injured somehow. Whether it be from rolling an ankle (Nikki), throwing your arm out playing dodge ball (Kc), being sore the next few weeks (James (I’m assuming)), or good ol’ trampoline-burn (yours truly), pain will find you and claim you for his own.

Hey, but bouncing is way cool.