Because I'm a grownup
The best-laid plans of mice and men never get laid. I'm living proof of that.
I had my day off all planned out: Tuesday would be My Day at the Zoo. I love the zoo. I haven't been to the zoo in years. Nobody fucks with my day at the zoo.
I would spy on the spider monkeys, drink beer with the bears, stroke the stingrays, badger the budgies, hump the camels, all the while working up the nerve to ride the four-story zip line that would send me in glorious pseudo flight over the petting corral. I would be five years old all over again, except for the driver's license and wrinkles, but those were mere technicalities. It would be a glorious summer day wherein I pestered animals besides my own with a camera and my insane, delighted giggles.
Somebody fucked with my day at the zoo.
Somewhere around the get-the-fuck-outta-here-on-my-day-off hour of 7:30 a.m., an hour that doesn't even technically exist on one's weekend, I was awakened by what seemed to be a marching band but was just my phone. I was just awake enough to mutter "Fuuuuuuuuck..." in a sleep-raspy voice when I saw on the caller ID that it was my boss. There had been an emergency in her family, and could I work for a few hours?
Now, you'll never meet an asshole who's more selfish than I am, but even I have a tiny sliver of decency when it comes to family medical emergencies, having lived through enough of them myself, so work was on and Operation GiggleZoo was aborted. My inner five-year-old went off into the corner to pout and draw pictures of me with a pig nose, and off to work I went.
Though rain had been predicted for the day, it turned out to be sunny and a little cool - the perfect day for a middle-aged woman to go compare necks with the giraffes for a few hours. I couldn't help but fantasize how my day would've gone had I not been called to cashier duty...
Monkeys! I love monkeys!
Aw, dammit, I knew I should've buttoned my shirt before I wandered over here. Sorry 'bout the stray nipples, guys.
Well, monkeys are just rude anyway. I'll go visit the elephants and see if they want these peanuts I shoved down my pants.
Hmmmmm...guess not.
There's a pretty polar bear. Oh, look - the polar bear wants to give me kisses! Butt kisses!
There's no way I could be misreading that signal, right?
Wrong!
Not my best zoo day ever. Even the puma hates my display of too much belly.
"Oh, I want a LOT of lumps!"
The point to all this is...there's no fucking point. The only way I can keep myself from having a pouty hissy fit over going to work and missing the zoo is to imagine massive amounts of animal vomit.
That, my friends, is maturity.
I had my day off all planned out: Tuesday would be My Day at the Zoo. I love the zoo. I haven't been to the zoo in years. Nobody fucks with my day at the zoo.
I would spy on the spider monkeys, drink beer with the bears, stroke the stingrays, badger the budgies, hump the camels, all the while working up the nerve to ride the four-story zip line that would send me in glorious pseudo flight over the petting corral. I would be five years old all over again, except for the driver's license and wrinkles, but those were mere technicalities. It would be a glorious summer day wherein I pestered animals besides my own with a camera and my insane, delighted giggles.
Somebody fucked with my day at the zoo.
Somewhere around the get-the-fuck-outta-here-on-my-day-off hour of 7:30 a.m., an hour that doesn't even technically exist on one's weekend, I was awakened by what seemed to be a marching band but was just my phone. I was just awake enough to mutter "Fuuuuuuuuck..." in a sleep-raspy voice when I saw on the caller ID that it was my boss. There had been an emergency in her family, and could I work for a few hours?
Now, you'll never meet an asshole who's more selfish than I am, but even I have a tiny sliver of decency when it comes to family medical emergencies, having lived through enough of them myself, so work was on and Operation GiggleZoo was aborted. My inner five-year-old went off into the corner to pout and draw pictures of me with a pig nose, and off to work I went.
Though rain had been predicted for the day, it turned out to be sunny and a little cool - the perfect day for a middle-aged woman to go compare necks with the giraffes for a few hours. I couldn't help but fantasize how my day would've gone had I not been called to cashier duty...
Monkeys! I love monkeys!
Aw, dammit, I knew I should've buttoned my shirt before I wandered over here. Sorry 'bout the stray nipples, guys.
Well, monkeys are just rude anyway. I'll go visit the elephants and see if they want these peanuts I shoved down my pants.
Hmmmmm...guess not.
There's a pretty polar bear. Oh, look - the polar bear wants to give me kisses! Butt kisses!
There's no way I could be misreading that signal, right?
Wrong!
Not my best zoo day ever. Even the puma hates my display of too much belly.
"Oh, I want a LOT of lumps!"
The point to all this is...there's no fucking point. The only way I can keep myself from having a pouty hissy fit over going to work and missing the zoo is to imagine massive amounts of animal vomit.
That, my friends, is maturity.
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 9:48 PM
11 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
Okay, I don't remember what I was going to comment after seeing all of those disturbing photos.
Sorry you missed your day at the zoo. Hope you get to go soon.
Hope you get to the zoo soon.
I must admit that I have truly enjoyed this classic Bucky-post.
(Except, of course, for all the yucky vomit).
I think of the children's book, "Put Me in the Zoo!" (But really, I'm thinking put YOU in the zoo.)
You make my proud, sis.
I'm not a fan of the zoo, but I have been on the other end of those day-off-calls-from-the-retail-boss. My sympathies, and I hope you get to go SOON!
Bummer. And ew!
I do believe we have the same level of maturity when it comes to handling stress.
(I've been sending photos of our local mental hospital building to coworkers with the name of our department written over the front door.)
See, I'd be angry as a hornet at the thought of missing the monkeys masturbating or throwing poo.
What kind of slacker-ass blogger are you, anyway?
holy shizzle your blog is interesting and fucking blasphemous. :P
Go to the Zoo...
You need closure!
Really, I hope you make it there soon.
Best Wishes
Lou(ie)
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