Date Archives July 2007

See my vest! See my vest! Made from real Gorilla chest!

18 Comments read Attractions, Midwest, Travel, USA, Wisconsin

On the morning of the fourth, Lesley and I decided that the best way to celebrate our freedom whilst the sun was shining would be to poke fun at the captivity of others. Thus, our course was determined, and we made our way to the Racine Zoo. The last time we were there, we were attacked by a tiger, and I was molested by a camel. If this experience was to live up to its predecessor, the animals had their work cut out for them. Luckily, they all had can-do attitudes. The Racine Zoo is no longer free, but a big flashing smile at the entry gate and a suggestion made that perhaps I could appear to be under the age of 15 was enough to get me in for half price, saving myself a grand total of two dollars. Go ahead and mock me. It’s ok. The two dollars isn’t the point. The point is that I can bend retail workers to do my bidding. THAT is true power. First stop was the Castle of Monkeys. Since today is Monkey Tuesday, it feels right and natural to talk about monkey antics today.

At night it turns into the Damn Spooky Castle of Monkeys, and I hear Skeletor takes up residence there.

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I’m fairly certain that this is the same monkey that looked so concerned a few years ago after Lesley made a face at him. This time, he kept waggling his eyebrows suggestively at her and clutching at the cage in a “Hello? Let me out, baby! I love you! Don’t you love me?” sort of way, and she kept waggling hers at him. While they were waging eyebrow wars, I wandered over and took pictures of the other monkey, who alternated munching on lettuce and sticking out his tongue at me. Lesley snapped me out of my fascination by indignantly shouting “THAT GODDAMN MONKEY IS FLIPPING ME OFF. That nonchalant bastard!” flip

Sure enough, the monkey had enough of Eyebrow Wars and was now very calmly sitting on a rock, flipping Lesley the bird. Realistically, she had no choice but to retaliate. flip2

It was a hot enough day outside that many of the animals were hiding out in whatever shade they could find. We only got a glimpse of the lions, the tigers, and the andean bears, but the alligators  were out in full force.

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And when I say alligators,  I mean a shit-ton of tiny alligators. It’s as if they captured half of the hatchlings in the New York City sewer system and used them to populate this tiny pool, forgetting that these cute, foot long handbags will eventually grow into surly, 21-foot long cowboy boots. After taking a picture of the peahen below, she hopped out of her enclosure and followed us around the park like a Peahen Lindsay Lohan, begging us to take more pictures, drinking everything in sight, and making pathetic noises when we stopped paying attention to her.

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WOODEN UMBRELLA HAS A FLAVOR. NOM NOM NOM! giraffe2

The giraffe then tried to intimidate me into not publishing the photograph of his secret rendezvous with with the umbrella, but ever since I discovered that being short places you at exactly the right height for a shockingly perfect nutkick, height no longer intimidates me.

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The fuzzy and cute, however, makes me powerless. giraffe4

Lesley desperately wanted to feed the giraffe some grass, and the giraffe desperately wanted to let her. How could the zoo stop a love this pure? We paid our two dollars! Can’t we feed a hungry animal? The rest of the adventures of the 4th to be continued…

I’m tired of all of this motherfucking shampoo on this motherfucking plane!

7 Comments read Everything is Terrible

What ever happened to the days when it was a big deal to fly on an airplane? When people would dress up just for the occasion, and you didn’t have to worry about sitting next to someone who looked or smelled like the Elephant Man? Or someone who might attempt to pay for their third drink at thirty thousand feet with food stamps? The days when some tiresome ‘security’ guard who doesn’t speak passable english wouldn’t hassle someone like my dad for having (gasp) a full size cologne in his briefcase? The days when you didn’t have to gather all of your toiletries and makeup, check each one to see if it was over or under the allowable amount of ounces, and then figure out how you were going to get it all to fit in a quart size plastic bag, because you can’t put it in your checked baggage lest a minimum wage government worker monkey on a power trip were to take his giant egg beater and whip it through your suitcase, wrinkling your clothes, breaking your breakables, and loosening product caps enough so they’ll ooze fluid all over everything?

Only two more hours until I get to experience the joy of all of these changes, once again. Given that I very nearly have to bend over for a cavity check to search me for some hidden Bumble & Bumble every single time I fly, I’m pretty sure the terrorists have already won. It’s clearly a war on hygiene. An assault on your sense of smell. How did I get on this extra-hassle-terrorist-watch list? I’m pretty certain that by virtue of the plain fact of the size of my waistline, I don’t have nearly enough strength of character to believe in any cause enough to die for it. Just saying.

Lesley called me yesterday to request that I not miss my flight like the best man did yesterday–there’s not much chance of that, as unlike him, I didn’t find it to be a priority to go out drinking the night before.

Forewarned is forearmed, though–I STILL might not make it to Wisconsin, if only because if there are any screaming babies on the flight, I will surely take it upon myself to flush them down the toilet one by one.